Category Archives: political schmolitical

Politicians are hard to refuse. I enjoy writing them letters here since, judging from their Borg-esque responses, most elected officials don’t seem to actually read the mail people send them. Hydraulic fracturing, homosexuality, protests, labor unions: Let’s talk shop here, as well.

Be advised some of the following is mature content, so it may be unsuitable for politicians. And kids. And your Bible study group.

Get the frac off my lawn, Gashole!

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“Mom, there’s a man at the door who says he can make you rich. Can I answer it?”

I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost.

Hey, is it cool if I make a direct pathway to your house? I'll pay you...

Rushing the opening segment of his spiel, he announced, “I’m from Chesapeake Energy, and I’d like to include you in a special offer to –”

” — to have my community ruined in exchange for a minuscule amount of money? No thanks, dude.”

“Wait. What are your concerns?”

“Basically the same as those of Congress and the EPA:  contamination of water, the earthquakes, the site spillage, plus all the loud noise…want me to go on? Last week when I said I was worried about unsafe chemicals in my drinking water, you told us we ‘receive [our] water from Dallas anyway’ — which we don’t according to my water department — as if that’s supposed to make it all okay.”

The kid issued a robotic answer to every one of my concerns: “Frac drilling hasn’t been proven unsafe and has been going on for decades;” “There’ve been no earthquakes in this area proven to be a direct result of hydraulic fracturing for resources;” “You can receive a signing bonus!” Blah, blah, blah.

It’s the same dog and pony show each time one of these folks comes around. On the days when I have time to dig deeper, so to speak, the door knocker’s speech always unravels into: “I’ll have someone from the company contact you with further information,” but I always seem to just get another snake oil salesman instead of anyone who can show me tangible proof that frac’ing is going to paint a giant rainbow over my north Texan community.

Let me backup a few years, though, when all the aggressive frac-a-lacking began.

As the derricks started popping up en masse all over DFW Airport’s Barnett Shale property in 2007, I wasn’t sure what was going on. My co-workers and I observed the gigantic structures during each phase of erection. I remember someone saying, “Wow, that’s one way to ruin the sunset, isn’t it!” Others were asking if it was a permanent inconvenience, if it was safe having such huge assemblies “right next to the runways,” if there was any risk working around “whatever-they-are,” if the intolerably bad odors we were noticing came from the drilling, if the water weirdly bubbling from cracks in the concrete was toxic production, etc. My main complaint at that time centered around the unique noise, which resembled what I thought a dying T-Rex might make. Whatever the case and for whatever the reasoning, nobody liked anything about those beasts, except for the 181 million bucks and 25% profit sharing the airport received from the energy company.

As if the odors and the loud noise and the eyesores weren’t enough, shortly after the drilling mania initiated around the airport, an unprecedented series of earthquakes occurred. The companies like to maintain this is completely without basis and unproven. I’m not a geologist, so, luckily, the USGS is full of unbiased, left-brainers who like to generate exciting earthquake data for the rest of us. Goody!

Earthquakes within 62 miles of DFW Airport in the one hundred years BEFORE the drilling: ONE.


Earthquakes within 62 miles of DFW Airport in the three years since drilling began: TWENTY-FOUR.


So why are we allowing this to happen? Because everybody who doesn’t own an energy corporation is hurting in this recession, and when one of their energy ants, as I like to refer to these door-to-door nimrods who make irritating trails that are difficult to eradicate, comes along with a special signing bonus worth a few thousand dollars per acre, it seems like a good way to get caught up on the bills. At least, that’s what Dawn Nolan thought when the ants came-a-calling in her neighborhood several years ago.

“They said they wanted to drill for natural gas and that they’d be willing to pay me thousands of dollars and a percentage of the earnings. I got a check at first, so I let them go ahead. Who can’t use the extra money?”

During the process, the drill began producing incredibly loud noises right outside her daughter’s bedroom window. “There was all kinds of equipment and stuff they were using that was blocking the driveway at times and making a mess — mud everywhere. The one down the street made a really bad smell, too.”

I asked Dawn how far away the closest drill was from her home. “Oh, gosh. 100 feet? No more than 150 feet for sure. I didn’t know they could drill so close to a home until it happened.”

After everything was said and done, the Nolans’ check finally arrived in the mail for their percentage of the wells’ profits. It took months after drilling ended to get the company to send a grand total of $73.00. To top it off, she reports similar safety issues echoed by many families who’ve also experienced drilling within close proximity to a water supply. “We drink well water here, and in the past year or so, we’ve never had so many health problems — lots of headaches and stuff like that. I don’t know what’s going on.” Dawn has missed work due to doctor’s visits for herself and her children, and the loss of hours has taken a toll. “I’d like to figure it out,” she says.

Dawn is certainly not the only one with complaints. In Flower Mound residents have pressed for additional studies to detect why levels of childhood leukemia seem to be increasing in the zip codes within closest proximity to frac drilling. Benzene and other contaminants proven to be cancer-causing have been prevalent in areas where unconventional shale drilling has occurred. In addition, studies have demonstrated that frac drilling is taking effect on food production in areas where spills, which are common, are unable to be maintained properly. In one article, a farmer admits he is concerned about selling produce which has been contaminated by frac water. In other reports, livestock have inadvertently been killed and contaminated after drinking fluids used by companies like Chesapeake for hydraulic fracturing. Making things worse, Weston Wilson, formerly an environmental engineer with the EPA who is now working to resolve hydrofracking issues under Congressional protective whistleblower status, has issued the following statement regarding findings of airborne benzene:

“If that is an effect of oil and gas drilling, of fracking, it’s systemic, it’s endemic. It’s evaporating from the reserve pits and the condensate tanks. It’s not as if the current state of the art protects the public health from those volatile organics.”

The way I see it, these are possible side effects that involve not just the immediate communities, but also any creature who eats food, drinks water, or breathes air.

Things have gotten so terrible that Congress has ordered the Environmental Protection Agency to open a complete investigation into the safety concerns of hydraulic fracturing. This involves requesting full disclosure of the mystery chemicals used in frac’ing around for natural gas from the nine largest energy drilling companies. You might be asking yourself, Does this mean that the only people who know what is being pumped into the ground along with trillions of gallons of water and sand in order to break the shale and expose the gas to the surface are the ones who own the companies profiting from drilling? Yeah, I know it sounds like crazytown, but yes. And guess what? They don’t have to clean your water after they contaminate it; they’re exempt from the Safe Drinking Water Act thanks to Dick Cheney’s Energy Task Force of 2005 (and to Barack Obama’s “yes” vote). Let’s be non-partisan about it, though. We’ve fudged this one up as a team effort.

