Goodbye Moral Code, Goodbye Manners

It's official: we don't have any standards of right or wrong in this country. Honesty or lies. Moral or amoral. Good or bad. Decent or reprehensible. These and other nominal forms of character, of organizing tenets, of guiding principles--they all get thrown out the window when losing an election may be the cost of guarding and upholding and exhibiting right, honest, good and decent behaviour. It's sickening, really, and yet people are lying down with the dogs right now, smearing shit on the opponents in the most degrading fashion. Is this meant to make us feel good? To somehow convince us that the presidential candidate with the most blood (or shit) on his hands at the end of the day is the guy who can right the economic ship? The meanest dude, the one with the most poisonous arrows in his quiver, is he the one we can count on to end the disastrous war and restore our place among nations? Really? Because as far as I'm concerned, the guy who throws the most shit at the end of this race will just end up smelling like it too. I'm not looking forward to holding my nose for the next four years.

Need a Little Refresher Course?

I was just listening to an NPR story about the Interior Department and the recently revealed scandal in its Minerals Management Service. You know, our own government employees who are managing the rights and income derived from minerals and mining on US property. (Read http://www.sltrib.com/opinion/ci_10491395 for the latest.) Turns out there's a contagious bad-behavior bug running rampant through the place, causing our employees to have sex, snort cocaine and party with the oil and minerals company people they're supposed to be managing. Well, that's some kind of management, is all I can safely say here. NPR reported that the Interior Department will shortly issue a reminder memo on ethics to the oil companies and others who rip precious resources from our land and pay the government for the pleasure. Here's an idea: how about we take the rights to these resources away from the fine men and women who have had sex, snorted cocaine or partied with the Interior Department team of crack minerals overseers? Hmmm....wouldn't eliminating access to the rights to drill and strip-mine and otherwise remove the valuable booty from our land be slightly more effective than issue a memo reminding them of ethics? Or maybe it's just a time saver: the Interior Department can use the Duke Cunningham memo on ethics, the Ted Stevens memo on corruption, the Sarah Palin memo on firing former brothers-in-law without cause. Yeah. Save time, save paper, send an old memo today. I'm pretty sure everyone involved will put down their cocktails, unroll their dollar bills and read up on ethics right away.

The Peter Finch in Us All

I assiduously avoided writing here during both the Democratic and Republican national conventions because I know myself. I know I'd sound like the partisan I am, and by trying to defend our positions against theirs, I would begin to sound like another party hack who will do anything, say anything, support any position in order to defeat the "other". I'd lay into the liars and pundits, the candidates' mouthpieces and attack dogs, the network executives, etc. But in giving myself time to process the conventions, I've come to realize that I should be excoriating myself and my fellows--not the talking suits and bobble heads and makeup artists--US! We've given the impression that what we want are lies because the truth is too much to take, what we need is pablum because we're too weak for solid food, what we wish for is ignorance because we aren't smart enough to pool our resources, rise up and attack and force change. I'm sick of it all, frankly, and of us, and have been wondering when the majority of Americans are going to wake up to the reality of just how bad things are today, and how impossibly bad they'll probably get before anything changes. Which leads, of course, to Peter Finch, and his famous monologue as the character Howard Beale in the movie "Network". The movie was made in 1976 but seems especially prescient, doesn't it? Why aren't we all doing this? Why aren't we all mad as hell and shouting from the rooftops? Banging on doors to register voters? Putting signs in our yards and volunteering? Need a little prompting? Keep on reading...(or click http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QMBZDwf9dok&feature=related to watch instead).

"I don’t have to tell you things are bad, everybody knows things are bad: It’s a depression! Everybody’s out of work, or scared of losing their job; the dollar buys a nickel’s worth; banks are going bust; shop-keepers keep a gun under the counter; punks are running wild in the street; nobody anywhere seems to know what to do and there’s no end to it! We know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat. We sit watching our TVs whilst some local newscaster tells us that “today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes” as if that’s the way it’s supposed to be! We know things are bad, worse than bad: they’re crazy! It’s like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don’t go out anymore! We sit in the house and slowly the world we’re living in is getting smaller and all we say is “please, at least leave us alone in our living-rooms - let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radials and I won’t say anything! Just leave us alone!” Well I’m not going to leave you alone. I want you to get mad! I don’t want you to protest, I don’t want you to write, I don’t want you to write to your congressman because I wouldn’t know what to tell you to write, I don’t know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the Russians and the crime in the street – all I know is that first you’ve got to get mad! You’ve got to say “I’m a human being goddammit! My life has value!” So, I want you to get up now, I want all of you to get up out of your chairs! I want you to get up right now, and go to the window, open it, and stick your head out and yell “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!"

Today, let's do something that matters--not only to ourselves but to our larger world, to our community. Get mad, and make it mean something.

Dear Pundits: Are Beer Commercials Next?

I've been watching the Democratic National Convention and am feeling pretty damn good about it all. Well, about most of it. I've been thinking a lot about the Hillary supporters who say they're going to sit out the election or vote for McCain, and frankly, they make me a little crazy. But what's really burning me up tonight is the pundits. My husband, God bless his fair heart, switches channels from NBC to MSNBC to Fox to CNN to PBS and back all over again so we can hear what everyone says about Michelle, Hillary and Bill and their speeches. We're both sick of every single person on every network we've watched (with the exception of that hard-ass chick on the panel on MSNBC who has to sit beside Bill Buchanan all day long)--is there a reporter left in America? Does every reporter now feel compelled to share their opinions? What happened to unbiased NEWS? I want facts and reportage. Leave the sarcastic comments to me. Leave the analysis to me. Leave the stupid, useless, time-wasting, empty-headed questions to me. I got that. You reporters, report and then get out of the way. As for the pundits (especially the men), please stop using sports metaphors. Not everyone likes sports. Not everyone understands the references and allusions. Not everyone thinks this is the 9th inning (it isn't) or the Superbowl (there's already one of those...duh). Stop it or I'll be forced to throw you a knuckle ball.

