Regret, Thy Name is Blizzard

You were so cold and inviting and cheap. An ephemeral treat to slake a nagging longing. But like an uninvited guest, you keep hanging around. Belch belch belch

Robo Toilets

Not so long ago, going to the public toilet was a relatively easy exercise, long lines (women's rooms), filth and dread notwithstanding. Sure it took a bit of maneuvering to get into the narrow stalls without making too much contact with any surface that might transfer some icky germs to our person. For most women, we'd gotten it down to a bit of science, especially if we were toting along luggage or shopping bags, or, god forbid, kids.

If anyone had consulted with women, I am sure their biggest three suggestions for improvements to public restrooms would have been: a) bigger stalls; b) copius bag shelf/coat hooks; c) foot controls.

Not so recent improvements in public toilets, save for in a few upscale places don't seem to include any of these common-sense, practical upgrades. Instead what women have gotten, likely from men designers/engineers is, automation. Yes ladies, someone out there didn't think you could do it manually!

Self flushing toilets. Taps that turn on with a wave of a hand. Self-squirting soap pumps. Towel dispensers that feed out the right sized sheet at flash of a palm. All wonderful future-now mod-cons! Yippee! Well, not so fast. Certainly all that automation would be fine if they worked as promised 100% of the time. But I am sure you've been in the bathroom at the airport watching some hapless woman waving like a lunatic at the tap, or worse yet, pressing and pushing to no avail. Perhaps that lunatic trying to brush her teeth after a gnarly flight was you?!

Call me a Luddite, but I really do not think that toilets needed this kind of futuristic mod-con upgrade. First of all, what if the power goes out? Do all these places have backup generators that are connected to the toilets.

Sure I hate to enter a stall where the previous user has left an unsightly unflushed deposit (of any number). I am guessing that the drive to automate the toilets especially, comes from a drive to make bathrooms more sanitary. Whatever the reasoning--whether it's sanitation concerns or just moving along with the technology of the times, I say, "Bah, humbug."

My experience with these automated toilets has been an exercise in frustration. Why? I don't like being flushed upon in midstream. The problem with all these toilets is that the sensors are either too sensitive or they are not sensitive enough.
I have a rather time-consuming routine when I use a public WC. These are the steps.
1. Wad up tp and wipe the seat.
2. Spread 2 strips of TP on each side of the seat. (doubled up if no #3)
3. Spread a toilet seat cover (when available) over the TP on the seat
4. Sit. Deposit.
My routine was breezy with the old fashioned manual toilets.

Now with the robo-toilet, my life is a terrifying tangled tp tango.
The trouble when the toilet flush sensors are overly sensitive, halfway through my routine, the blasted toilet flushes, splashing up droplets to the seat, sucking down my protective tp or my seat cover. That's a pain in the ass, then there's the water in the ass when, just as you sit on your little safety next about to do the business, the sensor says, "Sorry I think you've been in here a while so I better just flush." I really don't like springing up like a march hare in the middle of my deposit.

Now let's say the sensor isn't as sensitive as it should be. You've made a deposit of a more solid type and you want the toilet to flush...or even say you've only made a liquid deposit and you've stood and zipped and ready to depart. You turn and stare or even move about a bit, but still no flush. There's a line out there, backed up into the mall or the terminal or the movie theater--wherever and still no flush. You wave your hand frantically over the little dark patch with the mysterious red light. You look around for the manual override button--not always well placed--and now your face is right over the fountain of germs, ready to push when finally the thing decides to do what it ought to do! There you go again having to spring up like springbok!

It's all very disconcerting. I don't like it one bit.

Now you are out trying to wash your hand and you can't get a flow going, the water temperature is right out of Goldilocks and the three bears--too hot, too cold and not just right. There's soap dispenser but you can't tell where the spigot is so it squirts on the counter. You are now Zero for Three. At least you can get a bit of paper now! Right? Wrong! Well maybe not all wrong. I do hate the manual paper dispensers that are so tightly packed that when you pull on a sheet all you get is that damp broken off corner. So in some ways, I think the paper dispenser is the best addition, though I would argue that the dispensers that had the elbow bar, allowing women to use their elbows to crank the feed was genius. Low tech and effective--just like the toilet with the simple handle--one placed on the floor so you can use your foot to flush. That and a bigger stall is all we ever asked for!

