My Funny Valentine

For years I've been trying to get my husband to write a book on politics. He's probably the funniest person I know on many topics, but especially government. Ron's a master of sophisticated and unsophisticated "humour" (Ron's a Canadian at heart). Alas, he only writes really boring, statistical stuff, usually having to do with the condition of waters that might hold brook trout. Sometimes he writes incredibly difficult-to-understand . . . thesii? but my favorite topic lately is politics.

I'm going to share with you part of one of his emails written to some equally cynical friends, but I warn you: While Ron is a lifelong Democrat, he has been sorely disappointed in the President. I usually defend Obama until he does something, or doesn't do something, that irritates me and then I side with Ron, but I usually add, "You know Ron, politicians, especially the president know lots of crap we'll never hear. So I'm thinking Obama still has something up his sleeve besides his arm."  Ron usually rolls his eyes, or says something sarcastic using his Buddy Hackett voice.

Dr. Runeric says:

 

Speaking of politics, the Florida primary will occur soon according to all the commentators.  I don't know whether or not that will be fun. For me, the element that is fun is that Loot Gingrich hates Will Robme.  Since Loot is so vicious and unprincipled, Will Robme might be utterly destroyed before he gets to face Obama.  That's very useful since Obama is too snivelling and chicken-hearted to talk back to, much less destroy, Will Robme, no matter how easy that might be.  Obama's worm-like performance over the last three years, especially regarding the public option, shows that he is simple for republican creeps to roll-over.  He is such a sitting duck that it takes a miracle for the republicans to lose to him in anything.  Opposing him is close to literally taking candy from a baby, yet it looks to me like Obama will win the championship this year -- only because the republicans are so aggressive that they prey on any target of opportunity, including their own. 

 

Here is my prediction for a debate with Obama against Robme (Imagine how much more extreme the following would become if Gingrich were the republican champion):

 

Obama:

"We want to reach across the aisle to the folks with different views and compromise.  A public option is not necessary."  

 

Republicans (all candidates at once) -- Instantly, as if rehearsed, which it, in fact, will be:

All turn and spit on the President and say, "Socialist nazi has established death panels for all honest, hard-working Americans, who will then have to become dependent on the US government, which he will then turn over to the Mau Mau tribe of Kenya, then give all your money to the laziest [fill in the blank as to which group name should appear here] and take away all guns from citizens and give them to Islamic terrorists."

 

Obama strikes back by saying:

"This is just divisive rhetoric.  We want to compromise with our friends across the aisle.  Okay, I'll give you something first.  I won't help the employees who are trying to stand up to OH, MI, IN, WI, and FL gauleiters.  I'll increase the Social Security retirment age and reduce benefits and increase the Medicare co-payment.  I think the Paul Ryan budget plan has a few areas where we both agree.  Now what will you give me?" 

 

 

 

Jochim Kasich, Gauleiter of OH

 

Republicans (all candidates at once) -- Instantly, as if rehearsed, which it, in fact, will be, kick Obama in the groin and say:

"Indefinite detention." 

If you're not an Ohioan, Jochim Kasich, Gauleiter of OH, is Governor Kasich. And, yes, I'll admit it; we generally refer to Republicans as the nazi party. So it was so odd to us when some of the conservatives tagged the liberals as nazi. They generally take a term and demonize it. I remember when they redefined the word "liberal" to mean a person who slaughters, rapes and pilages his way through life. Right.

Gingrich's food stamp obsession

I'm going to be brief because I really wanted to blog about my husband's political sense of humor, e.g., Mitt Romney is Might Robme and if elected becomes Will Robme.

If I hear one more word from Newt about Obama being the "food stamp president" I may have to find one of Newt's mansions and begin an occupation. (I'd also want to ask Callista where she buys her hair helmets. Sorry. I guess if I were married to Newt my hair would become rigidly cemented in place too.)

About five years ago when my life took a u-turn I found myself out of work. At first it wasn't too bad because I'd foolishly cashed out my retirement fund thinking I could buy it back in a flash when I secured another state job----ha ha ha, what a joke. Eventually I found myself in need of . . . EVERYTHING, including food. Thank God, I have family and friends who are extremely generous and understanding. But in the process of trying NOT to be totally dependent on people who cared more about my life than I did at the time, not only did I apply for utility assistance and sell my plasma, but I applied for food stamps. Now, I was told by my (wonderful) case worker that Bush changed the requirement guidelines so that no one had to show his bank statements. I tried to verify that information online, but was unsuccessful. However, I can say, I was not required to turn over bank statements (not that I had anything in the bank). My case worker said Bush wanted to see to it that anyone, of any class could be eligible for the program without having to use up his last asset, to which I say, "Thank'ee sai." (see: Dark Tower)

I quickly received a rather large chunk of change in the form of a food stamp card with which to fill my pantry. Thereafter I was allotted around $100 a week until I, ironically, was hired as a cashier at a grocery store.

