We are currently a nation divided.
I guess that's not news, really. We have been divided for a while. I can't remember the date, or the time, or the exact cause, but I know with 100% certainty that a divide arose.
We lost America, the Beautiful and became Democrats vs. Republicans.
And I get it, to a point. There are serious differences.
One says "trickle down" and the other says the trickle stops at the top.
One says "healthcare for all" and the other screams socialism.
One says "pro life" and the other says "pro choice".
It started as a divide. It is now a chasm.
But there is one area that I am particularly disheartened to note. It seems we are now divided, by party, concerning the veracity of women who come forward to tell their experiences of sexual abuse. Just yesterday our president openly mocked Dr. Christine Blasey Ford's testimony to the Senate. He began by pointing out that she did not remember the exact date. And to crescendoing cheers and applause at one of his "rallies", he continued to ridicule her lapses in detail. He repeated over and over "I don't know" as if it was the punchline of a joke, and not the achingly wrenching answer given by a woman reliving a trauma that has haunted her to the extent that she installed two entrances to her home to ensure there would always be a way out.
Can we truly not all agree that Dr. Christine Blasey Ford should not be ridiculed? Is that too much to ask? It's a very narrow standard. One woman. One morning's worth of attestations. Left alone.
But apparently it's too much for our president. After a national avalanche of #MeToo's, and seventeen women coming forward to accuse him personally of sexual crimes and misdemeanors, he's more worried about the boys and the men who might potentially be falsely accused than he is about the women who have survived assault. He's concerned about men being treated unfairly. Repeat that last sentence to yourself, slowly.
This same man took out full page ads in the New York Times in 1989 to demand the reinstatement of the death penalty so that the young black/latino men accused of raping a woman in Central Park could be executed. When their convictions were vacated due to DNA evidence and the CONFESSION of a serial rapist, Trump did not back down. He did not apologize. He had a story and he stuck to it. He was not so concerned about false accusations back then. Especially if they didn't impact white men.
That was then.
This is now.
I keep hearing that our nation is "having a moment". Dear god I sincerely hope that this is not just a fleeting moment. I hope that this is the beginning of a new era, one in which women stop feeling guilty and stop being made to feel guilty for the reprehensible behavior of some men. I hope it is a new era, one in which women feel they can come forward and unburden themselves of traumas without being further humiliated by those with power.
I hope we are entering an era of compassion.
And I hope that being able to exhibit and extend compassion does not rely on one's political party.
Wednesday, October 3, 2018
Friday, August 31, 2018
Right Now
What is the definition of the word "best"?
Dave and I were at dinner tonight. We were dining al fresco (albeit under cover) in a thunder and lightning storm in Milan. Fantastic. If you can manage to arrange that, I highly recommend it.
Anyway, our waiter comes to the table to take our drink order. Dave orders a glass of chianti. I order a glass of chardonnay (not your typical order in Italy). Dave says to me, "Say in Italian that you're going to drink the whole bottle!" The waiter smiles. I say, "I don't know how to say all that, but I can say bevo la bottiglia..." (I drink the bottle) and I look at the waiter. He smiles this gigantic smile and says, "tutta!" Which means all.
Thereby completing two tasks at once: the waiter knows I can speak a limited amount of Italian, and he knows to ask if I'd like a second (and third...) glass of wine. And it makes our dinner so much more fun because now the waiter is trying to speak Italian to me, and I can't really understand most of what he's saying but I can figure out just enough to keep the conversation going. Our waiter has family from New Jersey, by the way, but he's never been there and he has no interest in going to New York. He likes Milan. And he knows some English because he taught himself and he works with people who speak English. I think. That's how I interpreted what he said.
Fast-forward to an hour (and only ONE glass of wine, thank you very much) later. We have finished our pizzas (Dave ordered a prosciutto and funghi pizza--ham and mushroom, and I ordered a vegetarian pizza--melanzana and zucchini. I say, "I seriously think that was the best pizza I've ever had!" And thus starts a conversation regarding the definition of "best".
I initially offer that the word best implies that there has never been a better one. Seems logical. Superlatives and all that.
Dave suggests that it is a relative term. He thinks that perhaps it means the "most" of something in that particular moment. Not necessarily ever. Apples and oranges and all that.
Which is an interesting idea (to me), because what you can't remember--does it count? It happened. You know it did. But if you can't remember the details, if it's just sort of a fuzzy gray image, can it really have been the very best? Maybe it was at the time. And now it's just back there in your memories. You remember that you thought it was the best at one time, but you can't remember why. So it was the best back then. At that moment, in that situation.
But is now better than then? CAN now be better than then, if now and then have different circumstances?
But right now. Here in Milan. At this table. With the man of my dreams. With this waiter teaching me how to say, "I drink the whole bottle." Lightning and thunder creating a spectacular ambiance. Pizza with eggplant and zucchini and just the right amount of the right cheese and not too much sauce and the perfect, crunchy crust... I know exactly why this is the best pizza I've ever had.
Dave and I were at dinner tonight. We were dining al fresco (albeit under cover) in a thunder and lightning storm in Milan. Fantastic. If you can manage to arrange that, I highly recommend it.
Anyway, our waiter comes to the table to take our drink order. Dave orders a glass of chianti. I order a glass of chardonnay (not your typical order in Italy). Dave says to me, "Say in Italian that you're going to drink the whole bottle!" The waiter smiles. I say, "I don't know how to say all that, but I can say bevo la bottiglia..." (I drink the bottle) and I look at the waiter. He smiles this gigantic smile and says, "tutta!" Which means all.