P.s. The only thing I really like is the new DYSON air blade. Now that's a great hand drying device. No more endless brisk rubbing!

Bristol's Baby Mama Drama

I am tired of hearing about how extraordinary Sarah Palin is that she embraced her pregnant teen daughter and that she kept her child with down syndrome. Many thousands of Americans do that every day and don't get any extra credit. The beauty of CHOICE is that you should be able to make decisions that work for you and NOT have the government LEGISLATE how you make those intensely PERSONAL decisions. Neither Bristol or Sarah get extra credit for not having abortions because frankly that is what a VAST Majority of Americans do--they keep their babies. Of course the RABID ANTI-CHOICE people would want you to think that the rate of abortion is a crisis. That's just to help hype their propaganda and push their platform of government interference in private lives. It's funny how many of these same folks get riled up if the gov't wants to regulate their guns yet feel it's fine to tell a woman what to do with her body! GOD RELIGION AND SEX should be kept bedind closed doors.

Frankly what concerns me about SP's selection is the reality of WHO and WHY she was selected. I am sure McCain had little to do with it. I am sure the right wing, Christiano-fascist movement were the people who vetted her. The wall separating church and state is being dismantled. That is what should be agitating Americans, not some teenager who slept around with condoms. I wonder what the reaction would have been if instead of getting a bun in the oven Bristol picked up HIV?

Much Ado about Beijing Olympics

With the closing ceremonies over, Olympic blather is old news, especially with the DNC and RNC holding their political parties this week. But I just had a few things to say--and it's my blog so I can say it now.

1. It was clear from the outset when China was awarded these games that they were an authoritarian state with a bad human rights records with no regard for the rules of the west--except for the rule of money. Those games were awarded to China because of business interests and not as some incentive to clean up their act. And probably because they had the loot to throw pay for the party. (And what a party it was)!

Of course people should protest and advocate for a whatever it is they want to see in China, but if anyone expected these games to convert China, they were fooling themselves. Clearly their model of authoritarian capitalism works. THat "MADE IN CHINA" label is on pretty much EVERYTHING we all use/consume in the rest of the world. It doesn't seem likely that we are about to give up the stuff, so get over it.

2. It seemed to me that the US (especially its media) and much of the world were really hoping China would screw up something in the run up to the games and during they games. The opening and closing were boffo. The venues fabulous. And the deadly Smog? What smog? Hah! So much for the dire predictions of the delicate Westerners dropping down dead from too much particulate matter. Oh yes there is the matter of He Kexin the little gymnast who kicked butt. Sure she might be 14 but the Chinese government says she ain't and they control the agencies that can make her 14 or 54. So there! They ran away with the gold booty and their volunteers even learned English. That's a big nice raspberry to the west.

3. Back to He Kexin for a moment, and yes that little lip-synching girl (how could I have forgotten? The way that the Chinese government handles things is basically to say: "Whatcha gonna do? We do what we do cause we run things." And they do! That's how they roll! Gotta admit they have the balls. And again they got the money!

4. The US is a sore loser. They want to hog all the gold and glory and they don't like to share the spotlight. And that is why I had to suffer through every damn beach volleyball tournament but not get to see the three Jamaican sprinters take their places on the stand in a historic moment.

5. Olympics are a like a big expensive wedding! Lots of set up and clean up. Only the bride and groom really care! At the end of the day, people show up, eat the food, have a bit of fun and then they forget to send you an anniversary card (not that they should). The gold medal athletes are the bride and groom and everybody else is an usher a page or a waiter. You have a few nice pictures and then...Party Over!