Natural gas is not the enemy here, of course. However, we’ve got to fight for regulations of the chemicals used in current frac drilling processes so that we can achieve a level of environmental safety that meets our need for more efficient fossil fuels. BJ Services’ David Dunlap, Chief Operating Officer, says his company incorporates “green” fluid alternatives in offshore frac drilling due to specific guidelines set forth by the EPA, so there is a way to lessen the risk, but he adds, “…the chemistry costs more and is justifiable to shareholders only because the regulations for offshore drilling left no choice.” That’s a nice way of saying the energy companies choose to frac drill on land using chemicals that are not proven to be safe because they’re cheaper. There’s loads of money to be made in drilling practices by Montgomery Burns’ Greedy Gashole Army, so why not cut as many corners as possible, right? Sad face. Come on, guys.

image: http://www.funlobby.com/index.php/celebs-that-look-like-famous-cartoon-characters-25-images.html

Last week my daughter and I sat in on a Fort Worth City Council meeting in which a swarmy Chesapeake Energy rep addressed the council regarding the improved safety and whatnot of drilling practices. In the same breath, he bragged about how the company was planning upon planting trees and other landscaping improvements along the site (so we can pollute those with frac water, too, I guess). When he concluded his rehearsed presentation, Mr. Safety took a seat next to me and breathlessly said, “Hello.” I responded by looking at my kid and saying, “See this guy? He works for the people who put those giant dino-rigs all over the place — the ones that drill with all the chemicals they wanna keep confidential.” She responded by writing on the meeting’s agenda, “The ones we could hear across the highway?” I nodded, “Yeah. THOSE.” She leaned over, gave him the once over, and whispered, “He looks greasy, Mom.”

“That’s because he is covered in snake oil,” I told her.

So until further notice, if you’re knocking on my door with your pen and your signing bonus, Chesapeake, et al, I’m totally disinterested. Quit interrupting my life by pounding on my door every five seconds. Quit calling my husband all the time on his work phone. Quit asking my kid through the door if her “Mommy and Daddy are home.” My god, you’re more invasive than all of the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Kirby Vacuum salespeople, and Anti-drug Candy Bar peddlers I’ve encountered in my entire life — combined! I don’t care if every single one of my neighbors makes fifty bazillion dollars from your frac-a-whacking; I’d rather sleep soundly at night knowing my conscience is free from greed and that I took a stand for what is right rather than what “leads us into temptation.”

I invite you all to do the same until drilling and energy companies are forced into utilizing similar, more ecologically friendly hydraulic fracturing fluids in our American land as are enforced by the EPA in offshore practices.

Dammit, Facebook! You’re not helping.

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Aw, c’mon.

Lil Wayne has nearly eleven million Facebook fans. Barack is beating him by two million. Neil DeGrasse Tyson, who’s more of an astrophysicist than a rapper or a politician, has slightly more than twenty-six thousand Facebook “likers”. There’s a math problem in here somewhere, folks. Maybe the solution falls between logging off and rediscovering what matters in the tangible world.

On a similar note, if anybody’s got a “Many who like George Bush, Jr., like ‘the Superbowl Shuffle’ ” screencap, I need to have that printed on a t-shirt immediately.

Open Letter to the Children of Westboro Baptist Church

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Dear Westboro Kids,

First of all, I’d like to thank you for coming to our city. Because of your visit, which our community turned into a fundraiser, we were able to generate almost three times the amount needed in order to assist the Resource Center Dallas. Plus, the Holocaust Museum enjoyed a record breaking day.

I know we can’t really be friends since you’re sold on the notion I might be headed for Hell. You made that clear this weekend when I watched your organization protest several locations. As your parents and church family paraded you from the vans to the sidewalk while holding signs printed with hate-filled slogans, I felt overwhelming sadness for you. I must admit, I was unable to comprehend your confusing messages, but read your shame and humiliation with a degree of certainty as the crowd yelled its disgust toward your parents.

It doesn’t feel good, does it? No, and I am deeply sorry. I understand in that regard because it hurts me to hear people scream mean things about my father. He’s gay. He’s not some kind of deviant mutant of his own free will or someone who has chosen a ridiculously inconvenient life. Dad is human – full of sin and flaw – just like you.

Aside from being totally gay, my sixty-seven year-old father is also a retired minister who now devotes his time to the church as its organist. I’d love for your Pastor Phelps to meet him because Dad actually holds a doctorate in theology, which is an advanced degree your church’s leader has yet to earn. Coupled with his many years of professional experience, my “fag” dad’s extensive religious qualifications could be beneficial in helping your Pastor Phelps correct his biblical misgivings, which have caused your lives to be unnecessarily restrictive. Your grandpa and my father could also discuss the reality of helping God’s sick and dying within our community based upon his personal experience chartering one of north Texas’s early AIDS support groups in the mid-eighties. My parent went as far as to care for AIDS patients in his own home and then even bury one in our plot when families like yours turned their cold hearts away. (R.I.P., Bruce. Here’s a ‘penny’ for you, friend.) Ugh, those “fag beasts” are so revolting with their good deeds, right? Kids, come on.

Then again, maybe folks like your dad and my dad have pushed you to the point where you’re completely turned off to the whole religious concept, and that’s okay. You are free to have faith in your own beliefs. Look to Lauren. Look to Nate. If you’re uncomfortable remembering the examples provided by those who have left your family after questioning its hypocrisies, then look to me. I don’t subscribe to my father’s faith, yet he and his former congregations embrace who I am with the same love and kindness. Just understand, there will always be unwanted politics behind every pulpit, but hate is something that should never be tolerated.

Another thing that should never be tolerated is child abuse. The US Department of Health and Human Services defines abuse and neglect within the state of Kansas to include:

  • The infliction of physical, mental, or emotional harm, or the causing of a deterioration of a child, and may include, but shall not be limited to, maltreatment or exploiting a child to the extent that the child’s health or emotional well-being is endangered [Ann. Stat. § 38-2202];
  • Acts or omissions by a parent, guardian, or person responsible for the care of a child that results in harm to a child or presents a likelihood of harm [Ann. Stat. § 38-2202];
  • Failure to [. . .] remove a child from a situation that requires judgment or actions beyond the child’s level of maturity, physical condition, or mental abilities and that results in bodily injury or a likelihood of harm to the child [Ann. Stat. § 38-2202].

Furthermore, nowhere within the department publication does it allow for religious exclusions to the above definitions, except in the case of medical treatment.