The store where I worked was in an interesting location. The richest and poorest in that end of town shopped there. I wish I'd kept better notes for my sociological study, but I was usually too depressed to think about much other than collecting my meager wages and praying my car didn't break down. 

I did keep some mental notes about the store's customer base, however. To the best of my recollection the food card users came in all ages, races, male and female. It seemed to me the majority of WIC customers were of the Caucasian variety. WIC is a government program allowing low-income parents to obtain specific food items, mostly from the food pyramid and no junk food. This was especially helpful for new mothers as formula costs are astronomical.

Believe me, none of these customers (especially the WIC recipients) were happy to be using government assistance. For the most part, they seemed embarrassed. Some were angry in anticipation of the cashier's exasperation over having to deal with WIC coupons, a rather complicated transaction.

So here's what I have to say to Newt: No, I'd better not say that. Okay, Newt, get some real data. And voters who applaud Newts' comments about food stamps or any government assistance program are either uneducated, uninformed, hateful or down-right stupid. Instead of cheering for Newt they should be thanking the God or gods to whom they pray that they are not in the position to be needing government assistance. They should also be thankful assistance is there should they need it. No one on this planet is immune from catastrophic events--all types of catastrophic events. Oh, if only God would plunge Newt into the life of someone in need, even for an hour, maybe he wouldn't remain so relentlessly and obnoxiously pious. Oh, for the ghosts of Christmas' past, present and future to visit all politicians who haven't a clue about real suffering and desperate need.


Okay, not so brief.

My Friend, Beth

My friend Beth died two days after I wrote my last blog. She went to work last Tuesday morning and complained of a headache. Shortly thereafter her boss was calling paramedics because she seemed to have fainted and couldn't be revived. By evening she'd been flown to Cleveland University Hospital in hope that their medical technology could save her from the aneurysm, but they couldn't.

I'd only known Beth for a little over two years. I met her when I plunged back into the AA life. That's a lie; I was dragged kicking and screaming back into the AA life and one of the last things I told Beth (she being my sponsor) was that I couldn't lie to her.  Beth was a regular at a meeting I attended on the west side of Akron. Most AA's belong to what's called a "home group." That's the meeting at which a member is most active; we make the meeting comfortable for anyone who needs or wants to be there and do our best to attend every week. Beth and I were both "home group members" at St. Anthonys' Women's Group and I ultimately asked her to be my sponsor. That's another AA necessity. (For more details Google Alcoholics Anonymous.)

Beth and I talked to each other weekly, usually on Saturdays at the meeting and now I wish we'd spent more time together, but I think I know why we didn't. At least on my part I was afraid to get as close as I could have been.

When I met my best friend, Carol, we were 18 or 19 years old. That was over 40 years ago. At that age life seems neverending, sometimes for good reasons, sometimes for bad. Forming life-long friendships during your neverending years makes sense--they'll be with you forever. As I got older I began to shy away from adding BFF's. I have a few, but none as "forever" as Carol. As time went on I lost people close to me, beginning with my Dad. That was devastating, but not as devastating as losing my brother, then my mother, my sister, aunts, cousins and other friends. So I think that somewhere along the line I decided if I emotionally held people I really liked at a distance my heart wouldn't break when they died.

I was wrong. For all my keeping Beth at a "safe distance," my heart shattered like thin glass when her wonderful husband Jeff told me Beth "wouldn't be coming back." And now I wish I'd done more with her, gone shopping, gone fishing, gone to lunch, because ultimately it doesn't matter how much I try to shield myself against the heartache of loss; if you love someone and lose them you need to have fun memories of them. I think. Maybe. Oh, who am I kidding; my glass heart wouldn't have been any thicker had I gone out with Beth instead of just seeing her at work and meetings.

Within about 48 hours of her death I felt Beth had made it to a better place. I have the feeling she was confused for a while about where she was because she left so suddenly, but that when she understood she became filled with spiritual bliss and light. Her memorial service was packed with people who loved her and were still in disbelief that we'd never see her again in this life. It seems so impossible to believe that I was sitting with her at our home group meeting on New Year's Eve, but that I'll never again see her smile--in this life, anyway.

Beth was beautiful, loving and sweet and I will miss her. I'll always have plenty of good memories even though we never went fishing together.