Thereby completing two tasks at once: the waiter knows I can speak a limited amount of Italian, and he knows to ask if I'd like a second (and third...) glass of wine. And it makes our dinner so much more fun because now the waiter is trying to speak Italian to me, and I can't really understand most of what he's saying but I can figure out just enough to keep the conversation going. Our waiter has family from New Jersey, by the way, but he's never been there and he has no interest in going to New York. He likes Milan. And he knows some English because he taught himself and he works with people who speak English. I think. That's how I interpreted what he said.
Fast-forward to an hour (and only ONE glass of wine, thank you very much) later. We have finished our pizzas (Dave ordered a prosciutto and funghi pizza--ham and mushroom, and I ordered a vegetarian pizza--melanzana and zucchini. I say, "I seriously think that was the best pizza I've ever had!" And thus starts a conversation regarding the definition of "best".
I initially offer that the word best implies that there has never been a better one. Seems logical. Superlatives and all that.
Dave suggests that it is a relative term. He thinks that perhaps it means the "most" of something in that particular moment. Not necessarily ever. Apples and oranges and all that.
Which is an interesting idea (to me), because what you can't remember--does it count? It happened. You know it did. But if you can't remember the details, if it's just sort of a fuzzy gray image, can it really have been the very best? Maybe it was at the time. And now it's just back there in your memories. You remember that you thought it was the best at one time, but you can't remember why. So it was the best back then. At that moment, in that situation.
But is now better than then? CAN now be better than then, if now and then have different circumstances?
But right now. Here in Milan. At this table. With the man of my dreams. With this waiter teaching me how to say, "I drink the whole bottle." Lightning and thunder creating a spectacular ambiance. Pizza with eggplant and zucchini and just the right amount of the right cheese and not too much sauce and the perfect, crunchy crust... I know exactly why this is the best pizza I've ever had.
Una Domanda (a question)
Okay, maybe more than one...
We've been in Milan for about 36 hours. We have, in those short 36 hours, caught an express train to the city center, wound our way through the streets to find our hotel, wandered the streets to explore, visited the Scienza museum (to see the Leonardo da Vinci models made from his sketches), stopped at a tiny cafe and had cappuccini and a biscotto, and visited the Milan Cathedral's rooftop.
Just for fun, here's a snapshot of my brain during 36 hours of Milan:
Is the express train actually faster than the regular train, speed-wise, or does it just not stop at as many stations? Does AppleDirections have ALL of the little alleys and walkways in a city like Milan, or just the streets that a car can fit down--because there are a LOT of alleys that no car would be able to drive, but they are ideal for walking? Why keep cobblestones on some streets but not on others? Do people actually still use bidets, and if yes, why? Do Italian restaurants give free shots of limoncello and meloncello to everyone, or just us (this has happened more than once to us)? What fruit CAN'T you ferment, and who had the unhappy task of figuring that out? What is the gelateria to people ratio in Milan? Does smoking cause as much disease in Europeans, or are they so relaxed that the statistics are completely different? How does one person (daVinci) think of so many ideas, in such detail, before any of them are even general concepts? Was daVinci a product of his time, or way ahead of his time? What could he have accomplished if he lived in a different era? Do you leave a tip in a cafe if you've sat down at a table just to have coffee? Do you tip if there is a "cuperto" (cover charge) on the bill? How do you build a cathedral (I realize that's a broad question, but come on... how DO you build a cathedral? Where do you even start?) How did the builders get the statues, which I'm sure weigh hundreds of pounds if not thousands, up to their perches? How many carvers did it take to carve all the carved things on the cathedral? Did one carver do an entire row of flowers (see picture below), or was it like an assembly line, with each carver doing his part? Is carver the correct term, or is it chiseler or sculptor? How do you replace a broken part that's way high up in the spires? How do you replace a part if it's breaking and it's load-bearing? How did people first figure out that the ugly rock is really marble if you polish it? What prompted someone to polish the rock in the first place? How did they transport literal tons of huge marble chunks hundreds/thousands of miles in the 1200's? How do you get giant sheets of marble off of a mountain? If you go up on the Cathedral ascensore (elevator), why does the elevator operator have to check your ticket for you to come down--I mean, you got up there, you have to come down, right? Does eating gelato while you are walking affect your perception of time and space, because it seems like you can go farther, faster while eating gelato? Is an Aperol spritz the ideal evening drink regardless of anything?
Sorry about that. My mind is a cluttered place.
And that's a lot of questions. I'm a curious person. I don't ever want to not be a curious person. Curiosity, to me, is a sign of an engaged mind. Engaged minds, to me, indicate life. Clearly I am full of life. Just as an aside, here's how the idea for this particular blog entry came to mind:
I was thinking to myself, as we got off the ascensore at the Cathedral, why the attendant had to check our ticket to go down when clearly we had gotten up in the first place? And by the time we had exited the elevator I had answered my own question: you don't get to ride the elevator down unless you rode the elevator up (as opposed to walking the stairs up). Which caused me to think, maybe don't ask all my questions out loud initially, because if I try, I think maybe I can sometimes figure out the answers.
So moral of the story (or the blog): Give yourself a chance to figure things out before you toss the questions out into the universe.
Taking my own advice, it turns out I didn't need to ask all of those questions. I've already solved the last one. Yes, the Aperol spritz IS the ideal evening drink regardless of anything.
(This is a snapshot from when we went to the top of the cathedral in Milan. For perspective, look in the middle of the picture at the tiny blotch of turquoise. That's a person. That's how immense this building is. And look at the detail. How DID they build this?)
We've been in Milan for about 36 hours. We have, in those short 36 hours, caught an express train to the city center, wound our way through the streets to find our hotel, wandered the streets to explore, visited the Scienza museum (to see the Leonardo da Vinci models made from his sketches), stopped at a tiny cafe and had cappuccini and a biscotto, and visited the Milan Cathedral's rooftop.