Is CPS investigating your case? You and your brothers and sisters are made to regularly carry incendiary signage and endure harsh weather conditions for extended periods in front of angry onlookers. You’ve been told this is the work of the Lord, when it’s more like child labor for the Phelps’ cause. Routinely, you are subjected to unpredictable violence, threats, verbal demeaning assaults from counter-protestors, and must have police protection, which has been responsible for helping you escape the dangerous rush of enraged mobs. On top of that, your parents allow their daughters to wiggle and writhe around like the Fly Girls in tight-fitting and shortly hemmed clothing and then broadcast that on the internet for the entire world to view in the name of religious parody. If you’re truly doing right by God, why has he failed to send a well-equipped army of followers to assist you in delivering his message (or at the very least sent someone with less outdated video editing expertise who could make the organization appear less like a cult from an eighties sitcom and more like a credible, religious organization)? Is your life truly relegated to pacing sidewalks around the nation, developing hand cramps from holding multiple signs of precautionary hate and skewed snippets from the Bible? No, it doesn’t have to be. If you need help and your parents refuse to honor your request for assistance, please call 911 and let the authorities know how you feel.

Now, look, I know you’ve been taught to hate gays based on so-called biblical references, but have you truly read the Bible regarding that topic? Of course, you haven’t. You’re children. Jesus says nothing about homosexuality anywhere in the entire book, and, remember, he alone was the chosen one — the son of God. Many people choose to reference the writings of Apostle Paul — a man who, like Jerry Falwell, believed he was chosen to deliver prophecy — in Romans 1 when he discusses the wickedness he’s witnessed amongst Jews and Gentiles who have worshipped men as gods, serving the creature rather than the creator. Yet, many fail to read the full passage into the eighth verse of the second chapter, which makes it clear that Paul, who is also considered a possible homosexual by a variety of theological scholars, has consulted with, of all people, King Soloman, who infamously had many wives and his own questionable sexual behaviors. Paul goes on to address hypocrites, such as your family full of sinners, and preaches that we are all capable of being freed from the bondage of our wrongdoings. This, he echoed from Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount. In effect, God doesn’t hate fags.

Moving right along to other fun spots in the Bible. Leviticus…oh, brother. If all you’ve learned from Leviticus is that men shouldn’t do the same things with men that they would do out of love with women, I worry for your Christian soul. There’s a world of forewarning you’ve missed in the exciting readings of Leviticus. Also, when I saw your references to Sodom this weekend, I was confused. Sodom didn’t fall because of rampant gays flaming around the city in fits of lust. The sins of Sodom mentioned by Jesus and the five prophets who discussed the ruination thereof within the Old Testament revealed nothing about homosexuality. The city was prideful, arrogant, unwilling to care for its poor and hungry according to the teachings of Ezekiel. Are the Westboro Baptist Church members Sodomites according to the Bible’s definition? Perhaps. Whatever the case, one point holds true: the Bible is rendered useless when prophets treat the work of man on behalf of God as a Cliff Note’s masterpiece.

By the way, have you gotten to the ‘sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll’ part of the Bible yet? It’s not particularly children’s reading. I’d give it an NC-17 rating in a heartbeat. Good stuff.

You don’t have to agree with me, of course. I’ll still like you if that matters. Hey, my mother is probably reading this and about to pass out from irritation over my possible blasphemy. What if we’re all wrong? I support and respect the rights of all, whether we’re on the same page of religious doctrine or not. My beliefs might bother them, and their beliefs might seem strange to me, but love conquers all who are willing. It’s no one’s place to judge.

This girl was a jewel.

That said, I love you all, even those with hearts full of hatred. When you grow up, I hope you will not look back at what your parents have made you do to Jews, gays, your fellow Baptist churches, Catholic churches, fallen servicemen and women’s families during military funerals, etc., and swell with guilt. The pain inflicted on mankind by your family and church is not your fault. You are granted opportunities in life to make a new path if and when you’re ready, but you must choose this yourself.

“Hate costs plenty. Love would have been free.”

With hope,

Kristan

Palin and Brewer 2012? Yes, please.

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Some of you may shiver to see the sight of Arizona Governor Jan Brewer in such close proximity to Whatever-She-Is-Now Sarah Palin. Not me.

 

Sarah and Jan in April 2010 at a Diamondbacks game. AP photo: Paul Connors

 

Holy moly, I would never have writer’s block ever again! Yes, I know it’s selfish, but, hey, they’re not gonna win. Plus, the SNL skits would be amazing. I know this because I’ve already seen most of them back when they were called Absolutely Fabulous.

Jan Brewer is what you’d get if Skeletor‘s sister and David Duke had a baby. Does that really sound like something America needs next?

It would be the first time C-Span was considered a comedy network, I guess. That’s a plus. Imagine:

Watching Fox News defend daily hot messes like that could also be entertaining. Republicans might finally get sick of themselves and quit blaming former president Bill Clinton for everything that has gone wrong since the end of slavery. Or not.

Not everything all-American Sarah Palin does cracks me up. Never fear. Those tacky Juicy Couture sunglasses she wears with the GIGANTIC name brand printed in near-billboard-sized, garish lettering on the frames? I hope there’s an afterlife for her where she has to wait hand and foot on all the Americans who have lost their jobs to corporate offshoring practices. Go buy some Oakleys, ya old wolf-killing hag. If you want to be president, you probably need to quit walking around like an advertisement for the very thing responsible for our economic crisis — cheap labor and corp tax shelters/assistance.

But back to things that are amusing . . .

I was sure the following snippet was Jan Brewer upon initial viewing. Turns out, I was wrong. It’s drag queen Donna Sachet singing the anthem during the opening of an MLB game between the Arizona Diamondbacks and the SF Giants. Hey, I was close. No offense, Donna.

Maybe Edina and Patsy were there for that one?

Ann rules. Sarah drools.

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I just received one of Mom’s special emails — the kind that generally features my address alongside something to the effect of “letterstotheeditor@dallas.news.com”. I live for these.

Mom yelled:

Comparing Sarah Palin to Ann Richards, even briefly is ludicrous. Ann Richards was a savvy astute lady, qualities which are sadly lacking in Palin. Richards also admitted to her faults and mistakes and did not try to blame others…

Oh, man. A can of worms was definitely open somewhere nearby. Apparently, a clever word nerd over at the Dallas Morning News figured out a way to rehash ye olde “Sarah-Palin-is-the-new-Ann-Richards” argument just in time for Madam Alaska’s north Texas book signing this Friday. Without even reading the editorial, my incisors were already beginning to feel a little longer. I raced over to read Wednesday’s article for what was sure to be some kind of mass, vampiric bloodletting in the comment section.

Ouch, and there it was — the writer’s offending element in all of its fire-starting glory:

Though the comparison would surely put a bee in the late Texas Democrat’s beehive, there’s some of the late Ann Richards in Palin, a Western go-getter who pushes hard against gender stereotypes and who has little patience for pretense, either in politics or personal style.

On the offset readers might not be entirely privy, I’ll take this opportunity to throw a couple of Texan tenets out into vast yonder of the interwebz. First, Yee-haw 101: “Don’t mess with Texas.” Easy enough. Numero dos: “Don’t mess with [Ann Richards'] Texas [hair].” Got that? Okay, moving on then. Next, never compare the Lone Star Saint Richards to anyone –especially a woman Ann would have gladly clobbered in a four-second, backyard rasslin’ match. And, finally, if you’re gonna hyperlink former Governor Ann Richards’ name to something, make sure it isn’t to an image of Nancy Pelosi. Seriously.