"Trending Toward an Increase"

I recently read an article, the subject of which escapes me now, but what struck me was that silly phrase, "trending toward and increase." I know we like to turn nouns into verbs and make up words, but "trending towards an increase" is just plain stupid. Really. Trending is not a word. Sure, it's already wormed it's way into the vernacular and will probably join "ginormous" in the dictionary. It's not that I am against the growth of language, but the folly is definitely "trending toward an increase."
I think what it boils down to is people trying to sound more intelligent and scholarly than they obviously are! It would do them well to remember that the first rule of writing is to keep it clear, concise and accessible to your readers. Enough said!

Tug of Faith

Twice this week I have been to a church service. First was the baptism of a friend's daughter at a Catholic Church. Today was a memorial service for a woman who died 17 years ago.
Especially at the baptism, I found myself being caught up in the comfort of ritual. Having been raised, essentially, as Catholic, the muscle memory was strong. I was drawn by the power of faith and belief of "things unseen." The awe, wonder and beauty of our lives as humans does sometime move me to believe in something more powerful than randomness of the collision of atoms and energy that is our existence, and who can deny the sheer beauty and awesome grace of that very randomness!
I sit in the church, and listen as the priest talks to my friend and her husband of raising their child in faith. I wonder if they have their fingers crossed behind their backs, as they are as secular as anyone I know. I wonder if they are moved as I by the idea of being held in God's hands? Certainly the existence of their child, whose conception and gestation relied upon science in great part, must also reveal a certain amoung of Grace! To whom do they direct their gratitude for the blessing that is this child?
Is it easier to believe or not? I am a secular skeptic, a lapsed believer, but in moments when that memory of ritual and faith surge forward, in the quiet of prayer, I ponder the loss. Why does my heart fill so when I just enter a church? Why do the Psalms soothe me? What is it about the illogic of religion that still holds sway in some part of my heart? What is this tug of faith I feel! And why is it that I resist so?

Resetting Woojnick's Brain

It's been a bittersweet trip down memory lane these past few days since Woojnick has left us. We had a funny episode some years ago when she developed some allergies that caused her to scratch at her neck ceaselessly. Nearly weekly cortisone shots did nothing, save thin my wallet. One day I ran into this nice but wacky lady in the vitamin aisle at the supermarket. (Wacky because she and her cat were on the same supplements). She recommended a holistic vet on the westside of town. What the heck, I thought. My poor Wooj had virtually dug a hole in her neck.
The doctor seemed nice, rational and normal. He examined the cat and he took the stool sample I was required to deliver(the cat's not mine). He told me that I should get her off the "fancy feast" and go with some organic cat food. Easy. Doable. Done. Not so fast. Then came part two of the exam. He said he had a special way to test for specific allergies. I thought, "Oh no, poor Wooj is going to get stuck with needles." I cringed in painful anticipation. Well, turns out that it wasn't a needle stick that had me cringeing. He brought in his assistant to, well, "assist." She was, he explained, the surrogate. First she grabbed the cat by the scruff with her left hand and then extended her right arm out perpendicular to her body. The good Doctor then brought out a case containing several neat and impressive looking rows of small glass vials, each filled with water. It's not ordinary water, he explained with all seriousness. Each vial had been infused with the frequencies of common allergens, beef, chicken, rice, cheap cat food, etc. And so the "test" began. One by one, he passed the vials under the nose of an unaturally docile and compliant Woojnick. With each pass, the doctor pressed down on the extended arm of the assistant. Sometimes her arm would remain stiff, resistant to the pressure and other times it was fall to her side, only to spring back up. Boinggggg! You see, the assistant was chanelling the energy of the cat's reaction to each allergen through her arm. Stiff arm good. Loose arm bad!
This went on for several minutes. I watched in circus side-show amazement and awe, wondering if I'd somehow "made a left turn at Albuquerque"* and ended up in at a Ringling Bros. show. And why I wondered, was Barnum's quote that "there's a sucker born every minute" spinning in my head? The answer was not long in coming.
The last thing the good, kind Doctor did was (insert pause for dramatic effect here) RESET my cat's brain to deter future allergies. How did he do this most amazing feat you ask? With his special brain resetting instrument of course! He simply reached into his pocket protector and grabbed a (insert yet another pause for dramatic effect here)very special ballpoint pen--the kind with the clickable button at the top. He put the clicky part at the base of Woojnick's head and pressed it several times. Click, click, click, click! There you go! All done. Brain reset. No more allergies.
I didn't know what to say or do. I'd just witnessed and paid for the most ridiculous bit of quackery imagineable. Should I tell him? Instead, I smiled that nice polite kind of smile you smile when you are slowly backing away from a crazy person. I took my compliant cat and figuratively backed out of the room into my car and sped away from there like I was being chased by hound dogs of hell! What the hell!?!? just happenend I thought. Did I just pay $200 for a side-show? I had and now I was mad. The next day I did my usual boomerang. I called the vet and asked for my money back. I told him that it was cool that he'd checked on my cat and tested the stool but the arm-flapping-nose-vial-water-energy-pen-clicking-brain reset thing was beyond my realm of acceptable possibilities--even in my desperation to cure my beloved Woojnick.
I was surprised when he gave me most of the money back, but he did it with that kind of "you have not evolved enough yet to understand this scientific approach" attitude. Perhaps not, and indeed the food recommendation worked wonders for the cat and her neck stopped giving her grief. But I will tell you one thing: that brain reset did not work. Woojnick might have been docile in that office because she was terrified of Dr. Vet man, but once she was home, I knew her little brain was just as it had been before that adventure--nothing like biting the hand that feeds you new and more expensive organic cat food. Maybe the vet hadn't used the right kind pen for the job!