Just for fun, here's a snapshot of my brain during 36 hours of Milan:
Is the express train actually faster than the regular train, speed-wise, or does it just not stop at as many stations? Does AppleDirections have ALL of the little alleys and walkways in a city like Milan, or just the streets that a car can fit down--because there are a LOT of alleys that no car would be able to drive, but they are ideal for walking? Why keep cobblestones on some streets but not on others? Do people actually still use bidets, and if yes, why? Do Italian restaurants give free shots of limoncello and meloncello to everyone, or just us (this has happened more than once to us)? What fruit CAN'T you ferment, and who had the unhappy task of figuring that out? What is the gelateria to people ratio in Milan? Does smoking cause as much disease in Europeans, or are they so relaxed that the statistics are completely different? How does one person (daVinci) think of so many ideas, in such detail, before any of them are even general concepts? Was daVinci a product of his time, or way ahead of his time? What could he have accomplished if he lived in a different era? Do you leave a tip in a cafe if you've sat down at a table just to have coffee? Do you tip if there is a "cuperto" (cover charge) on the bill? How do you build a cathedral (I realize that's a broad question, but come on... how DO you build a cathedral? Where do you even start?) How did the builders get the statues, which I'm sure weigh hundreds of pounds if not thousands, up to their perches? How many carvers did it take to carve all the carved things on the cathedral? Did one carver do an entire row of flowers (see picture below), or was it like an assembly line, with each carver doing his part? Is carver the correct term, or is it chiseler or sculptor? How do you replace a broken part that's way high up in the spires? How do you replace a part if it's breaking and it's load-bearing? How did people first figure out that the ugly rock is really marble if you polish it? What prompted someone to polish the rock in the first place? How did they transport literal tons of huge marble chunks hundreds/thousands of miles in the 1200's? How do you get giant sheets of marble off of a mountain? If you go up on the Cathedral ascensore (elevator), why does the elevator operator have to check your ticket for you to come down--I mean, you got up there, you have to come down, right? Does eating gelato while you are walking affect your perception of time and space, because it seems like you can go farther, faster while eating gelato? Is an Aperol spritz the ideal evening drink regardless of anything?
Sorry about that. My mind is a cluttered place.
And that's a lot of questions. I'm a curious person. I don't ever want to not be a curious person. Curiosity, to me, is a sign of an engaged mind. Engaged minds, to me, indicate life. Clearly I am full of life. Just as an aside, here's how the idea for this particular blog entry came to mind:
I was thinking to myself, as we got off the ascensore at the Cathedral, why the attendant had to check our ticket to go down when clearly we had gotten up in the first place? And by the time we had exited the elevator I had answered my own question: you don't get to ride the elevator down unless you rode the elevator up (as opposed to walking the stairs up). Which caused me to think, maybe don't ask all my questions out loud initially, because if I try, I think maybe I can sometimes figure out the answers.
So moral of the story (or the blog): Give yourself a chance to figure things out before you toss the questions out into the universe.
Taking my own advice, it turns out I didn't need to ask all of those questions. I've already solved the last one. Yes, the Aperol spritz IS the ideal evening drink regardless of anything.
Monday, August 13, 2018
Get off my lawn VS Why are you on my lawn in the first place?
When did I get old?
And just stop right there, missy, because the correct response to that question should involve no thought whatsoever on your part but rather a vigorously delivered, "You're not even close to old!"
Okay, now that we've got that out of the way.
When did I get old, by which I mean when did I start getting annoyed by little things that I used to be able to shake off? I feel a little like I might be a good candidate to stand outside my house and yell "Get off my lawn" to the school kids walking home.
Generally speaking I think I'm pretty zen. Or I used to be. I could let things go. Or, more accurately, I really didn't notice the things that would fall into the category of "just let it go".
Repetitive noises? What noises?
People pulling their checkbooks (CHECKBOOKS?!) out to pay only after all their groceries have been bagged? It's cool. I'm not in a hurry.
You're going to deliver my newspaper to the very bottom of my driveway every morning, rain or shine? Ok, I guess. I don't quite understand why you used to throw the paper on my porch until one seemingly random day when you decided you weren't going to anymore, but I can adjust.
That used to be me. Now, I'm more like...
Oh dear god how can a dog bark that much and not get hoarse? Seriously, how does it even have any bark left? And come on, man, can you not hear your dog?
Wait, you're paying with a CHECK? Do stores even take checks anymore? And you're going to make everyone wait while you enter the amount into your check register and do that math to get your new balance? Two words for you: debit card.
Fold the paper. Rubber band it. Drive around. Throw papers on porch. PORCH. Is that not part of the job description anymore? Or now does it just read, "And then throw the paper anywhere on the customer's property. They'll find it if they really want to."
See what I mean? Can't you just picture me yelling, "Get off my lawn!"?
So is it just age? When you're over 50 does everything just morph from tolerable to unbearable?
That was my thinking for a while, but I've reconsidered. And I have the answer (for me, anyway--probably not for you). The answer is: create an explanation that does not annoy me.
I like to write, so this is pretty fun for me. So when these annoying things happen, after hurling expletives and raising my voice and asking rhetorical questions--
"oh my god dog shut the F up! you've been barking for half an hour straight--do you know how little effort it would take for me to wrap a vicodin in a piece of ham and huck it over the fence?" (all of this is in my head, by the way--I would never actually curse or yell at a dog and I probably would not wrap vicodin in ham and throw it over the fence)
--then I write a back-story in my head that explains away the situation in a manner that allows me to be ok with the annoying part. So, for example, in the case of the dog that belongs to the people behind us who like to leave it alone outside for hours on end when they go to church on Sundays, I might think to myself, "I bet that dog is barking out of instinct just to get some attention and is probably pretty tired of barking and would really love a vicodin." No, I'm kidding. I really have never done that. I promise.