To be fair, I don’t think the editorial writer was in Sarah’s corner, and there wasn’t a push to have readers purchase any lip-shticked, hockey mom BS. That was for sure. It’s just that Ann, in all of her glorious, immortal humanity, is down-right (and even dirty) Texas royalty. We get it: Sarah and Ann are both vag-positive, political rock stars. Going any further with that comparison would be like suggesting that porn and Rodin’s nude, bronze forms are in the same league.

Since I’ve brought up porn, though, I’d like to point out that the longer hopeful voters keep masturbating to Palin’s potential run for President, the longer they distract themselves from finding a real candidate. This book thing — the book that goes unnamed here because I don’t wanna sell it any more than I already have — is putting a huge face on D-U-M-B. The SNL team couldn’t write a script any better than Sarah’s fans, who recently showed up for a Columbus, OH, Borders book signing and agreed to be interviewed by the NLM:

*scratches head. I’m off Friday…anyone have a camera with a decent mic?

Florida, oh, Florida.

Stalking Sarah’s right-wing, autograph-fiending, captive audience isn’t just for amateurs, though. MSNBC also provided viewers with unedited, live interviews with Palin fans who were standing in line. It doesn’t get much better than when the reporter hands this ignorant nimrod her supper plate about two minutes into the Q&A:

That’s what happens when you rock a propaganda T and get called out on national television. I am praying hard Jay Leno does a Jay-Walking episode with these lines. How often does an opportunity like this present itself outside a Nascar parking lot? I’m all for everybody expressing individual political beliefs, but if there’s a guy holding a camera in your face and asking basic questions about what exactly it is you support about your candidate, you might wanna rethink your position if the best answer you’ve got is, “Ummm, I dunno,” or “She’s got real experience.”

[Pause for fantasy about what this would have all looked like if Ann Richards was still alive to interview these folks while they waited in line for Sarah Palin. Think: Kill Bill.]

Back to Mom, though. Maybe she should interview the weirdos in the Palin line this week. Mom could correct false analogy offenders with her movie theater laser of justice. After all, letters to the editor are akin to stamping your feet in front of the babysitter. I propose a camera, a mic, and a sick day from school, Ms. Phares. What would Ann Richards do?

Hobby Lobby vs. Sarah Palin

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Harvey Lacey shared his views regarding that fabulous Sarah Palin with us today on Alexandria: “I think this lady has become a victim of her own advertising,” he wrote in conclusion. 

Indeed.

sarah_palin

I added my own take. (The Palin bait is too easy to refuse on a lazy, Sunday morning.)

“The other day I was secretly enjoying my unintended, three-hour shopping trip at the ultra-conservative and Blue Law-adamant Hobby Lobby. Please tell no one. I SWEAR that I ran in for a frame and got sucked into some kind of black hole of Jesus Christ and half-priced mantle pieces and crazy, little candies called ‘Testamints.’ It could have happened to any of us.

“ANYway, in the clearance aisle, there was just a ton of crap, but in AMAZING abundance there was one item: the pit bull/hockey mom quote mounted on cheesy polyresin. Those things were ALL over the place just begging to be purchased by Stepford soccer moms peeking down the sale aisle (after already finding the fake fruit and flowers and seasonal patio furniture they came for).

“This really reinforces a couple of very basic, fundamental things for me: (a) the hard right wing definitely put too much stock into being able to sell this woman to its target voters — quite literally, even; (b) months later, the people aren’t buying Palin’s trite poo at severely reduced, closeout prices.

“Look, when my elementary school-aged daughter watches the news to crack up at Palin’s ‘jokes,’ that’s an indication Miz Sarah ain’t near the best this Republican party has to offer. In fact, Palin is an insult to true politicians on all sides of the fence — period.”

Neil DeGrasse Tyson mentioned a significant point in a lecture I attended this past February. He explained the correlation of avoidable disasters to our lack of qualified scientists and mathematicians. NDT believes that without properly analyzed funding and public interest, great minds of the future will choose other careers. Perhaps, this theory also applies to qualified public servants and elected officials. 

We seem to be gambling more than anything else. It’s all about picking a team and throwing your support and money down one tube, hoping you’ll hit some kind of political bonanza. At least, that’s the message I’m getting. The last Presidential election was akin to watching the Superbowl. When Obama won, we jumped out of our seats and chest-bumped ourselves into tomorrow with popcorn flying all over the couch and horns honking from the neighborhood beyond our windows. 

I meant it when I called Palin an insult to politicians. She is. Let’s vest ourselves into serious politics again with our feet firmly planted in the soil of society rather than private interests and divided parties. 

If Palin gets a cable show, then I’ll probably watch the hell out of it. She belongs on TV programming, not in my government.

I’ll even buy her bobble head. (Anna Nicole, R.I.P.)

Maintaining testicular fortitude: a referential reminder for heroes on the verge of giving up

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To Whom It May Concern, Heroes, and Otherwise:

Illustration by Jon Keegan

Illustration by Jon Keegan

Tyranny. My beloved F12′s word bible widget defines that as “cruel, unreasonable, or arbitrary use of power or control.” Sometimes, when we fear something for so long, we just accept it. That doesn’t work for me. Tyranny has no success rate, so why bother?

With the heaviest of hearts and knowing I’d be forever blacklisted, I begged you to examine the plight of one laid off employee: a worker who performed her duties to the extreme satisfaction of the “shareholders,” someone who willingly worked incredibly long hours at a severely reduced rate in comparison to that of her male counterparts, someone who was two months away from being vested in her pension, a full time worker who was replaced by a less skilled junior employee who was hired to work part time hours. On a personal level, I noted the laid off employee faced grave financial prospects should she, her three children, and husband, who is a stay-at-home parent, be forced into foreclosure — something totally avoidable should the employee receive entitled benefits and payment from vacation time earned. 

It was overwhelming. 

“I am so angry, so affected by this decision. It seems like a vindictive step backward. It is not supposed to be like this,” I told you right before I broke down and cried out of desperation and frustration and panic at the reality of what the company in question had executed. 

I believe you were sincere when you said: “In life, things don’t always happen the ways they should or the ways we would like for them to be, but that’s just how it is,” but I disagree. A lot. Here’s why:

I belong to a labor union, and what you’re placating violates every basic tenet of unionism. My brain is wired to instantly alert me to this kind of weird, Montgomery Burns, corporate bullshit because it would never fly with any decent union representative. Laying off good employees in order to fulfill personal vendettas is akin to cutting off your nose to spite your face. Or drowning kittens because they’re too cute. Or something like that. It just doesn’t add up to anything logical, and therein lies my concern.

tyrannyjef

It shouldn’t have to be like that, and it won’t, so I gave you my Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., soapbox speech. As everybody who is not living under a rock in a remote cave knows, King believed in and preached “character rather than color” during a volatile time in American history when people were afraid to speak against racist tyranny. Maybe that’s why he had a Nobel Peace Prize under his belt by the time he was my age. I am willing to bet both arms that MLK was sick of hearing people tell him that “things weren’t the way they should be, but that’s just how it is.” Imagine how fucked up this country would be today if he hadn’t been born with that set of steel cojones. 