*can you guess the ABQ reference?

Girl aka Squidgy Woojnick 1991-2008

My sisters and I had to say goodbye to a dear, dear being today! For nearly 17 years, our beloved curmudgeonly, furry, wiggly, bushytailed and bi-polar cat filled our lives with joy. She was born in Totowa NJ in the spring of 1991 and quickly became a member of our family. She ended up having three sister-kitty-mommies and even more names.

Girl lived with my two older sisters, D & G who shared spoiling duties in her early years. Nine years later, she was fostered out to me in California. We had four wonderful years together, during which time I re-christened her, Woojnick.
Prior to living with me, she'd cycled through a couple names. First Dusty, the name used when the vet snipped her bits. Given her grey-orangey color she was a mobile dustball. Winona was a short lived experiment. At one point we thought he was a rare male ginger cat worth millions but then found out that she was just Girl. That name seemed to stick, until she came to CA and did the typical Hollywood thing and took on a starlet name.

It was an accidental christening. For nearly 2 weeks after she first moved out, she virtually lived under my bed. She only came out to pee and poop--strange, now that I think about it. When she finally got used to living with me, she started crawling into my bed. One morning as I rubbed her furry neck and made silly nonsense sounds, suddenly out popped the sounds wooj-wooj-wooj. I heard my self say: "You are such a squidgy woojnick." And thus she was renamed.

Of course she didn't answer to Woojnick any more than she did to Girl, but it provided me with years of delight making up variations and songs and silly rhymes to go along with her name. Here's the not so short list: Woojy Squidnick, Mama-woojnick, Mamajna, Squidge, Naaack! Nickel bag of funk. I paricularly liked Squidgle D. Bots. She packed on a bit of junk in her trunk during her stay in LA and she'd run to me with her little botty jiggling from side to side. It just seemed like a natural name and so fun to say.

Life with Wooj was full of adventure and mishap. By the time I got her, she was already grumpy, rather cranky and set in her ways. She had this way of loving you one minute and then sinking her claws into you the next. She attacked people at random. I had to warn my guests and cat sitters to be very careful. Once when my brother-in- law visited, he had the misfortune of having to go the bathroom. Woojnick attacked like a demon in the night and poor bro ended up in the ER with a nasty infection. To this day he hasn't forgotten or forgiven. My friend B., on the other hand, was very generous and forgiving when Woojnick mistook her 5 year-old daughter's leg for a chicken bone. It was a sue-worthy attack but she reassured me today that the cat was only doing what cats do. "She's descended from Tigers."