Let me give a different example. So the little old lady who likes to write checks at the supermarket while telling the checker all about her week, all the while writing slowly and occasionally stopping writing altogether to wave her pen and make a point--yes, she makes the line go very slowly, there's no escaping that. But then I think that maybe, just maybe, she doesn't have anyone at home to talk to. Maybe she's all by herself most of the time, with the TV on for company. Her kids and grandkids don't live in town, and going to the store and seeing people and chatting is a high point in her day. And maybe she just can't remember a PIN number for her ATM card, so she writes checks. It's hard to be mad at that. I may be completely wrong and she's just a crazy woman who doesn't care how many people are standing behind her. But given the fact that I don't know the facts, I can make up my own set of facts and then it's not that hard to have a little empathy for her.
Since I know you are thinking to yourself that I did not satisfactorily explain how I can ignore the neighbor's dog (I admit I haven't figured that one out yet), let me explain how I have come to grips with the newspaper at the bottom of our driveway. The carrier used to throw it on our porch. That stopped without warning and with no explanation. Annoying, yes. Lazy? Possibly. But, I know it's a married couple who delivers our paper (they give their customers a little Christmas card every year). Delivering newspapers cannot possibly pay the cost of living for a couple, much less a family. Maybe, just maybe, they added more houses to their route to try to increase their income. To get through them all, maybe they don't stop at each house to throw the paper onto the porch. Maybe they have to continue driving and just throw onto the driveway to get all the way through by the end of the delivery window, at which point it's only 7am and they probably both have a second job to go to. This may or may not be true. But again, I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt in the absence of facts. They are a couple delivering newspapers at 4:30am (possibly in a beat up old Chevy that's barely running). Any way you cut it, that is not an easy life.
Yes, I get more easily annoyed than I used to. But I think that's on me, not on the world. I'm sure I do things that annoy people. I can name things that I do that I am positive are annoying, because frankly I annoy myself when I do them. I try hard to not do them. Sometimes it works. Sometimes not. So the next time I cut you off mid-sentence and don't let you finish your thought, be kind as you invent why it is that I do that. I don't have to be an arrogant jerk who only likes to hear her own voice (though that does sound like a fun story that could get better and better the more you let me interrupt you). It could be that I'm so damn excited about what you're saying that I just can't wait to tell you my thoughts (not quite as exciting as the previous explanation, but it makes me look good so it'll do).
I'm not 25 anymore. I cannot, as Taylor Swift would have me, "Shake it off. Shake it off. Sh Sh shake it off."
But I can, using my imagination, write it off.
And just stop right there, missy, because the correct response to that question should involve no thought whatsoever on your part but rather a vigorously delivered, "You're not even close to old!"
Okay, now that we've got that out of the way.
When did I get old, by which I mean when did I start getting annoyed by little things that I used to be able to shake off? I feel a little like I might be a good candidate to stand outside my house and yell "Get off my lawn" to the school kids walking home.
Generally speaking I think I'm pretty zen. Or I used to be. I could let things go. Or, more accurately, I really didn't notice the things that would fall into the category of "just let it go".
Repetitive noises? What noises?
People pulling their checkbooks (CHECKBOOKS?!) out to pay only after all their groceries have been bagged? It's cool. I'm not in a hurry.
You're going to deliver my newspaper to the very bottom of my driveway every morning, rain or shine? Ok, I guess. I don't quite understand why you used to throw the paper on my porch until one seemingly random day when you decided you weren't going to anymore, but I can adjust.
That used to be me. Now, I'm more like...
Oh dear god how can a dog bark that much and not get hoarse? Seriously, how does it even have any bark left? And come on, man, can you not hear your dog?
Wait, you're paying with a CHECK? Do stores even take checks anymore? And you're going to make everyone wait while you enter the amount into your check register and do that math to get your new balance? Two words for you: debit card.
Fold the paper. Rubber band it. Drive around. Throw papers on porch. PORCH. Is that not part of the job description anymore? Or now does it just read, "And then throw the paper anywhere on the customer's property. They'll find it if they really want to."
See what I mean? Can't you just picture me yelling, "Get off my lawn!"?
So is it just age? When you're over 50 does everything just morph from tolerable to unbearable?
That was my thinking for a while, but I've reconsidered. And I have the answer (for me, anyway--probably not for you). The answer is: create an explanation that does not annoy me.
I like to write, so this is pretty fun for me. So when these annoying things happen, after hurling expletives and raising my voice and asking rhetorical questions--
"oh my god dog shut the F up! you've been barking for half an hour straight--do you know how little effort it would take for me to wrap a vicodin in a piece of ham and huck it over the fence?" (all of this is in my head, by the way--I would never actually curse or yell at a dog and I probably would not wrap vicodin in ham and throw it over the fence)
--then I write a back-story in my head that explains away the situation in a manner that allows me to be ok with the annoying part. So, for example, in the case of the dog that belongs to the people behind us who like to leave it alone outside for hours on end when they go to church on Sundays, I might think to myself, "I bet that dog is barking out of instinct just to get some attention and is probably pretty tired of barking and would really love a vicodin." No, I'm kidding. I really have never done that. I promise.
Let me give a different example. So the little old lady who likes to write checks at the supermarket while telling the checker all about her week, all the while writing slowly and occasionally stopping writing altogether to wave her pen and make a point--yes, she makes the line go very slowly, there's no escaping that. But then I think that maybe, just maybe, she doesn't have anyone at home to talk to. Maybe she's all by herself most of the time, with the TV on for company. Her kids and grandkids don't live in town, and going to the store and seeing people and chatting is a high point in her day. And maybe she just can't remember a PIN number for her ATM card, so she writes checks. It's hard to be mad at that. I may be completely wrong and she's just a crazy woman who doesn't care how many people are standing behind her. But given the fact that I don't know the facts, I can make up my own set of facts and then it's not that hard to have a little empathy for her.