Waiting For Good Snow

Funny. I really am waiting for snow, but the title then turned into Waiting For Good Snow, which brought my thoughts 'round to Waiting for Godot. I've been familiar with the title for years, but never read it . . . or saw the play. Thanks to the wonders of Googleocity I was able to find everything one would ever want to know about Waiting for Godot. Wonder of wonders, the analysis plays right into my blog:

There are many interpretations (of the title) for this. Here is one,

Since "Waiting for Godot" is an allegory written in a heartless modern tone, a theatre-goer naturally rummages through the performance in search of a meaning. It seems fairly certain that Godot stands for God. Those who are loitering by the withered tree are waiting for salvation, which never comes.

The rest of the symbolism is more elusive. But it is not a pose. For Mr. Beckett's drama adumbrates--rather than expresses--an attitude toward man's experience on earth; the pathos, cruelty, comradeship, hope, corruption, filthiness and wonder of human existence. Faith in God has almost vanished. But there is still an illusion of faith flickering around the edges of the drama. It is as though Mr. Beckett sees very little reason for clutching at faith, but is unable to relinquish it entirely. Source(s): http://www.nytimes.com/books/97/08/03/reviews/beckett-godot.html

 
AslanDec 30, 2011 6:30 AM                 http://www.gradesaver.com/waiting-for-godot/q-and-a/who-is-godot-what-does-he-stand-for-58251/

(Gradesaver looks like a worthwhile site, in case any students read this blog.)

" . . . Mr. Beckett sees very little reason for clutching at faith, but is unable to relinquish it entirely." That was the comment that caught me.

I've been feeling two shades off lately. I've been plagued by dreams filled with dishonesty and chaos and I also, quite often, see very little reason for clutching at faith. I know; someone endowed with such sparkling wit as I and who has at times expressed a desire to become a nun is plagued by disturbing dreams? Sad, but true.

But I think I've had an epiphany. If you know me you're thinking, "Oh God, another damn epiphany." This is a good one; I promise. My epiphany will sound like, "Duh!" to some, but I recognized it finally, which is important. You know; we have to see and accept our shortcomings on our own? If someone says to us, "You really ought to quit over-eating." or, "You know, you're a sloppy, ridiculous drunk." we say, "Yeah? Well screw you, pal!" But when we finally recognize those problems on our own we pat ourselves on the back for being so observant and honest with ourselves and sometimes actually go back to "pal" and apologize. 

So here's my epiphany: I must get into the habit of meditating and speaking with my Higher Power daily. (sorry antitheist friends) I can't just occasionally close my eyes and say, "Hey God, how ya doin'? You know what's in my mind, so I don't really have to tell you, right? Okay, talk to ya later." My friend, Marilyn K., is now a ward councilperson and she credits her success to asking God everyday to direct her steps. It's a little more complicated than that, but that's the crux.

I don't want to see this as a resolution because resolutions are  usually things we don't really want to do or to give up. I want to see this as a pleasant, helpful part of life. I think Godot would agree.

I'm still waiting for good snow, but the forcast is quite promising and we've already gotten some--snow. (sorry snow-haters) Happy New Year!

P.S. NASA says the world will not end on 12/21/2012. Only your Higher Power knows the hour.

Philanthropists Wanted

Okay, so no one really cozied up to my Greatest Weight-loss plan. No great surprise really; it is the eating season and the only real solution for overeating is to get Pondimin put back on the market. (Phen-fen) I'm thoroughly convinced that lobbyists representing all the "best-weight-loss-program-ever" companies (Eat Your Way Thin, Walk Your Way Thin, Cry Your Way Thin, Wiggle Your Way Thin, etc.) convinced our government to remove Pondimin from the market. If you've had any experience with Pondimin you know what I'm talking about. You took it once a day and presto, you no longer had an overeating problem. Pretty much the same with Seldane; you took it once a day and presto, no more allergies. Too much money is raked in by the weight-loss competitors and competition is the backbone of our economy, right? Fifteen thousand companies vie for your dollars and you go broke buying the best plans, options, deals, but the best and only is no longer available.


So that's when I decided to shop for a philanthropist. This idea came to me after reading Fortune's list of the 400 most wealthy Americans and a story about Charles Feeney who gave $350 million to Stanford to build a new technology department on an island off NYC. Feeney doesn't own a home or a car. Apparently he just accumulates more and more wealth and gives it away. When I investigated the possibility of getting in touch with Feeney I found one of the Google answers was, "You don't get in touch with Feeney, he gets in touch with you." If he doesn't have a home or a car I wondered if he owns a phone, nonetheless this answer took me 'round to one of the many philanthropy associations in America. I began to read the criteria for submissions and instructions on how to submit and I thought, "Hell, if I had that much energy, drive and ambition I wouldn't be begging for funds." I need a philanthropist who just likes me or likes taking chances on unknowns. In other words, I need a lottery ticket with a winning guarantee.

