Herban Sprawl

31 July 2009
Last night I was doing a search regarding an obituary in the Star City’s paper for a lady who shared our family’s last name. We were all of the opinion we were the only ones and that we were all related, so she was news to us! When I had exhausted all of my options, I decided I hadn’t Googled myself in a while.

Much to my amusement, there was something related by the president of an online branch of AAUW that was relative to my writings against the idea of open membership for American Association of University Women. She stated that I had “invited” a member of the bylaws committee to comment on my blog.

That is the first mistake she made. This blog allows comments. People who comment on blogs, my loquacious self included, know it is proper to be pithy. Short and sweet does it. I didn’t invite him. I simply allow comments.

The man sent me a three page op-ed piece and expected it to be posted as a comment. Even though I disagreed with his position, I would have allowed a short comment, but a three page document was really presumptuous of him, I thought. So I told him he had to limit it to 50 words. He declined. Instead he posted the thing on his own blog, which is where it belonged anyway.

What I also found amusing was that I was given author credit for an excellent piece that was drafted by some very astute women in Florida. All I did was lend my name to it as being in support of their positions on various bylaws issues. I didn’t agree with every single detail, but on balance, it was pretty good, so I said I’d let them put my name on it.

I tripped upstairs gleefully and announced to Big Kitty that I had been misrepresented! I was delighted and he was amused. Big Kitty gets it.

It’s a high honor when one’s writing rattles the chains of those who seek to shove something through. To be misrepresented means they are seeking to be dismissive and to muffle one’s voice. I had no idea my blog had attracted that kind of attention. To be sure, I had some new people who registered, and a cursory check of IP addresses indicated there were some very interesting people monitoring my blog. I was flattered that I posed such a threat!

And so it is with being misrepresented. You know you are getting someone’s goat, and you know they are paying attention. That, my friends is validation. I might be viewed as a mere crackpot (probably true), a threat to the grand plan (who? me?), or simply a thorn in the side of someone who doesn’t like my writing style (read something else, then). Whatever the case, this woman named me by name, named my blog by name and left a link for that man’s blog, but not mine!

Oho! That is censorship. I read through the comments in that particular thread, and there were some who disagreed with open membership. Did she seek to keep information from them? Gee! Was I really so on target that she feared allowing them to read it and decide for themselves?

Regardless of the reasons, she didn’t, but there ensued a lot of last minute shuffling to prick holes in the arguments of that mailing. I especially enjoyed that. The authors of that piece worked very hard on it. None of us agreed completely with the quorum we suggested, and I loved how that got so much opposition verbiage.

And, because we had taken a pre-existing chart that sought to explain the changes by comparison and tweaked it to reflect our own positions, and because we gave credit to the people who wrote the original chart, we got criticized for that! The intention of the original chart, she informed her online branch, was NOT as we had it! Well, duh. But we took their work and we needed to give them credit. We were just trying to be nice.

Bottom line is that I am still basking in the thought that she mentioned all the pieces I’d written. Nothing pleases a writer more than to know the work is being seen. It doesn’t matter if you agree with me. As long as you don’t send me a three page treatise, I’m happy to approve your comments. I have friends who haven’t been able to register and even  post their comments for them. Just don’t send me something that’s longer than what I routinely post myself! Get your own blog, y’know?

There’s been a lot in the news while we’ve been having our UU DNA replenished. The Star City’s council decided to scrap plans for an amphitheater in the downtown park. One councilman is grumping that they did it while he was on vacation, in spite of his request that they table that until he was back. The others decided to pull the plug anyway. Smart move. The city doesn’t need to venture into another black hole of endless subsidies.

The Times reported the city schools have had to shell out something in the neighborhood of 52 grand on this whole testing scandal. They are still paying the salary of the cheating principal and the citizens are squawking. Sorry, folks. It’s called due process and if it were you, you’d be mighty annoyed if your right to due process was denied. I’m not saying I’m happy with the situation, but I am a veteran of the four step grievance procedure, having represented teachers in a few of those. There are rules and in order for it not to come back and bite the school division and the school board in their respective tuschies, the process must be followed with extreme attention to detail. The devil is in those details.

The behemoth hospital juggernaut is having its hands slapped by the anti-trust watchdogs. A complaint was filed that when the jug bought out a couple of out-patient facilities, they violated anti-trust rules. So now they are having to spend some of their millions on defending their greedy habits. Awwww gee. Po’ thangs.

The media is still sniping at President Obama about his blue jeans. Good gawd gertie. Have those idiots nothing better to do????? The man has his favorite jeans. Okay, so they aren’t GQ worthy. So the hell what??????? Are these arbiters of fashion…the same people who think those plug ugly costumes worn by Sarah Jessica Parker in the Sex in the City series were great fashion….really people we should be listening to?  Come on.

When it comes to de figura, New York ain’t all that and a bag of chips, too. I say that if the Prez wants to wear comfy jeans to the ballpark, let the man be. He looks better than Howdy Doody did for eight years, so let’s move on to more important things.