Since I know you are thinking to yourself that I did not satisfactorily explain how I can ignore the neighbor's dog (I admit I haven't figured that one out yet), let me explain how I have come to grips with the newspaper at the bottom of our driveway. The carrier used to throw it on our porch. That stopped without warning and with no explanation. Annoying, yes. Lazy? Possibly. But, I know it's a married couple who delivers our paper (they give their customers a little Christmas card every year). Delivering newspapers cannot possibly pay the cost of living for a couple, much less a family. Maybe, just maybe, they added more houses to their route to try to increase their income. To get through them all, maybe they don't stop at each house to throw the paper onto the porch. Maybe they have to continue driving and just throw onto the driveway to get all the way through by the end of the delivery window, at which point it's only 7am and they probably both have a second job to go to. This may or may not be true. But again, I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt in the absence of facts. They are a couple delivering newspapers at 4:30am (possibly in a beat up old Chevy that's barely running). Any way you cut it, that is not an easy life.
Yes, I get more easily annoyed than I used to. But I think that's on me, not on the world. I'm sure I do things that annoy people. I can name things that I do that I am positive are annoying, because frankly I annoy myself when I do them. I try hard to not do them. Sometimes it works. Sometimes not. So the next time I cut you off mid-sentence and don't let you finish your thought, be kind as you invent why it is that I do that. I don't have to be an arrogant jerk who only likes to hear her own voice (though that does sound like a fun story that could get better and better the more you let me interrupt you). It could be that I'm so damn excited about what you're saying that I just can't wait to tell you my thoughts (not quite as exciting as the previous explanation, but it makes me look good so it'll do).
I'm not 25 anymore. I cannot, as Taylor Swift would have me, "Shake it off. Shake it off. Sh Sh shake it off."
But I can, using my imagination, write it off.
Sunday, August 12, 2018
The Burdensome Life of the Asterisk
This blog is not about Trump (***).
Poor asterisk.
It looks so light-hearted and joyful--all snowflake shaped and seeming like it should be equally useful both as punctuation and Christmas decoration.
I'm sure once, long ago, the asterisk was a reputable, stand-up piece of glyph. So named because it looks like a star, its job was to simply allow you to read all the way through a sentence without getting all mucked up in gobbledygook. The gobbledygook would be indicated by the asterisk, and would be readily available for your perusal at the bottom of the page, at your leisure. It was a small sign to indicate that there was further explanation should you want or need it. And if you sought out the asterisk at the bottom of the page to find out what it had to add, you'd read it, nod your head, and continue on. Good stuff. Pat yourself on the back, asterisk.
But then something happened. I don't know when or why or who started it. But our cute little asterisk somehow started denoting lengthy paragraphs of legalese. You want a credit card? We have got a great (*) one for you--low interest rate and no yearly fee, but (*) please note that if you miss a payment we will be coming to collect your firstborn (and twenty more sentences having to do with APR percentages and late fees...).
And THEN... poor little guy... tiny snowflake... he became the symbol of outright lies (completely against his will, I'm sure).
Let me illustrate for you the burdensome life of the asterisk:
US Postal Service: Flat Rate Box
Concept: If it fits inside--we ship it for a flat fee! (*)
(*unless it weighs more than we want it to, in which case we will charge you extra; also, if you want it to go somewhere that we say isn't "anywhere", we will charge you more).
WTF, USPS?
And the postal service is by no means alone. Businesses these days just say what sounds good, put an asterisk in at the end of their pithy slogan, and then use the asterisk to completely disavow that pithy slogan. If you see an asterisk in an advertisement, just assume that it means "except we're totally lying and we don't really mean what we just said."
Another example: deli meats. Check the labels. NO ADDED NITRATES OR NITRITES!*
(*except those which occur in celery juice, which we are adding in copious amounts to the meat and which, SURPRISE! have significantly high naturally occurring levels of nitrates. So, yeah, added nitrates).
I feel about asterisks kind of the same way I feel about cell phones: they are an excuse to not do what you say you are going to do (you know you've received that text from someone who was supposed to meet you at a certain time and then texts you to tell you they're going to be half an hour late; I posit that if they didn't have that cell phone and couldn't text you, they likely would have been on time).
So anyway. Asterisks.
In a nutshell, it just seems like they are now the literal symbol representing lies.
And we are now in the midst of an administration that really, really could work our little emblem to death. Just think of it...
"It was the biggest inaugural crowd in history!" (*)
*except for the one right before it
"I have passed the biggest tax cuts in history!" (*)
*except for seven other bigger ones
"I predict I will probably pay more under my tax plan than I'm paying right now."(*)
*I will release my taxes to show you how much more I'm paying.(**)
**except I won't, ever, ever, ever release my taxes
Regarding Russia and voting interference:
"My people came to me and they think it's Russia."(*)
*"I have President Putin; he just said it's not Russia. I will say this: I don't see any reason why it would be."(**)
**The sentence should have been, I don't see any reason why it wouldn't be Russia, sort of a double negative. So you can put that in and I think that probably clarifies things pretty good.
Honestly, they don't make fonts small enough for this president to eventually clarify what he's talking about.
My poor little asterisk.
I propose that we keep the asterisk's innocence and original purpose which, remember, was to help clarify the reading of ideas.
I suggest that from now on, in advertising and in politics, if there is a need to further explain what is being lied talked about, a small icon of Donald Trump's head should be used. Because he is the embodiment, the physical representation, of the spewing of lies, untruths, alternative facts. His fabrications should be indicated not by an innocent little snowflake, but by the ugly, orange combover that is so closely associated with him.
Phew! I can feel the asterisk's relief already, the burden lifting.