That tiger wasn't afraid to bite the hand or foot that fed her. When she'd had enough of cuddling and head rubbing, she'd turn without warning and take a chunk out of my hand. Sometimes in the middle of the night as she slept curled up on my feet, she'd suddenly get a taste for human flesh. I have the scars to prove it.

Once when I took a vacation D., a college friend, house & cat sat for me. I hadn't even made it through security when I got a call from D. I heard a most miserable caterwauling in the background. I thought the cat was dying. Turned out it was only 6ft tall 200lb D. being cornered by my 12lb fur ball protecting her turf. He was in for a week from hell. Using the laundry basket lid for a shield, and armed with a squirt bottle, the poor man had to sleep on the couch for days. It was hard to get people to feed her when I had to travel, but I have many brave and stalwart friends who risked life and limb to feed her.

My older sister D. pampered Woojnick, unbelievably. She made sure she got the best grooming and care ever. Woojnick was so attuned attuned to her comings and goings. Girl waited by the door because she knew D. would scoop her up and toss her up in the air as soon as D. entered. It was D's shoulder on which she loved to perch, and whose neck she draped herself around, like a stole.

Eventually Woojnick moved back to Florida and once again became Girl. She spent the last five years of her life in tropical splendor. She had a wonderful life. She had her own bed and special toys. She liked to be hand fed water from the bathroom sink. She loved watching people take showers and do their bathroom business. She had her own water fountain which she liked to sit next to and stick her head in the flow. A chiken bone tied to a string drove her into mad paroxysms of joy. She loved tuna fish and dried bonito and especially dried salted cod. Oh yes, she also LOVED ice-cream.

Two days ago, my sister, G. took Girl/Woojnick to the beach to help ease the transition. Today before the last trip to the vet, Woojnick got her very own ice-cream cone--vanilla. G. said Woojnick-Girl licked it with enthusiasm she hadn't been able to muster for weeks.

I am sad to see Woojnick go but grateful for the joy and laughter and everything in between. Mostly I am grateful to her because many years ago when she was just a baby, she saved G.'s life. G had fallen asleep and forgotten that she'd left a pot on the stove. Neighbors had already alerted the fire-department but in the meantime, it was Dusty-Winona-Girl-Woojnick- who nudged G awake. When the firefighters came, they so scared Wooj that she tried to attack them. That's OUR Woojnick!

As I write this I am travelling for work so I don't have any pictures of her to put up today. I will update the post in a few days with some of my favourite Woojnick pix!

MOURNING FOR WOOJNICK

Nine nights may be the Jamaican version of sitting Shiva. When a person dies, we celebrate their lives for nine nights before we bury them. Woojnick wasn't a human person but she was full of life and spirit and personality. When I was little my mom told me that cats don't go to heaven because they don't have souls. I beg to differ. So tonight and for the next nine nights, I celebrate you Woojnick Girl cat.

Peek-a-Boo Pissing

Do the people who design public restroom stalls ever use them? I am guessing that they don't because how could they allow such ridiculouly large gaps between the doors and the support posts of the stalls? There is nothing more disconcerting than being in a stall and being able to see out like it was some kind of "look-out" point. And if I can look out, folks can look in. This is troubling for women's bathrooms because usually there is a long line of women waiting. I know that when I am on the outside I can see in--even if it is a slivered view. I don't want anyone to see a sliver of my ass squatting!
One of the most egregious toilet stalls I have come across yet is one Terminal 1 of the Los Angeles International airport. It's the handicap stall immediately to the left as you enter. I like using the handicap stall because naturally when I am at the airport I have luggage and I hate squeezing myself and my bags into a tiny stall while trying to avoid rubbing up against the dirty toilet. But the trade-off is that I end up basically pissing in public because the distance between the edge of the door to the jamb is at least an inch. Is this a toilet or the Delaware Water Gap? Sometimes I have a bag that I can use to block the free peep show!

