New York Stories

Three separate New York-y stories in the New York Times caught my attention today. The first warmed the cuckolds of my dark little heart. The second reminded my why my little heart is dark. The third made my head explode.

The heart warmer came from yesterday. A diamond dealer who fled from Belgium to New York with this family in 1946 befriended an Indian newsstand vendor who came to the US from India 20 years ago. Every Sunday morning, the diamond dealer brings the newsstand vendor breakfast and mans the newsstand while the vendor takes a bathroom break. Their affection for one another was lovely. Neighbors appreciating what the other does and helping out is just awesome.

On the flip side, we have the story about JetBlue. JetBlue is the only airline with a headquarters in Queens. Although they claim to love New York, the company threatened to move to Orlando, where the government fell over themselves to build them a new HQ and give them all sorts of tax perks. New York City then fell all over itself to give them $30 million in perks to stay. One concession is to let them use the iconic "I♥NY" logo on their planes. Now that the taxpayers of NYC are pitching in so JetBlue can show their love, the company noted that they also save $75 million by not moving.* Thanks.

Finally, I discovered that my alma mater, NYU, plans to destroy Greenwich Village and other parts of the city by expanding their campus by 40% and creating superblocks of NYU facilities. I will say one thing: the reason I wanted to go to NYU was because it was so integrated into the city. If I fucking wanted a regular college campus, I'd have gone elsewhere. Why do they have to ruin the city by turning it into NYU? Gah!

*This whole thing is emblematic of the severe public policy problems posed by one state/municipality luring business out of another. It's just a race to the bottom for which area can most enrich the private corporation and the taxpayers lose. Bah!

It's Here!

The Census form arrived yesterday! I am very excited. Instead of working on my thesis, I am going to fill it out tonight. After all, it says in block letters on the envelope that it is required by law to return the Census. Am I a law breaker?* No I am not!

Besides, it is very important to be counted. Every day when I read the news, I despair at the state of the nation. Texas just re-wrote standards for all textbooks to emphasize the importance of Phyllis Schlafly; drop Thomas Jefferson because he wrote that church and state should be separate; and remind people that women and people of color got the right to vote because white males were kind enough to let them. Seriously. A dentist/"historical expert" on the committee that rammed through this abhorrent crap challenged people to show him where the Constitution calls for a separation of church and state. (He said he'd donate $1,000 to a charity of choice of anyone who can "prove" that this concept exists. Yeah, and he'll sooner believe "evidence" that dinosaurs and Jesus played together as children while unicorns swarm in rivers of chocolate.)

Blah. The point is, I want to be counted because I know damn well that evil people who believe that the US is a Christian nation are going to be counted. I didn't open my Census form last night, but I'm pretty sure that the Census does not ask about religion. I'm bummed about that because even though America is predominantly Christian, it would be nice to know how many people aren't so we can be sure to protect everyone's rights. Husband always says that we should be ready to flee at a moment's notice. I used to think he was insane ("This is America!" I'd tell him), but history has shown that even the stablest democracies can turn, and of course, Jews have been kicked out of pretty much everywhere except North America (not that Peter Stuyvesant didn't try really hard), so we're probably due someday.

Um, yeah. Anyway. This sure turned into a downer, huh? No one is going to hire me to write ads for the Census if I keep this negativity up, so... The Census is here! Rah rah! Don't forget to get represented! YOU matter! Woo!

*Well, if I could steal my political adversaries' Census forms, I totally would. That's the kind of bad ass law breaker I am. Except that I'm not, because that would be wrong. Sigh.

International Women's Day Was Yesterday

Basically, I have no idea what is going on outside of my little sphere of work and thesis writing. I thought today was March 8th, which is International Women's Day, and was all excited to write about it. I understand now that March 8th was actually yesterday. I'm going to say some shit anyway.

I wrote a post for BlogHer about 30 Woman Making History, a campaign by the Woman's Media Center to highlight, yes, 30 women making history while also raising some dough to employ women to write about news and politics. Good idea. I picked five women that I thought were making history (Shada [Shatha] Nasser, Eveline Shen, Sindiwe Magona, Shirley Rodriguez Remeneski, and Alysa Stanton). Links for more info on each awesome woman is in my post at BlogHer if you want to know more, and yes, that's my way of getting people to click over there. Whatever.

Today I read a post over at another awesome woman's blog, Suebob's Red Stapler. She quoted a not awesome woman blogger who said that equality is stupid because it is about fairness and we all know that life isn't fair. "Fuck that!" was essentially Suebob's reaction, echoed by all the excellent people who left comments on it.

One comment in particular stood out: "Vagina's are wasted on some people I swear." This was written by Thordora, who totally made my day.