***okay, maybe it is about Trump
Monday, July 30, 2018
That Young, Cocky Guy
I"ll just get this out of the way: I'm not really a Tom Cruise fan.
I mean, it's not that I don't like his movies. I like some of them. Risky Business was a fun romp of a flick. Top Gun was ridiculously stupid but also ridiculously fun. The Mission Impossible franchise has its moments, though I think they may have to come up with a new plot at some point because I'm fairly certain the synopsis for the past four of them reads, "The team has to find and stop rogue terrorists from detonating black market nuclear bombs." (And they always do find and stop those rogue terrorists! They're very good at their job!)
And clearly the man is talented--I'll freely admit that. While I don't see him receiving an Academy Award (maybe an honorary one?), he's a decent actor, and his stunt work is phenomenal (okay, maybe that's where his Oscar will come from).
He's got great genetics and I'm assuming an equally great plastic surgeon on speed dial. The man does not age.
My girlfriends love him. In that regard, he's just not my type. Not even close. Give me Colin Firth any day-- tall and lanky, an English accent, able to pull off serious and snarky with equal effect, and an alum of the greatest movie ever made, Love Actually (yeah, that's right Olivia, I'm challenging your Hercules assertion).
I digress.
Not a huge Tom Cruise fan. I think it's because, to me, he plays the same role, over and over and over again.
Risky Business--check out this new star who plays a young, cocky guy!
All the Right Moves--check out Cruise as a young, cocky football player!
Top Gun--check out Tom Cruise as he plays a young, cocky guy in the Navy!
The Color of Money--Tom Cruise plays a young, cocky pool hustler with Paul Newman!
Rain Man--showing his serious acting chops, Tom Cruise plays a young, cocky guy who discovers he has a heart!
Days of Thunder--Tom meets his future wife Nicole Kidman in this movie where he plays a young, cocky racing car driver!
Mission Impossible (1 through 15)--Cruise plays Ethan Hunt, a cocky (though not so young anymore) special agent who saves the world!
Spot the trend...
He's great at what he does. It's just that he does it a lot. I mean A LOT!
Not that Tom Cruise is looking for advice from me (I'm not positive of this but I'm fairly certain he doesn't know who I am), but if I may: stretch yourself, Tom. Make yourself uncomfortable. You were great in The Last Samurai. It may not have been box office gold, but you were superb. Not every role has to show off your impressive physical capabilities.You do your own stunts. We get it.
I want to like Tom. I do. It would probably help if he stopped all the Scientology nonsense, but I get the impression he's not willing to give that up in order to impress me.
So I'm left with hoping that Tom will find a script--I know it's out there-- that will allow him to more heavily rely on what are probably some decent dramatic skills.
He plays fearless quite convincingly in the Mission Impossible series. He just needs to get a little more fearless with his acting endeavors. He can emulate my guy, Colin Firth, who who has attempted both a stuttering King of England leading a nation through war as well as an awkward gay man who bursts into terrible songs and awful dancing with a cast including Meryl Steep and Cher! (One of those is way better than the other, but he tried (twice!) and he looks like he's having a great time doing it).
That's all I'm suggesting, I guess. Just try, Tom. Do something daring.
My suggestion: Tom plays the Richard Burton part in a remake of Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf? And it would be phenomenal if Nicole Kidman plays the Elizabeth Taylor part. There's got to be some residual anger there that could help them both dig into the parts.
I want to be a Tom Cruise fan. Help me help you make me a fan, Tom.
And please, under no circumstances, should there be a Top Gun sequel.
I mean, it's not that I don't like his movies. I like some of them. Risky Business was a fun romp of a flick. Top Gun was ridiculously stupid but also ridiculously fun. The Mission Impossible franchise has its moments, though I think they may have to come up with a new plot at some point because I'm fairly certain the synopsis for the past four of them reads, "The team has to find and stop rogue terrorists from detonating black market nuclear bombs." (And they always do find and stop those rogue terrorists! They're very good at their job!)
And clearly the man is talented--I'll freely admit that. While I don't see him receiving an Academy Award (maybe an honorary one?), he's a decent actor, and his stunt work is phenomenal (okay, maybe that's where his Oscar will come from).
He's got great genetics and I'm assuming an equally great plastic surgeon on speed dial. The man does not age.
My girlfriends love him. In that regard, he's just not my type. Not even close. Give me Colin Firth any day-- tall and lanky, an English accent, able to pull off serious and snarky with equal effect, and an alum of the greatest movie ever made, Love Actually (yeah, that's right Olivia, I'm challenging your Hercules assertion).
I digress.
Not a huge Tom Cruise fan. I think it's because, to me, he plays the same role, over and over and over again.
Risky Business--check out this new star who plays a young, cocky guy!
All the Right Moves--check out Cruise as a young, cocky football player!
Top Gun--check out Tom Cruise as he plays a young, cocky guy in the Navy!
The Color of Money--Tom Cruise plays a young, cocky pool hustler with Paul Newman!
Rain Man--showing his serious acting chops, Tom Cruise plays a young, cocky guy who discovers he has a heart!
Days of Thunder--Tom meets his future wife Nicole Kidman in this movie where he plays a young, cocky racing car driver!
Mission Impossible (1 through 15)--Cruise plays Ethan Hunt, a cocky (though not so young anymore) special agent who saves the world!
Spot the trend...
He's great at what he does. It's just that he does it a lot. I mean A LOT!
Not that Tom Cruise is looking for advice from me (I'm not positive of this but I'm fairly certain he doesn't know who I am), but if I may: stretch yourself, Tom. Make yourself uncomfortable. You were great in The Last Samurai. It may not have been box office gold, but you were superb. Not every role has to show off your impressive physical capabilities.You do your own stunts. We get it.
I want to like Tom. I do. It would probably help if he stopped all the Scientology nonsense, but I get the impression he's not willing to give that up in order to impress me.