Quick--Get the Tomatoes. I Have to Propose!

So we had friends over for dinner last night, and my stomach still hurts. Not from the food which was simple summertime grill fare, but from laughing so hard and so much. I love nights like last night--talk, laughter, stories, wine, ice cream, champagne. At our prodding, Emily recounted the recent wedding proposal story which involved her affianced nearly passing out, crying, hurrying his soon-to-be father-in-law through a grocery store trip so he could be back to propose at sunset and apparently, according to Emily, a lot of strange behaviour from Jack preceding the big moment. As goofy as the whole story sounded, my heart is warmed by their engagement, and mostly because Jack bought the ring two years ago!! He kept that ring hidden somewhere in his apartment and then their shared home, a little touchstone in a sock drawer or shoebox in the closet that represented his future, or at least his future hope. Surely he must have glanced at it every now and then while he nurtured his relationship with Emily and figured out whether destiny for them was as a pair or not. Jack told us he knew he wanted to marry Emily when he met her, and unlikely as it may seem, it worked for him. I love the idea of this glowing, beautiful diamond emitting its precious gem magic throughout their house, in the little moments and the big ones, and Jack's faith and hope. And I love that Emily said yes.

Seriously? Are you serious?

So to continue on the Countrywide Sucks theme for just a moment (because I know it's a purely personal and unwinnable campaign and you don't care), I got an email from the Customer Service team asking me how my call went yesterday. Seriously? Like the rep who last spoke to us--after a four-day round on hang ups on their part, English-to-English translations on our part, ire and disgust boiling around us all--didn't have the brains to red-flag us and suggest that maybe we shouldn't get the "how are we doin'?" email quite so soon? And frankly, Countrywide, what will you do now that I've submitted my survey and told you just how terrible I think you are? Do you plan to improve soon? Fire people and replace them with other, smarter, more capable people? Or just show the CEO some trumped up pie chart at year's end showing a teeny tiny uptick in customer service improvement? I know! I got it now! Because of your horrific lending practices, so very many of your customers have already lost their homes; therefore, they aren't customers anymore and won't be filling out email surveys which means the net impact on your pie chart will show improvement. Very clever, Countrywide.

It's Like Tennis Camp All Over Again--And I'm Still Chubby

When I was about 12, my mom sent me to tennis camp at this tiny college in Ohio. I don't think I was particularly interested in tennis then (or really now, for that matter) but I was chubby and my mom may have wanted me to get fit and trim. Or, more likely since she was just divorced, she just farmed all six of us kids out to a variety of week-long, sleep away camps so we'd get the hell out of her hair and she could sink into major depression in peace. One of my younger sisters came along with me, poor thing, but her inducement was honest: if she went to camp, she'd get to see "Grease" when we were both released at week's end. Obviously no weight problem for her.

Over the course of 20 years, I've rarely thought about that week, but I've recently taken up Wii tennis and with it, a slew of memories has been recovered (maybe I have that yucky repressed memory syndrome and am about to remember really, really bad things soon!). The worst is that I now recall that for a solid five day period in which I must have played 30 games of tennis--singles and doubles--I didn't win a single game. Not one, once. And now I'm reliving the ignominy, this time in the comfort of a carpeted living room in which I battle Wii.

It sucks, really, to lose all the time, and after three months of tennis, I'm still a rank amateur. Eleven year-old daughter? Pro. Thirteen year-old son? Pro. Husband who maybe picks up the little controller and flicks his wrist around once a week or so while sending emails on his BlackBerry with the other hand? Pro. Just like summer camp, I try so hard and lose so badly--emotionally as well as actually. I am a terrible loser, a screamer in the McEnroe school, a thrower and tosser and stomper. I'm just lucky we don't use real racquet's or I'd have smashed the TV to bits by now. As it is, I have to put money in the "swear jar" every time I get near the Wii, and still I lose, I lose, I lose. And then I lose some more. Would it be too much to ask for a Wii drinking game or reading game or napping game, things in which I could really excel? In which, in fact, I already excel here in the real world. I would go pro in the first round! Done.

I Hate Countrywide Mortgage...and So Should You

I cannot deal with Countrywide Mortgage one more time. Not the snarky idiots who call my house asking for my husband, refusing to talk with me and tell me what they want, why they're calling and why I need a penis to answer their questions. Not the second-rung idiot who explains that my name isn't on the mortgage despite the fact that we've sent FOUR authorization letters but proceeds to give me a lecture on the difference between the house deed and the mortgage. (Buddy, trust me. If I can afford this house, I understand the difference.) Not the manager (of what, I ask you???) who, voice dripping in faux-helpfulness, tells me that our automatic withdrawl isn't set up no matter what the website shows, that a July 7 withdrawl isn't really a July 7 withdrawl because they didn't withdrawl the money. I'm sorry, what? Can we have a meeting here on Planet Earth? Take my money, you idiots. Why would Bank of America buy this company? Why can't BOA assume my mortgage and give me a human being to talk with, meet with, shake hands with? Hello. failure of American economy. Shake hands with Countrywide.