The last thing on my list today is the matter of the birthers. Maybe it’s the Maxine in me, but I think it’s perfectly fine that they want to continue that rhetoric. They’re showing their behinds and that’s good. It shows them for what they really are. In fact, their slate for 2010 should be Sarah Palin for President and Rush Limbaugh for President of Vice. Could they win against Obama-Biden? Um. Hm. Even my Republican broker is probably slapping his knee over that one!

I’m leaving a rant about the bank bail-outs to my fellow Fighting Scot over at Rossiferous.blogspot.com.  He’s pretty much covered those bases, and he wasn’t wearing fashionable jeans when he did it, either.

Strike two, ball three! It’s a full count and the bases are loaded…

The latest running joke is the amount of money the Republicans lavished on the former beauty queen. In the neighborhood of $150,000, as a matter of fact – and also they needed to beef up the wardrobe of her husband the secessionist.

Gee, what couldn’t I do with that kind of money, and especially given my exquisite Italian taste?

I gave it some thought last night as I was drifting off to dreamland. The Republicans took Sarah to Neiman’s, Saks and Nordstrom’s. Any of those places is bound to have some comfy Ferragamo pumps and a few decent designer outfits. Add a few details like a gold brooch for a lapel and some new earrings and I’d be in business. For the amount of money they budgeted for hair and makeup, Remona could travel with me for a few months, making sure my dye job wasn’t rooty and my curls were styled. As to make-up, well, I need Clinique, so they wouldn’t have to shell out a fortune for the latest trendy war paint. Clinique is cheap by comparison. I wonder if I could have sneaked in a new bottle of Shalimar or tried Je Revien Couture…

Big Kitty already has a tailored navy suit, gold cufflinks and silk ties. He also has a tux, and gold studs. I suppose he’d be okay with a new black Armani suit and a couple of new dress shirts, but there is no way he’d give up his gold Steinlen cat tietack.

No matter which way you slice it, that was a lot of money for a woman who is telling Americans who are struggling to shop at WalMart that she is one of them. Sure you are, Gov’nor. Those people shrieking racial epithets and demonstrating religious intolerance are just like you, but they don’t have the couture wardrobe to dress it up. It’s easier to strut around in a pair of Italian pumps than it is in cheap ones made in China. Just ask my feet – they will affirm that not all high heels are created equal. Here in America, all people are created equal, whether they are wearing couture or not.

The polls are tightening up because the bigots are ‘coming out’ as fast as gays at a Pride Parade. Where they once were reticent to state their views publicly, they are now letting the rest of America know where they stand. Sen. Obama was right. Don’t take any lead for granted. Gen. Powell was right, too. We are headed down a very slippery slope if we allow an erratic, grumpy old man to win.

Pushover. I’m a pushover. Up at 4:30 this morning to be ready to throw my bags in the van at six in order to take the girls to D.C.

But they’re pumped. The biggest decision they have is whether to take the hop-off & on trolley or the amphibious WWII Duck tour.

I’ve packed Bananagrams and a couple of teenie movies (Bend It Like Beckham and What a Girl Wants), not to mention a couple of Fred Astaire movies. Okay, I am nuts, but I think every girl needs to watch Fred Astaire dance with Ginger Rogers or Vera Ellen!

And now Auntie needs another shot of espresso - my eyes will be partly open soon - I hope.

Got my Obama button fastened to my purse, so I’m ready to appear in Rep. Goodlatte’s office. (He campaigned on the issue of term limits, which was really stupid because he was trying for the seat of the Democrat who had left after ten years, just like he said he would. Now he’s way past that time limit and running again. I’d vote for that proverbial yellow dog before I’d pull the lever for that liar!)

Last year when Anna and I made our historic Last Trip to Illinois, we honored a tradition and stopped at an outlet mall in Edinburgh, Indiana. As we were leaving, I spied a concrete David statue at a concrete place across the road. Anna had some fun teasing me about my yen for such a tacky thing, but there are just some bits of capriciousness that I cannot suppress.

Needless to say, the thing preyed on my mind off and on throughout the year, so when Big Kitty and I were on the way home from the boat christening, we stopped. It turns out the concrete place is known as White River Truck Repair and Yard Art. That was enough to get my attention.

Big Kitty was having some misgivings about this, but he gamely parked Red Rocket and I set off in search of David. He came in two sizes. My requirements were simple: he had to be intact – no fig leaves – and his face had to at least resemble Michelangelo’s masterpiece.

However, nothing would have made me part with the C-note required to take him home because, to be perfectly honest, he was very poorly made. The seams of the mold were messy and squooshed out and there were air bubbles in the concrete. You know what happens to air bubbles, don’t you? Moisture collects, expansion and contraction create havoc with the concrete’s integrity and before you know it, David’s head is gone – kind of like the Winged Victory of Samothrace. I looked around and all the other concrete “yard art” was likewise sloppily made. We left and I remarked that I might have to visit the Design Toscano website and spring for a $300 David –not! We had a good laugh about it, though, speculating about the neighbors’ reaction to David in the front yard.