(These pictures are not from the LAX toilet)

A not so obvious leap

Does this mean that I am actually a day older than I would have been in a non-leap year?

"An Admirer Finds you Charming"

Well I should hope so!
I like the turns of phrases one finds in Fortune Cookies.
I try to imagine the life and work conditions of the people who come up with the little gems and bromides.

Do they work from home in their pajamas?
Do they write the fortunes on little slips of papers?
Does the cookie baker employ the writer or is he or she a free-lancer?
Does the factory outsource the writing work?
If the person works at the factory, do they eat a lot of fortune cookies? (and if so do they eat them before they get folded into that neat little shape?
How does this person get paid? Is it per fortune? And how much per?

Hmmmm.. and most curious...how do they come up with the lottery numbers they put on there?

The Name Game

I saw this Osama/Obama name (and even picture) muck up coming from a mile away. (see post below). A blind man could have seen it coming and the networks should have had a meeting about if after the first time anybody, anywhere made the slip. But that's not what is so insidious.
Since Obama began running, I've heard average folks on radio and TV during "man on the street interviews" say things that remind me that there is always something deeper going on here more than a simple slip of the tongue. Take this example(roughly adapted here) from a nice well meaning white lady in WI on some NPR show: "Obama or whatever his name is." Beeyatch, you know his name!
Think about it...How much stranger is the name Obama than say the name of that southern bastion of tolerance ALABAMA? As for his first name, Barack, certainly some Americans HAVE to be familiar with the former Israeli PM Ehud Barach. Sure the spelling is different but since Hebrew and Arabic are BOTH Semetic Languages, (Gasp!) guess what? The names are the same.
But here we go again. American intolerance rearing it's ugly, name-mangling head like the tar pools that bubble up from underground along Wilshire Boulevard. You never know where it's going to happen but you are never surprised! Remember when Papa Bush warned during his run at the White House that his opponent certainly couldn't be presidential with a name like Tsongas!
Jesus, people! There are many European ethnics folks in this country with names full of Z's and C's and K's back to back yet no one bats an eyelash. So how come a brother with a nice phonetic name rolls up and all hell breaks loose?
A Vietnamese friend of mine once posted an FAQ on the door of her office. Among the answers on the list of FAQs were the following two items...
a simple pronunciation key to her name and the following admonition:

NO, you may not call me Jane or Ann or any other simpering Anglo* name (*my addition)just because you find them easier to pronounce..

"You go girl!" I said. Unlike many folks she didn't adopt an "American" name. I really feel bad that some people feel that they have to do that. Bahram becomes "Bob" or Pushpinder become Paul. I do understand the assimilation pressure and I am sure some folks get tired of correcting people over and over and over again! Sadly though, I think this only encourages those whose natural tendency might be to simply just negate people by trampling over their names. I don't believe that it's always just "honest" mistakes, when people muck up the names of other. I think it is an attempt, whether explicit or implicit, to rob people of their very identity and culture, to belittle and minimise them. I especially abhor the presumptuousness of those who would, out of their great kindness, bestow upon others, "convenient" nicknames because "honey I can't say your name right!" It tells me a lot about a person when they do not take the simple effort and time to learn how to say another person's name correctly. It's a big "ef" you! To those people I sing my anthem--Beyonce's hit song--"say my name, say my name." And if you can't, F-U too!