So I'm left with hoping that Tom will find a script--I know it's out there-- that will allow him to more heavily rely on what are probably some decent dramatic skills.
He plays fearless quite convincingly in the Mission Impossible series. He just needs to get a little more fearless with his acting endeavors. He can emulate my guy, Colin Firth, who who has attempted both a stuttering King of England leading a nation through war as well as an awkward gay man who bursts into terrible songs and awful dancing with a cast including Meryl Steep and Cher! (One of those is way better than the other, but he tried (twice!) and he looks like he's having a great time doing it).
That's all I'm suggesting, I guess. Just try, Tom. Do something daring.
My suggestion: Tom plays the Richard Burton part in a remake of Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf? And it would be phenomenal if Nicole Kidman plays the Elizabeth Taylor part. There's got to be some residual anger there that could help them both dig into the parts.
I want to be a Tom Cruise fan. Help me help you make me a fan, Tom.
And please, under no circumstances, should there be a Top Gun sequel.
Sunday, June 17, 2018
"Journey" My Ass!
Last August we took Olivia to the airport to begin her semester abroad in Prague, Czech Republic. She was so excited. We were so excited for her. We encouraged and supported this journey, but even so I did cry a little on the drive home after we dropped her off, because I knew how much we were going to miss her. And also because I absolutely knew that Olivia would return home a changed person. That's what journeys do--they present you with new obstacles to overcome, unfamiliar terrain to conquer, fresh perspectives to consider, unaccustomed situations to work through. Olivia's time abroad, her journey, would reshape her way of thinking about the world and her place in it.
Ok, stay with me here. The next couple sentences seem unrelated, but if you stick with me I think you'll find the segue.
I've tried pretty hard to avoid writing much about my "journey" this past year. Mostly because I live it every day, so adding another dimension to it just seemed excessive.
(As an aside, I just don't get why so many people refer to having cancer as a "journey." I think it would be more accurately described as a deep dive into Hell. Nobody wants to go on that trip. If my travel agent had booked this "journey" for me I would post a scorchingly bad Yelp review.)
Anyway, I am finding that while this is not a "journey" I would have chosen to take (I like Olivia's journey much, much better), I nonetheless am a changed person because of it. My way of looking at the world, and my place in it, has shifted.
I found out that I need help. Not "Call 911!" kind of help. Just everyday life help. We ALL need help. But don't you find that there are lots of times when you won't ask for it because that would mean you think that you couldn't get the job done by yourself? I did a million things by myself for no reason other than I really enjoyed congratulating myself on what a great job I did all by myself. But this past year, there were things I couldn't do. Really basic things, like getting out of bed, or more recently riding a bike. When did we start thinking that doing something alone is a greater accomplishment than doing something with help from others? Asking for or accepting help is not a sign of weakness. It's a sign of being human. I've learned to ask for it when I need it, and accept it when it's offered.
Also, if I see something positive, I try to say something positive. Example #1: a young woman walking toward me was wearing a t-shirt that read, "You can sit with us." I love that. That is a message of inclusivity in an age of bullying. So as I passed her I said, "I love your shirt." She smiled and said thank you. No big deal. Not hard to do. And she got some support for being supportive. Example #2: the other morning I was at the gym, sitting on a recumbent bike wishing I was able to run. Kind of feeling sorry for myself. I started watching this petite woman doing TRX pull-ups and pushups. Then she would do them sideways on one arm. And then she got into a pushup formation but instead of doing pushups she did a running motion with her legs. WHILE SHE WAS IN PUSHUP FORMATION! If you can't picture this, let me help you:
Okay, so pretty damn impressive. If I tried this--well let's be honest, I wouldn't even be able to get into this position because I would do a face plant as my legs would be swinging wildly out of control. So again, pretty damn impressive. As I walked from my pity party on the recumbent bike over to my post-pity party on the sit-up bench, I paused briefly at the TRX bands and said to the woman, "You are a badass." She looked around and then at me and said, "Me?" I repeated, "You are a badass! That is so hard to do and you're making it look so easy." She almost started crying. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I've just had such a terrible year and my anxiety... anyway, you just made my day. Thank you." A year ago I would have watched her and thought to myself, I bet I could do that if I tried (which would have been me deluding myself, by the way). And that would have been the end of it. I likely never would have given her a second thought. These days I'm happy to share my admiration. I make a point of it.
And people are being quite lovely about sharing their happiness for me.
One more story about me at the gym. Dave and I have been going to the gym almost every day since he retired. But then BLAMMO! I'm not at the gym for months. Then I'm back at the gym a couple of days a week, bald, in a hip/knee brace and on crutches. I'm super self-conscious, and I have to figure out what I am able to do (because it's definitely not the elliptical that I used to do). Fast forward a few months and I'm going almost every day with just crutches. And then... TA DAH! I'm back at the gym daily with no external apparatus whatsoever (and hair on my head!). During that whole transition at the gym, I didn't talk to many people. If I saw someone I knew, I tried to avoid them. I thought I did a pretty good job of going about my business and going unnoticed. Funny thing, though, is that people had noticed me, and they were rooting for me. Every time I showed up with one less piece of equipment, someone I didn't know would congratulate me. A man who I recognized because he was always working out at the same time as me but whom I had never spoken to stopped me to say how happy he was for me and ask me if I was feeling better without my spica brace. Another man who was always sitting on a bike near mine said he noticed I was off my crutches and that I was moving just great! Those are just two of the probably five or six people who made a point of telling me how well they thought I was doing and how they could see how hard I was working. I guess all of this could have made me feel self-conscious, but it did the opposite, because people kind of sounded like they were truly sharing in the excitement of my victories.