When we got home, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to see if David was manufactured by anyone else and at a reasonable price. That’s when I happened upon a really great blog called Lowering the Bar. It turns out that in March of 2005 the owner of White River Truck Repair and Yard Art was told by the county officials that she had to move David and Venus de Milo out of direct view. Apparently these copies of great art are considered obscene under Indiana law. Since, according to these officials, the concrete pieces lack “serious literary, artistic, political or scientific value” that makes them unsuitable for children’s eyes. (Gee, have any of them monitored the soaps that are on t.v. when kids get home in the afternoon?)

I about fell out of my chair laughing. Only in Indiana. The object of the exercise was to attract attention and sell some concrete, so recognizable pieces were aimed at the road. In my case, it was now 2007 and only their backsides caught the breeze of passing traffic, but Anna and I know from David’s hind end, so it was still a good advertising strategy.

The truth is, the David is a remarkable piece of sculpture. When I saw him in Firenze, I was awestruck by him, and not just the sheer size of “it” either! It is an utterly magnificent work of art, situated at the end of a long hall of unfinished sculptures that were intended for a tomb. There is a skylight above him and there, bathed in natural light, you can see the marble with its veins and flecks of sparkle. I got chills. And this was after I had fallen in love with the unfinished works that looked as though they were trying to burst free of the stone.

Even so, you have to have a sense of humor about these things, so that’s why the concrete David appealed to me. I have a friend who kept a magnet of David on his fridge. He had clothes, so while he poured the wine and we chatted about our day, I would dress David. I never put pants on him…

Once I gave a David switchplate to a single girl who wasn’t amused. The hole for the toggle was situated right over “it,” which made flicking on the lights an entirely amusing experience. Well, I thought so. I doubt she ever installed it. I think it had something to do with the fact that her hometown honey only had one gonad. I should have saved it for my friend with the magnet. He would have loved it!

What would have happened to me if I were living in Indiana, had erected David in my flowerbed, screwed David to my light switch, or banged him onto my fridge? What if a child had entered my house?

I can see the headline now: Senior Citizen Led to County Lock-up for Obscene Display in the Hosta Bed.

Luckily Indiana isn’t on my list of places to live -

Was the recent campaign successful? Was it worth all the trouble? It depends on who you ask. It also depends on your perspective regarding the goals. The goals meant one thing to some of you and other things to others of you. I’ve had some interesting email. (I have to fix the ‘comments’ issue! Some of you have had some priceless remarks!)

Here is the gist of where we were when the end was in sight. A truce was brokered by a very bright person with the best of intentions. Egged on by the peer group who agreed that a clean room wasn’t too much to ask and that the room in question was pretty disgusting, the agreement was made.

Now in every deal, the deal maker has to include items that s/he is already willing to give up in order to make the other party believe they have gotten a deal. In my case, it was money for laundry. I never expected to be paid, but I included it so I’d have something to give away in negotiations while leaving my core demands intact. Years ago my dad told me something very valuable. “In every deal there is a ‘screwor’ and a ‘screwee’. Make sure you know which one you are.”

The deal was struck, but then the Partier of the First Part got into an unnamed substance (don’t let your imagination run amok, here) and the peer group got upset. The parent was called in a panic and he went into high gear. The upshot is that The Room didn’t get cleaned, but the Partier of the First Part has had his lease terminated. As my uncle Cookie once said, “A guy who doesn’t know where he’s going is going to wind up somewhere else.”

Now I had a decision to make. Do I keep to my campaign or accept the parental tough love action as a good ending place?  The point was to get the room cleaned, and moving out will accomplish that goal. Works for me!

I loaded the laundry into Red Rocket and off we went. (Not before I forgot to pack the things I had so carefully put onto hangers, but that’s what happens to people when they get in a hurry.)

Some things came out in this drama that probably could have gone unsaid, but the bottom line is this:  people who make excuses for those who are not doing what they are supposed to do are doing the perps no favors. All they are doing is fostering a climate of permissiveness that does not reflect the expectations of people in the real world.

Dr. John Rosemond talks about this a lot in his parenting column. I saw it time and again as a teacher. Parents who came to school loaded for bear over discipline we were forced to enact on their unruly children had two options: whether to continue to defend indefensible behavior (and look like fools), or to get a grip and rein in their children (we called it being the adult in the relationship). The ones who went with the first option usually had some lawyer on retainer within the first six months of the school’s action, and that person was kept busy, and well-paid, until the juvie judge had had enough and sent the kid to juvenile jail.

For now, I can say I, personally, am finished with this chapter. I hope and pray the young person comes to his senses and does not go down that long road of no return. If he does, it won’t be because some of us didn’t care enough to try to hold his feet to the fire. We tried. He faces a long row to hoe, but if he has a reason to change his attitude, perhaps that row will become a very productive one. Perhaps then he can find redemption.

I’m one of those half-full people. I want to believe that lessons will be learned, eventually, and that the future will be better. Things happen for a reason, and sometimes that reason isn’t revealed to us until much later - at a time when we are ready to be receptive to the message, perhaps. Regardless, my hope is that a change of venue will change the outlook of this person, and that the person taking him in will learn to quit making excuses for him. In time they might quit blaming everyone else for their own bad aim when they shoot themselves in the feet.

Let’s say prayers for peace and tranquility, not to mention a good, heavy rain to banish negativity. Case closed.