You say Osama, I Say Obama..Let's call the whole Thing Off

Sure it was an "honest" mistake when the MSNBC graphics person just happened to put up a picture of Osama Bin Laden instead of Barack Obama during yesterday's "Hardball with Chris Matthews." It is the same kind of honest mistake that happened some years ago when an on-air commentator's name was conveniently and erroneously spelled with and extra G in the middle, live on MSNBC. Sure, if your name is Douglas, an extra "G" in the middle isn't a big problem. But just imagine if you were named after some African country, like Niger--now famous for the non-existent yellow cake uranium and aluminium tubes. Yes. That country. Yes. That extra G actually made it on air.
Now if I were the person who had typed up that name and saw the extra "G", that would have given me pause. Sure I know that some African-American folks have taken very creative license with their children's names(Lexus, Nokia,Corolla and even Ureena). But surely even if I thought that someone's mamma was crazy enough to name their kid that, I would have just decided to err on the side of caution and forego the extra "G" .
Certainly there can be no conspiracy to link good brother Obama with bad brother Osama at NBC or any other powerful media conglomerate? Can there?
Have some compassion! Put yourself in the graphic guy's shoes: All them brothers look alike. Everybody's at risk. Mitt "misspoke." Heck, even Ted Kennedy, who endorsed Brother B.O. can't seem to tell him apart from the Saudi Satan!
See it for yourself.

"I hang with brothers, JSYK"

...says my Indian friend, after making some generalised comments about black folk. He and I haven't seen each other for quite some time. We've been friends since grad school in the early to mid 1990s. We talk politics and generally serve as an echo-chamber for each other's similar beliefs. Our politics are shaped by our shared immigrant experience and the fact that I might be 1/16th Bengali(though I don't know if the same "one drop of blood" rule applies when it comes to measuring Indianess). We argue over the $12 bottle of water on the bil: He thinks I am cheap and I think he's crazy for thinking that it is EVER OK to Pay $12 for Nordic glacier water. Yeah it's cold and wet and crisp and the bottle is nice but $12? But I digress.
What gets me is his statement that Black folks are no longer at the top of their creative game. He says, Black people have not produced anything in 30 years(he means in the musical/culture field). I am, of course rather disbelieving. Whither the hip popular American culture without black folk? Just the other day my white of white boss says: "this is how we roll!" Yes I know this is not a great achievement in terms of physics or economics, but perhaps it is! But let me not digress. After this great initial pronouncement, he continues to say... "I hang with brothers." I reply sarcastically, a la chris rock: "whaddya want? a lock of my nappy hair?" I suppose now people can feel justified and validated in expressing their "opinions" about black folk in mixed company as long as they trot out their street "creds", i.e. that "they hang with brothers." JSYK*
What the hell?!???
(just so you know.)

Greasy Glasses

My latest spectacles are about to drive me insane. I've been wearing glasses since 1985. They are pesky but generally I have been happy with them. But ever since I got the anti-glare film, I've been driven to the brink of insanity. One brush of my eyelash, a slight touch of a finger and it's blur-ville. They are hard to clean! I know I am not supposed to do it but I just end up washing the lens with dish soap. And of course there's always a bit of soap caught on the hinge and as I dry them they just smear across the lens and I have to start over again.
What an eyesore it's all become.

Rivalry is fun

Double Bubble Ballot Trouble

I been bamboozled. I been took. I been poll-taxed and butterflied. It's not as if I were some senior citizen voting in Palm Beach County, FL, circa November 2000. I am a young-ish college educated professional, but here I am, another citizen, disenfranchised by the ballot. On Super Tuesday, I discovered that I too was among many LA County voters who had been struck by the Democratic Ballot "Double Bubble" Trouble.