I have my days, my moments, of course, that are hard. My "journey" (aka my crappy crapfest) has physically impacted me greatly in ways that are still hard to come to terms with. Running was my zen, my path to attaining challenging goals. Admitting that running may not be in the cards is hard. But that's all I'm willing to commit to at this point--that it MAY not happen. Because even though my crappy crapfest of a journey has changed me, as journeys do, I'm still stubbornly hanging on to the parts of me that have gotten me to this point.
I think most of all this crappy crapfest of a year has turned me into someone who notices and appreciates life's little moments and victories. And conversely, I care less about things that might have previously agitated me. If I notice that your hair looks nice, I'm going to tell you. If a driver cuts me off in the parking lot, I'm not wasting any energy on it. If there's a speck of good in the "woe-is-me" story you're telling, that's where I'm steering the conversation.
My place in the world is firmly rooted where there is ample light and silver linings.
Ok, stay with me here. The next couple sentences seem unrelated, but if you stick with me I think you'll find the segue.
I've tried pretty hard to avoid writing much about my "journey" this past year. Mostly because I live it every day, so adding another dimension to it just seemed excessive.
(As an aside, I just don't get why so many people refer to having cancer as a "journey." I think it would be more accurately described as a deep dive into Hell. Nobody wants to go on that trip. If my travel agent had booked this "journey" for me I would post a scorchingly bad Yelp review.)
Anyway, I am finding that while this is not a "journey" I would have chosen to take (I like Olivia's journey much, much better), I nonetheless am a changed person because of it. My way of looking at the world, and my place in it, has shifted.
I found out that I need help. Not "Call 911!" kind of help. Just everyday life help. We ALL need help. But don't you find that there are lots of times when you won't ask for it because that would mean you think that you couldn't get the job done by yourself? I did a million things by myself for no reason other than I really enjoyed congratulating myself on what a great job I did all by myself. But this past year, there were things I couldn't do. Really basic things, like getting out of bed, or more recently riding a bike. When did we start thinking that doing something alone is a greater accomplishment than doing something with help from others? Asking for or accepting help is not a sign of weakness. It's a sign of being human. I've learned to ask for it when I need it, and accept it when it's offered.
Also, if I see something positive, I try to say something positive. Example #1: a young woman walking toward me was wearing a t-shirt that read, "You can sit with us." I love that. That is a message of inclusivity in an age of bullying. So as I passed her I said, "I love your shirt." She smiled and said thank you. No big deal. Not hard to do. And she got some support for being supportive. Example #2: the other morning I was at the gym, sitting on a recumbent bike wishing I was able to run. Kind of feeling sorry for myself. I started watching this petite woman doing TRX pull-ups and pushups. Then she would do them sideways on one arm. And then she got into a pushup formation but instead of doing pushups she did a running motion with her legs. WHILE SHE WAS IN PUSHUP FORMATION! If you can't picture this, let me help you:
Okay, so pretty damn impressive. If I tried this--well let's be honest, I wouldn't even be able to get into this position because I would do a face plant as my legs would be swinging wildly out of control. So again, pretty damn impressive. As I walked from my pity party on the recumbent bike over to my post-pity party on the sit-up bench, I paused briefly at the TRX bands and said to the woman, "You are a badass." She looked around and then at me and said, "Me?" I repeated, "You are a badass! That is so hard to do and you're making it look so easy." She almost started crying. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I've just had such a terrible year and my anxiety... anyway, you just made my day. Thank you." A year ago I would have watched her and thought to myself, I bet I could do that if I tried (which would have been me deluding myself, by the way). And that would have been the end of it. I likely never would have given her a second thought. These days I'm happy to share my admiration. I make a point of it.
And people are being quite lovely about sharing their happiness for me.
One more story about me at the gym. Dave and I have been going to the gym almost every day since he retired. But then BLAMMO! I'm not at the gym for months. Then I'm back at the gym a couple of days a week, bald, in a hip/knee brace and on crutches. I'm super self-conscious, and I have to figure out what I am able to do (because it's definitely not the elliptical that I used to do). Fast forward a few months and I'm going almost every day with just crutches. And then... TA DAH! I'm back at the gym daily with no external apparatus whatsoever (and hair on my head!). During that whole transition at the gym, I didn't talk to many people. If I saw someone I knew, I tried to avoid them. I thought I did a pretty good job of going about my business and going unnoticed. Funny thing, though, is that people had noticed me, and they were rooting for me. Every time I showed up with one less piece of equipment, someone I didn't know would congratulate me. A man who I recognized because he was always working out at the same time as me but whom I had never spoken to stopped me to say how happy he was for me and ask me if I was feeling better without my spica brace. Another man who was always sitting on a bike near mine said he noticed I was off my crutches and that I was moving just great! Those are just two of the probably five or six people who made a point of telling me how well they thought I was doing and how they could see how hard I was working. I guess all of this could have made me feel self-conscious, but it did the opposite, because people kind of sounded like they were truly sharing in the excitement of my victories.
I have my days, my moments, of course, that are hard. My "journey" (aka my crappy crapfest) has physically impacted me greatly in ways that are still hard to come to terms with. Running was my zen, my path to attaining challenging goals. Admitting that running may not be in the cards is hard. But that's all I'm willing to commit to at this point--that it MAY not happen. Because even though my crappy crapfest of a journey has changed me, as journeys do, I'm still stubbornly hanging on to the parts of me that have gotten me to this point.
I think most of all this crappy crapfest of a year has turned me into someone who notices and appreciates life's little moments and victories. And conversely, I care less about things that might have previously agitated me. If I notice that your hair looks nice, I'm going to tell you. If a driver cuts me off in the parking lot, I'm not wasting any energy on it. If there's a speck of good in the "woe-is-me" story you're telling, that's where I'm steering the conversation.
My place in the world is firmly rooted where there is ample light and silver linings.
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