In 1920, how many women were heckled as they waited in voting lines to practice their newly acquired 19th Amendment Right?

tyrannyvote

Oppressed by the gender-based tyranny of some, these women bravely fought and died in more than a handful of instances so that I could waltz into the voting booth like it was MINE  (and with my daughter by my side). This didn’t happen forever ago, might I remind you. When my grandmother was born, she wasn’t eligible to vote by default of that nasty double X chromosome problem, which apparently was believed to hinder one’s ability to mark a ballot. These days, my daughter regards stories about women’s suffrage as if they’re cast from the bowels of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. The prior discrimination is that unbelievably wrong. All the same, I’m sure someone must have mentioned at one point before that 19th Amendment passed that “it wasn’t supposed to be like that, but that’s just how it is, ladies.”

Yeah.

Tyrannical witness

witness

One of the worst examples of passive acceptance to tyranny was when the United States along with the United Nations stood by as an estimated one million Tutsis were killed in Rwanda by their Hutu rivals, whose sole intent was nothing short of genocide. As if that wasn’t enough, the Hutus raped an estimated 500,000 women and girls routinely as part of an encouraged, public war ritual as they emerged from schools, churches, etc. This wasn’t 500 years ago; it happened in the last decade, people. When did we step forward to answer their repeated pleas for help? When it was too late, that’s when. You know why? Because what was going on over in Rwanda “wasn’t the way it should be, but that’s just how it was.” Furthermore, when the RUF rose to power in Sierra Leone shortly thereafter, did we take heed? Nah, we bought African blood diamonds in record numbers and felt sorry for the terrible situation going on over there, far away on the African continent. We knew it shouldn’t have been that way, but “that was just the way it was.” Luckily, courageous souls came forth and reminded the world, again, that it shouldn’t have to be like that and won’t. It’s not enough — not yet, but is it worth the trouble? It is. Everyday.

I hope your diamond was worth it.

I hope your diamond was worth it.

More candidates for “Shouldn’t Have Been Like That and Aren’t Anymore”:  Salem, Massachusetts; the Holocaust; Integration in Little Rock; American child labor; slavery; lead paint; my marriage. Heh.

Look, all I’m saying is that in the grand scheme of things, refuting the specifics of this layoff? Giving in to what’s right vs. what’s easy? Pfft, small beans in comparison to everything else others before you have been brave enough to battle. Don’t let the insignificance of tyranny drag the genre down for us all. There is a way, but you’ll have to will it. 

It shouldn’t be this way. And it won’t.

 

With respect, support and much optimism, 

Kristan

 

 


FedEx and the Real Price of Those Socks You Bought at WalMart

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With the recent barrage of corporate cutbacks and layoffs nationwide, a new mantra has emerged amongst those of us still employed or suffering from reduced pay cuts: “Well, at least I have a job.”

Oh, gosh. What is the logic in being grateful for the gross financial negligence of upper management? What kind of slave-driving, corporate brainwashing crap is it that we’re buying? We should be mad. And angry. And fed up.

Fred Smith, FedEx’s CEO, recently announced an across-the-board reduction in pay for his workforce. To make it seem fair, Fred’s gonna suffer with the masses through these hard times by slicing his own pay by twenty percent. Man, he sounds like an alright guy, right? Let’s see what Forbes has to add.

According to Forbes’ statistics, which placed Fred Smith as the 51st most-compensated CEO, the esteemed patriarch of the “FedEx family” makes an annual salary of 1.39 million. Well, make that 1.12 million after his humble reduction. I’ll be honest: The guy deserves to make a lot of money. After all, Fred founded FedEx and has spent nearly four decades overseeing it. Being the labor rights advocate that I am, I’d be willing to go as far as to claim Fred’s salary would be an example of “a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay.” Of course, that’s only his salary.

Last year, in the midst of an obvious economic state of emergency, Fred accepted some chump change from the company. Forbes categorized it as: bonus (1.4 mil), other — my favorite (4.34 mil), and stock gains (only 25.07 million). Calculator, please? All in all, Smith made $32,210,000.00.

http://www.goiam.org/issue.cfm?cID=6189

http://www.goiam.org/issue.cfm?cID=6189

His drivers, whose pay averages between 20,000 and 51,000 depending on location, are reciting the new mantra, happy they at least have a job. On FedEx’s “Citizenship Blog,” [vomit] a worker wrote this comment in response to Monsieur Smith’s announcement:

Thank you Mr. Smith. I am proud to take the 5% paycut. I’ve only been here 10 years and the main thing I’ve learned is that we (FedEx) is a FAMILY!!! I would rather have paycuts rather than a few of our “family” members losing their jobs. If this decision had come from anyone other than Mr. Smith himself, I’d be worried. I trust Mr. Smith and know that he is looking out for us and our families. To all of you whining about your 5% loss – you’d better thank God you still have a job and thank God we have someone like Mr. Smith watching out for YOUR job. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of my FedEx family! [sic]

Smith made roughly 850 times more than the hull of his delivery folks last year. What kind of Kool-Aid are they putting in the water jug up there? When a CEO takes a pay cut, it’s generally not a sacrifice; it’s PR bizwax. PR like this is a good thing when just year before last Fred Smith’s FedEx corporate homeboys were slapped with an official court order by the government to discontinue their labor violations against drivers in California. Don’t take my word for it; see what the National Labor Relations Board had to say.

It’s not just FedEx or Fred Smith’s Empire of Seemingly Corporate Evil. It’s everybody — me, too. We’re cheap and arrogant and possibly ignorant. Combine that with a few incredibly misguided political labor decisions and BAM! Look at where we are now — just happy to “have a job.”

The American labor market is a whole other ball of wax from its unionized inception a century ago. Our jobs have been shipped overseas and farmed out recklessly by both the donkeys and the elephants. “Made in America,” a phrase once indicative of real national pride and loyalty, has shifted into some kind of netherworld obscured by NAFTA and CAFTA and consumer greed. When you’re standing there in Wal Mart at three in the morning in San Diego shopping for underwear and socks which you forgot to pack in Dallas, chances are you’re gonna nab the cheapest products without caring where they were made or by whom.