But since that's not gonna happen I've been counting my blessings and trying to increase my energy level, but it gets harder once you pass the 60 mark. Ugh. I am incredibly blessed, however. My most recent blessing came in the form of cash from my incredibly generous and loving friend, Carol. It was quite an unexpected Christmas gift and brought about immediate tears. She also informed me I'm on her list of 10 recipients (including her husband, Jay) who will receive part of the payout from the $172 million lottery ticket they bought. So I got that goin' for me. Carol and Jay are living proof that giving puts you on the receiving list, big time. Love those guys.

It is fun to talk about what you'd do with that kind of money, but more fun to have it. So I'll continue to shop for philanthropists to help me get my book published or fund my other artistic whims--and pray. But, Katie, you know I'm still waiting for that guy across the street to walk over here with my $10 million. Little inside joke there.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good-night, especially philanthropists.

Best Weight-Loss Plan Ever!

Boy, if that won't garner readers nothing will.

After I ate my bread and peanut butter this morning so that I didn't have to take my pills on an empty stomach, I eyed a partial tray of brownies. There was longing and lust in my heart. These weren't just any old brownies; they were gourmet brownies, each covered with a different mouth-watering goo--cream cheese, caramel, fudge. And because I've been feeling sorry for myself lately I decided I was entitled to fulfill my momentary heart's desire.

Let me back up: I've suffered from a life-long struggle with over-eating and total disinterest in strenuous physical activity. I was the kid who was last choice when picking team members and I NEVER cared. Usually I was too busy thinking about what I'd do in art class or what my mom packed for my lunch. She may have been many things bad, but she was a good lunch-packer. She actually put lettuce and mayo on my cheese sandwiches and that was in the 50's when few people in our class new what lettuce was.

My struggle with dieting was an off-and-on business. If I was interested in a particular boy I'd quit eating; if that particular boy dumped me for someone thinner I ate whatever and whenever I liked--screw him. As I got older I cultivated friends who didn't hold my fat against me, or if they did they didn't mention it. When I first heard the term "yo-yo dieter," I thought, "Wow, I need to president of that club.

So after I ate the brownie this morning I said, "Now why the hell did I do that?" I had no good answer. But I did think about this: one of the reasons I hate dieting is that it usually makes me sad, and I don't need something else to make me sad right now. Dieting makes me sad because good junk food makes me happy. It's as simple as that. Good junk food makes me as happy as getting smashed made me until I accepted my alcoholism as a reality. Bummer. Why me; right? I suppose the only answer would be, "Why not me." Why did my sister have MS? Why did my brother die 20 years ago? Why does my daughter live on the other side of the country, dammit? It is what it is. But I did have a few unusual thoughts after I ate that brownie, e.g., "I ate it. It's gone. Now what?" I mean, the only way I could have that satisfaction again would be to continue stuffing my face, and I can't do that because the deliciousness would never quit and eventually I'd become so stuffed I'd throw up.

Now, my plan won't work for bulimics, and I'm truly sorry about that. Eating disorders are a serious problem for many of us and I am not making light of them here. But after I ate the brownie I analyzed my sensations and emotions. My first thought was that if I could just hold on to the memories of those sensations I'd never have to eat another brownie. I mean, why would you? Dieting and hypnosis are structurally negative. They're based on "don'ts." "Look into my eyes; you don't like brownies and ice cream; you don't want brownies and ice cream; brownies and ice cream over-indulgence make you a social outcast." or, "Don't eat more than 1 serving. Yes 1 serving is laughable when we're talking about something so indescribably delicious, but . . . well, tough shit." So I thought, what if when I encountered a brownie or a carton of Ben & Jerry's Boston Cream Pie (fabulous, by the way), I vividly dredged up the memory instead of actually reliving the experience? I've been testing out my theory and so far it seems to be working.

All right! Who's with me?

I'll keep anyone posted who's interested in my progress.

Happier

This is my altered picture of stoned Bozo. Tee-hee. I don't get stoned, but that's none of your business. (Hi Katie)

Yes, I'm happier. Until today I've been living off one of Ron's credit cards. Not only have I deposited money into my checking account from my book sales, I sold four items on eBay, and my best friend Carol peddled $150 worth of feathers for me. Tomorrow she's taking a whole box-full to the manager of the salon. The manager spends $1,000 a week on feathers! I'll bet I've got $5,000 worth of feathers in that box! Yay! For those of you who might be reading this and you're not my daughter, girls are putting feathers in their hair. The salons can't keep the feathers in stock and Ron's had about a million of them laying around here for years.

So, things are looking up for my trip to Washington. Now I need to work on my next book. New working title: The Only Requirement For Membership. 

Baba bless whoever reads this.