As a non-partisan voter, in CA, the Democratic party allowed us non-Dems to vote in their primary. As a permanent absentee voter, I requested the Democratic ballot, filled it out and mailed it back before the end of January--long before Super Tuesday. That should have been the end of it--ballot received, vote counted. WRONG!
The geniuses who designed the DEMOCRATIC ballot for non partisans added an extra "bubble" that had to be filled in order to designate that the voter wanted to vote for the democratic Party. (Duh--like, isn't that obviously my intent since I asked for the Democratic ballot?
Further, the machines that count the ballots are programmed to reject the ballot if the little party bubble isn't filled out.
Here's the salt in the wound. The ballot requests that we VOTE for ONE of either
AMERICAN INDEPENDENT and DEMOCRATIC PARTY, BUT only the Democratic party has a bubble option.
Hunh? you say? Confused? yeah. I feel you!
The ballot designers set us up to be disenfranchised with their Mandatory, Fatal false choice. Did they note that this bubble was MANDATORY ANYWHERE on this ballot? NO!
Did they ask themselves, WHY are we making people indicated they are voting for the Democratic Party when the Ballot only has Democratic Names on it?
Should it not be self evident that when a non-partisan asks for a democratic ballot that the voter INTENDS to vote for the Democratic slate? Hmmm. I suppose they needed the "Anvil of the Obvious" to drop on their genius heads to figure that out. Instead they decide to Screw the people who are trying to help them out by giving them their votes! It's like someone inviting you to their party and insulting you! Maybe next time I will decline their invitation and stay at may own non-party. See how they like that!
I paid $95 fee to became a citizen of this country so I could vote and have my voice heard. I will be damned if my vote doesn't count. I will get my money's worth. Well maybe I have. This ballot was not worth the paper it was written on. This is a first world country. Can they not figure out how to make a simple, clear, effective ballot?
Anvil moment here: What if somebody out there, does not want folk to vote?

Super Tuesday-Obama Rama continues

Yes we can.
If you can not see the video check out the original website
www.dipdive.com

Obama and the Superbowl

I screamed like a Banshee on Sunday. I hollered and hooted and whistled at the UCLA Women for Obama rally. I saw Oprah who said she is voting for Obama because he is BRILLIANT. Caroline Kennedy was there. Maria Shriver, as usual left her husband (Gov. Schwarzenegger) in the dust with her endorsement of My Man, Barack! Michelle Obama spoke. She was the star. I particularly loved the fact that she told the crowd that she and Obama were onlyl just 3 years out of paying off their student loans. That's MY life. And that why I am voting for him. He is not some trust fund baby with a sense of entitlement. He knows he better WORK and work for US!

And then I went home and screamed like hell to cheer on the underdog NY Giants in their bid to win the superbowl over the favoured and annointed NE Patriots. Not that I hate the Pats but really they have won three times already. There was a sense of inevitability and they just didn't win. I feel like Obama is the NY Giants trying to beat those who feel entitled because of their past victories!
Go Giants and Go Obama!

Women for Obama

January 31

Today is the official end of the "new" year. It's over. No more Christmas references. No more "Happy New Year" (unless it's the Lunar New Year). It's the day that marks the beginning of the year slip sliding away back into old habits, the ones that were temporarily staved off by the new year resolutions. It's the day you give up the ghost of the last resolution. Throw in the towel. Quit the gym. And while you're at it, quit the year since time flies so fast, by the time February ends, you might as well get ready for the next year. Pessimistic? Maybe. Realistic? Yes.

WONK 2: Obama vs Clinton in NH

What if the polls in New Hampshire weren't wrong? What if the people voted but their votes weren't counted? Can't happen you say? Really? You sure about that? How come no one is asking? Why is everyone so quick to blame the polls. Have we forgoten 2000 and 2004 already? Amnesia over action I suppose.
Remember 2004 Ohio? That's right how can you remember something that never really got properly reported.

Wonk

I am not a wonk. I don't know what a wonk is. I know it has something to do with politics and people who yammer on incessantly about politics and what not. I suppose i could look it up in the dictionary or "google" it. Remember when you looked things up? now you just google it with no guarantee that the hits you get are right.
But my point isn't about google or wonks today. it's about how in the last week since IA and NH, the pundits have been shocked, awed, embarrassed. they talk about upset victories. is it just me or do these people live in a universe of their own making and when the real world does what the real world does they act as if the universe is out of balance? is it just me? so they predicted this and predicted that. so what. the wonks and pundits and media whores live in a very closed dinner-party circuit. I am sure russert and gregory and gibson and hume and that hardball guy along with the pollsters and voter psychology expert, all sit around with their highball glasses, ice tinkling and speak contentedly of their universerse. well since none of us on the outside are there, how they heck do they figure they can tell what's going on? And the pollsters? well. they call the same lot of old folks with their landbased phones.
keep that up folks! but don't be surprised when the outcomes you predict have no bearing on reality.