That’s when you should think about this article and others like it, which discuss the direct links between offshoring for profit, layoffs, and the effects both have contributed to weaken the economy. (Of course, you might also consider the ten year-old Filipino kid who possibly made the socks you bought at three am from WalMart — a labor violation in THIS country as well as a human rights issue, but let’s take it one step at a time here, shall we?) This new reality hits us in the wallet in the sneakiest of ways, too. You might believe a company like FedEx would be incapable of sending American jobs outside their scope of delivery, but you’d be forgetting the small details, which add up to large problems for all of us. For instance, FedEx would rather let the cheap Airbus brand bank off of US delivery dollars than put that cash back into its own economy by boosting up more orders from American based Boeing.

We are getting what we paid for now. Those unbelievably low prices are costing us our jobs.

colleencrosby

Colleen Crosby as Rosie the Riveter (http://www.project-insomnia.com/colleen/Rosie/rosie.html)

How are we going to fix this mess? I still think unionization isn’t a bad thing in principle. In fact, I have seen it work for me much more than I haven’t. Good unions create a system of checks and balances. However, it’s time for them to really step up their game. Seriously. All of them. Locals need to quit behaving like every day is election day and focus once again on maintaining regular progress for  American labor as a whole. Members must abandon entitlement and remember they’re paying for a cause and a contract, not a birth right. Additionally, there are so many ridiculous, legal stipulations for organizing that workers have their hands tied unless there are good programs with proper funding. It’s all possible, but the movement desperately needs some real labor messiahs to lead it in the right direction — brainiacs who care about the future of workers in this nation, who understand tactics beyond the paint thinner and tire slashing stereotypes as well as how to regain public trust intelligently.

FedEx employees have been targeted for unionization for quite some time, and its employees really need to start paying attention now to the impending FUBAR situation. After having read many of the comments on the official FedEx threads, I felt such sadness for their plight. They’re warned not to associate with unions because “all unions want are their money.” Well, duh. Unions want you to pay dues, yes, because people shouldn’t have to work for free. I know how that goes; I paid dues simultaneously to two different unions at one point. One contract was terrible and not enforced properly by the world’s worst agent. The other was beyond amazing. I was happy to dole out dues to both, though, because even in the worse case scenario I was getting a better deal than most. What are you paying for? The negotiation of your future. Your insurance benefits. Your pension. Your raises and rates. Your vacation and option time. Mandated progressive disciplinary programs. Representation. Healthy and non-violent work environment. If that’s not enough, what do you want?

FedEx folks and others have also been frightened by their companies’ claims of corruption within the unions. Oh, THAT again. Thanks, Hollywood. Of course, there’s gonna be corruption. It’s everywhere: churches, school boards, city councils, the Girlscouts, charity groups, tax-evading Joe the Plummers, the Democrats, the Republicans, and so on. I can’t think of anything that could escape potential misconduct without proper effort and enforcement. Members get the leadership they elect. Corruption is a by-product of apathy. If unions weren’t such a huge threat to the wallets of corporate executives, they wouldn’t be regulated as heavily as the pharmaceutical industry. When you get down to it, corruption is not fueled by some guy wanting to fight for the right to leave his work station to use the toilet without fear of being fired. Really.

The bad guys are the ones who want to outsource and offshore labor. They’re not the ones who have to take a five percent cut in pay while their boss makes 32 million dollars. Union evil isn’t the root of corporate failure. Corporate failure is the root of corporate failure. (Read: Don’t blame bailouts on the UAW. Auto workers have been wailing about financial mismanagement for decades.)

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was a labor activist and a most decent man. He died fighting for fair labor. In fact, he was attending a sanitation workers’ rally for the International Brotherhood of Teamsters when he was assassinated. I don’t think a lot of people my age realize it now, but this was King’s biggest plight. He knew safe working conditions, equal rights and equal pay were what people needed in order to help strengthen the core of this nation. And he was right, wasn’t he? Eh, FedEx, et al,  listen and learn from history, will you? As with anything else, left unattended labor will wax and wane. With your help along with that from others, we could really cultivate King’s garden and make fruit of this economic madness. Finally.

“Well, at least I have a job.”

Dr. King, can you hear our people now?

Rock Star of the Month: Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson

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It was about eleven-thirty last night when Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson recognized the guy in front of us in line at the post-lecture signing.

“Your name is Kirby, right?”

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Beyond amazement, the guy responded: “That’s good. Wow, it’s been thirty years. I didn’t think you’d remember meeting me.”

“Of course, I remember! We all swam in your pool, and you fed me that incredible sausage. MAN, that was some good sausage! You still make that?”

Sensing the pressure of the incredibly long line and all of the folks waiting in it, Kirby politely inched forward. Tyson yelled, “Hey! Look me up on Facebook, man. There are some impostors, but you’ll figure it out. Let’s catch up.”

Russell and I swapped awe. The real Neil deGrasse Tyson is on Facebook?! He has fond memories of backyard barbecue delicacies?! Snap. He isn’t just the world’s coolest astrophysicist; he’s also mortal. Insanity. Raise the roof.

Let me back up, though. About a week ago, I was wigging out about what to do for Russell’s Valentine’s Day gift, or, rather, the lack thereof. I didn’t have a lot to spend, but even worse, my efforts to wrangle creative solutions fell short. An attempted beading project looked like something from church camp, 1981.  A Valentine’s recipe search yielded nothing suitable for my pre, pre, pre-beginner cooking level. Randomly, a friend sent a link to Dr. Tyson’s local appearance the following Tuesday, and, as luck might have it, the tickets were FREE. I purchased his latest book The Pluto Files and designed a card, which read:

 

Dear Russell: 

Hello. It is out of dire urgency I write to you this day. 

Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am one of the largest masses within the cosmic Kuiper belt, but you may remember me as: the Planet Formerly Known as Pluto. 

In 2006, I was stripped of my noble title and scientifically reclassified as a “dwarf-planet.” Dwarf planet, my ass. Pfft. 

On Tuesday, February 17, 2009, Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson, one of the chief culprits responsible for my planetary demotion, will presumably be talking smack about how I’m not good enough to rank number nine anymore. Your mission is to attend Tyson’s 8 o’clock lecture, during which he’ll blather on about me and other items of astrophysical interest. 

Refer to Ms. Austin for necessary data. 

Sincerely yours (and happiest of Valentine greetings),

Pluto

Dwarf Planet, Kuiper belt

Milky Way Galaxy 

P.S. “PLANET” Earth is a tiny, nearly indiscernible speck stuck in the armpit of the cosmos, and, no, I most certainly do not suffer from planet envy.

So, er, voila! Valentine’s crisis averted in the nerdiest way possible. Nothing says “I love you” like astrophysics, right?

On the evening of the event, we arrived at Texas Hall an hour early, but the front half of the lower level was already packed. That’s right, for a scientist. In Texas, even. Russell and I selected a decent enough spot and got our laptops ready to take notes while the guy behind us was loudly telling everybody within listening proximity why the speaker wasn’t a real scientist. I wondered what you had to do to be a “real scientist.” I mean, is being on NASA’s private advisory council not science-y enough? What about physics degrees from Harvard AND Columbia? Teaching astrophysics at Princeton? Hosting NOVA? Directing the Hayden Planetarium? I could go on, but you get the idea. Eager to draw my own plebeian conclusions, I was relieved when the lights finally dimmed at 8 o’clock, and the President of UT Arlington, James Spaniolo, addressed both levels of the crammed auditorium.

“Is it coincidence,” he began, “that Dr. Tyson was born in the same week of 1958 as NASA was founded?” I decided it was, in fact, mere coincidence after a quick jaunt to Wikipedia revealed no mystical occurrences during the week of my own birth. Heh. Nevertheless, Spaniolo’s question was inadvertently fantastic. Do the laws of physics allow for coincidence?

He continued, “…and if that is not enough, Tyson also won a national gold medal in ballroom dancing.” Really?  Had he also discovered the secret of the pyramids or the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa’s dead body? Was there something this nerd hadn’t done? The guy hadn’t even taken the stage, and I already was fantasizing about Being Neil deGrasse Tyson, the sequel in which I manage to redirect the portal from John Malkovich to Dr. Tyson.

Then he appeared: Isaac from “The Love Boat” in jeans, a sports jacket, and cowboy boots. The crowd went bonkers — rock star bonkers. I loved it.

ted-tyson1

“Hold on. I forgot to empty my pockets. I have so much crap in here,” he announced. Placing his “crap” on the podium, he paused, looked at us, and then proceeded to yank his boots clumsily from his feet. “Now I feel like an astrophysicist. Everybody comfortable?”

For the next hour and a half, we listened to Tyson’s diplomatic, sensitive-to-religious-zealots views about our country’s lack of scientific interest and funding apart from times of war or economic competition. “Guess what? If China announced it was going to Mars, we’d be there in ten months. Ten months! Faster if we discovered oil, of course.” Standing on the stage in his socks and with his arms stretched w  i  d  e, he loudly warned us twenty minutes into the discussion:

“There’s no funding for science in this country unless we can make a weapon or the face of God appear at the end of a particle accelerator.”

Tyson told us, “I respect the religious freedom of our nation. It is what we were founded upon. However, that doesn’t mean science is wrong. Science knows what it is and what it isn’t.” When someone asked about the effects of Intelligent Design being introduced into classrooms along with the Big Bang Theory, NDT answered, “It is non-science, the beginning of the end. That’s what the Philosophy of Ignorance is for students. There’s no history of scientists protesting outside of churches. Do you ever see that sort of thing? No. They’re [Creationists] free to believe what they want, and we don’t interfere, but the minute you quit teaching science — it’s just the beginning of the end.” Dr. Tyson elaborated with examples of avoidable, recent occurrences, which he felt were directly related to our societal reluctancies toward progress. “Katrina was a class three hurricane when it hit land. The levees broke after the storm passed. After, OK? AFTER! Faulty engineering is responsible for what happened there. That’s bad math.” He flashed images of the extreme devastation.

Total quiet all around. He truly felt this dumbing down of society. Furiously.

“Bridges collapse. Faulty engineering, again. A steam pipe exploded a couple of years ago. Remember this one? This is New York City, folks. What country are we living in that we can’t move steam in a pipe from one place to the next without this kind of thing happening?! OK, here, look, this is a good one: Two trains collided, and, by the way, this isn’t some podunk town. It’s Los Angeles. Los Angeles! This is technology that we perfected in this country in, like, 1903. What is going on!?” Then he let us in on the obvious answer: “Smart people went elsewhere.” We’re not generating interest amongst youngsters, and they know they can make money doing other things.

Naturally, I thought about my own kiddo. Bella was wildly irritated with me recently because I forced her into joining the science club. The school even tried to bribe the reluctant kids with the Golden Calf — a non-uniform day. Behold! Still, it was a hard sell until The Bell actually reported back from her first meeting: “Oh, my gosh. Mom! Science club was sooooo much fun. We did an experiment where we…and then we…and…and…and…thanks for making me do it.” That’s all it took. I am all too familiar with the validity of Tyson’s previous point regarding funding and urgency of promoting math and science. Our teachers generally do their best with the resources they can afford from their allotted and, frequently, personal budgets. Unfortunately, it’s the initial spark that seems to be most absent, and that’s what is truly crucial, I think. He’s right; we need to step up our game or continue to decline.

Earlier in the discussion, NDT presented several versions of the Periodic Table of Elements color-coded according to melting point, compatibility, as well as years and nationality of discovery. Then he pointed out the most common elements found within our planet as well as those found most frequently within the universe. As it turns out, Earth and its universe share four of the top five from both lists. With sextillion stars, Tyson noted, it would be, perhaps, the most conceited thought to believe we’re alone, that there aren’t beings looking at us exactly the way we’re looking at them through reversed images of the vast galaxies and universes between us.

We sat, all five bajillion gawzillion batillion of us, in the dark now, silent and thoughtful as the last image of the cosmos lingered on the screen. Russell held my hand, and I put my head on his shoulder.

“The universe is you, and you are the universe. There can be no greater reward than that.”

Doubting Thomas behind us broke the silence, “This guy is fucking genius.” I guess Tyson’s not just a rock star after all. He might even be a real scientist.

Or, perhaps, NDT is more aptly also a minister of science, a reverend of astrophysics, preacher man of the stars. Why? Because as the daughter of one Reverend Dr. Jack P. Busby, I spent my entire childhood held captive in a church pew listening to the quirkiest, smartest, most articulate theologian in this area — my dad — peddle Christianity every Sunday. He meant it. He BELIEVED in it, and I really wanted to feel the connection his congregation members obviously felt when they raised their hands and voiced their Amens and praise-to-be’d their Jesuses. It just never happened. Something wasn’t there, and I was pretty sure I was gonna end up somewhere on the dark side of Satan’s lair eternally confused. However, as I sat there with my head on Russell’s shoulder and my hand inside his, listening to Dr. Tyson’s evidence, feeling new and undeniable fellowship with Doubting Thomas and the other five bajillion gawzillion batillion people around us, it occurred to me that I was at church. Finally. It only took me thirty-five years to get there. Scientifically speaking, that’s not such a bad rate of evolution, I guess.

As the lights came up and Neil deGrasse Tyson began taking questions from the peanut gallery, Russell quickly ran to grab a place in line for the book signing. He texted my phone: “You’re so hot when you’re in student mode.”  We smiled at each other from across Texas Hall. Success. My Valentine scheme was triumphant.

The questions continued for an hour and a half: “What do you think about string theory?” “Does it bother you that you’re light years away from everything you’ve studied in the cosmos?” “Should we break up the NASA monopoly and initiate private launches?” “What do you think about PETA — People for the Ethical Treatment of Aliens?” When Dr. Tyson announced he’d taken the last question of the evening, a little boy stood in the far aisle somewhat dejected as the rest of the audience members settled back into their seats. Dr. Tyson interrupted the low muffle of the crowd:

“Wait, there’s a little kid right there. I would like to take his question if you don’t mind.”

The kid stepped up to the microphone and adjusted it as Dr. Tyson asked, “OK, how old are you?”

“I’m ten.”

“Ten? I was your age when I became interested in the stars. I used to look through my telescope at night and wonder what all was out there. You ever do that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re up kind of late, aren’t you? You must have a good question.”

It was almost half past eleven on a school night. The kid stood there for a minute before his voice filled the auditorium, “Dr. Tyson, I was wondering…what would you do with a black hole if you could control it?”

(Sigh) You know, sometimes there are moments in my life I know, as they’re occurring, I’ll never forget. This was one of them.

“A black hole, a black hole, a black hole of my own. Hmmmm. You ever do laundry at home?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you know how sometimes you wind up with one sock and always wonder what happened to the other one?”

The kid laughed, “Yeah.”

“Well, if I had my own black hole, I’d use it for throwing all those ‘other’ socks into. And garbage. I’d let everybody throw their garbage in it. That’s probably the best thing you could do with a black hole.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait, you know, if you ever just happen to find a black hole, you shouldn’t get too close because this thing called spaghettification will occur, and you’ll stretch ooooouuuuttt, which wouldn’t be very good. That’s why you should just stick to the lost sock and garbage idea.”

Gosh, I know it sounds crazy, but the whole thing made my eyes kinda mist up. I closed my laptop and joined Russell, who was still texting me sweet messages from his place in line on the other side of the room.

Even though he was absurdly late and totally off-schedule, NDT happily settled into a seat at the table on stage and signed books, etc., for the crowd. The line stretched around the entire auditorium. I couldn’t get past his enthusiasm. It was contagious. As he signed Russell’s book, I asked about the Rubik’s Cube next to him: “Do you always carry one or what’s going on here?”

He laughed, “No, they [pointing to a couple by the side of the stage] brought this and asked if I’d sign it for them. See, it’s only solved on one side, so if I sign it, it’ll just be scrambled if they ever try to solve it entirely. I’m going to solve it for them when the line’s died down, and then I’ll sign it.”

Astrophysicists are incredibly kind, patient rock stars, apparently. At least, this one is. What a super cool guy.

A little after midnight, we dragged our weary brains and feet to the confines of our vehicle. Dr. Tyson was still wiling away the night signing autographs, of course. Russell thanked me all the way home: “I really enjoyed that. I want you to know tonight was the coolest thing ever, and I love you so much.” He might have ruined Pluto’s rep, but NDT saved Valentine’s Day for me.

The next evening, Bella asked, “Mom? Didn’t you say you got a NASA sticker for me?”

After giving it to her, she immediately put it on her school binder,”This is so cool! Thanks.”

(This Neil deGrasse Tyson guy was scoring me all kinds of street cred, yo.)

“You’re welcome, Bella. Look, I have a brochure, also, on the scientist Russell and I saw last night.”

“Neil deGrassy…”

“deGrasse. He is an astrophysicist. You know what that means?”

“Yes, he studies the stars and planets.”

Good for her. “Yeah, but look at all the other stuff he does.” I totally sold Dr. T to her like there was no tomorrow, or, rather, like she was the only one who could save tomorrow. As she read through his bio, Bella said he seemed really cool. Then, she stuffed the brochure into her school binder behind the NASA sticker.

“You’re taking it to school?”

“Yeah, Mom. This guy is awesome. My news crew teacher is always asking for us to bring in stuff about good role models.” Wow. I went from being the worst mother in the world for making my kid join the nerd squad to being a beloved Science Mom. Yep. I’d ask for my gold star right about now, but I think this is the sort of thing parents are *supposed* to do by default of, well, being parents.

The world, with us in it, is kind of a horrifyingly beautiful, yet predictably random place. When everything comes together and the seas seem calm and endless, there are twice as many stars in the sky. Last night, Dr. Tyson donned his astrophysical superhero cape and reminded us of the importance of exploration — mentally and physically. He stormed the stage with anecdotes about Sir Isaac Newton. He implored us to become patrons within our scientific communities, to go out and foster our future generations. I’m giving my kid her starter cape to wear for her closed circuit, televised school report about Dr. Tyson’s role in universal scientific exploration. But first, I had to know: ”Bella, who was Sir Isaac Newton?”

“He was the guy who first talked about inertia.”

Inertia, she said — NOT “The Seatbelt Law.”

Dr. Tyson, there’s hope after all.

(Thank you.)

Early Voting Try-outs for 2016

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It wasn’t her first election by any stretch of the imagination, but it was the first one in which I made Isy<3 pose in front of the polling sign. 

Grinding her teeth 'til 2016.

Grinding her teeth until 2016

Once inside, Isy handed me the black felt-tipped marker and poked her head around my shoulder.

“Mom, you forgot to mark the spot for the President.”

“I’m saving it for last, so don’t let me forget.”

“Okay.”

She waited as I carefully blackened the oval next to the name of each candidate who brought us there yesterday afternoon. Silently, we read the bond proposals. I filled in more ovals. Then I flipped the ballot back to the place we began.

“Okay, ready?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to really, really, really remember this for the rest of your life.”

“Okay, Mom.”

I didn’t want to forget it either, so I slowly darkened that oval like I was eating the last piece of coconut cream pie left after the Apocalypse. 

“Good job, Mom,” she whispered.

I let her feed my ballot into the machine, and we left. Isy<3 even allowed me to walk out with my arm around her shoulders. In public. Broad daylight, at that.

For the past two years, my daughter has listened to everybody’s riff-raff about this candidate and that one. She’s heard me quote Frank Black when I’ve dubbed them “Criminal Men of Virtue” (and women, too). She has seen me argue with close friends far and wide over my support (or lack thereof) for various characters in this race. She saw two women — a smart one and one who looked smarter than she was — fighting tooth and nail for political offices unavailable to women during the early life of Isy’s own Granny. She witnessed an indisputable war hero run for the highest office in a land where a man who is in his seventies can still do that. 

And finally, after all of this time in her short life, Isy<3 got to see something even crazier than the 2008 Presidential race: She saw me change my mind. Or adapt. (Or whatever you call it when you spend a lot of time likening a candidate’s oratory skills to Hitler’s, calling him a political vampire, questioning flaws far less significant than those of your own and then voting for the guy in the end.) Truth be told, I suppose that was a great lesson in the hypocrisy of politics for my youngster. My stomach’s full of crow, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

We voted for this day, and it’s ours.

 

Wannabe voter and her ride.

Wannabe voter and her ride.