And now, back to my day.

Another Disturbing Ripple in My Universe

My mother and I are planning a trip to Warsaw in mid-June. We will visit the Jewish cemetery and try to find my great-grandfather's grave. (He died before the war, so he probably is lucky enough to have a burial place unlike my grandfather's sisters and mother.) We will see the few remnants of the wall of the Warsaw ghetto. We will visit the Jewish Historical Institute. We will do a records search. We will pass by the address where my grandfather's family owned a butcher shop and/or lived.

We will also go to Treblinka.

I always assumed that my grandfather's family died in Auschwitz, if they even lived to be deported from the ghetto. But, one of the dangers of Holocaust hagiography is that the fame of Auschwitz dwarfs reality. Deportations began in 1942, and when Warsaw's ghetto was liquidated in the spring of 1943, everyone left was sent to Treblinka, 2 hours outside of Warsaw in an isolated forest. There was no work at Treblinka. People died within an hour of their arrival.

Husband has a friend who lives in Warsaw who is very kindly helping me arrange my trip. He sent me a link to the Treblinka Museum. One of the things that fascinated me when I first learned about the Treblinka site is how noncommercial it is. Auschwitz, to me, is tourist attraction at this point. Tour groups go, people gape at the convent built on site, they exclaim over the signs proclaiming how much the Poles suffered* because it was initially built for Polish political prisoners. Treblinka was completely destroyed by the Nazis, so there's nothing "fun" to see. It is a sober monument to the 800,000 Jews and thousands of Gypsies and Romani murdered there.

Anyway, as I read the museum's website, I was taken aback by this statement:

The memorial should be visited with due seriousness and respect.
Within the area of the museum it is forbidden to bring dogs, smoke or eat ice cream.

Damn, I can't eat ice cream there? Well, I guess I'll have to pack ham and cheese pierogies and chocolate kolacky.

I hope that this was a translation error and in Polish it says, "no eating." Otherwise, WHAT THE FUCK? How weird is the focus on ice cream? Even weirder, it reminds me of a fucked up Hasidic monument I visited in Israel:


I mean, they are not the same thing, but the utter randomness of what is forbidden strikes me as similar. (In case the photo does not appear, it is a sign that says that it is forbidden for women to dance at this site.)

Anyway, it is going to be an intense trip. I believe we will also take a trip to Krakow, as Husband's friend recommended.

*Oh yeah, and some Jews, gypsies, and homosexuals died there, too. But whatever. (This is written in the vein of signage at Auschwitz, so pardon my bitter glibness.)

Heaping Piles of Seething Rage of Steaming Anger

Two years ago, my friend Sara and I were interviewed for documentary on abortion. I even put on make up and shit so that I would not look like a fetus-eating zombie on film, hence making the pro-choice side of what we were assured was a "balanced" look at the abortion debate look bad. Nope. I wanted to represent!

I never heard back from the motherfuckers. Not even, "Thanks Suzanne. It was nice of you to take time out to help us make a shitty documentary that no one will see." So when I discovered that the filmmakers actually did come up with something - and it is a scripted "dramamentary" about abortion in which the pretty blond white girl is treated like shit by nasty nurses in an abortion clinic and thus of course have her baby and all is good and - deep breath; this is an angry run on sentence/rant, sorry - the black girl who is raped and comes to NYC to have her abortion is saved by the nice white woman who hosts her through the Haven Coalition (which I was, at the time I was interviewed, the co-head of), I was mad fucking pissed. These douches could at least have had the courtesy to email me and let me know their shitty "unbiased" film (featuring a really cuddly 22 week old fetus in utero) that I helped them with was coming out. Or at least a "Lifetime"-esque trailer that befits a solid piece of filmmaking such as this was online for my viewing pleasure.

Oh. And I did I mention that this "balanced" film is executive produced by the guy who made that other even-keeled movie, Passion of the Christ, and the awesome Ben Stein movie about how "science" teachers who want to teach that evolution is all a lie are persecuted by baby- and Christ-killing Jews like me? Right. (CORRECTION: "The Passion of the Christ" guy is the one marketing this balanced film, although the exec producer is a right winger, too - "Hollywood's Most Powerful Christian," according to Christianity Today magazine. My bad.)

Of course, some of the documentary footage that these tools shot is in the film. (Hence the "-umentary" part.) The pro-choice people, according to the "LA Times," all get to say things like how fetuses are nothing more than parasites (which, sorta, is true, but unlike digestive parasites which make women thin, fetus ones make them fat - ewwwwww). I'm assuming (hoping and praying) that I didn't make the cut, but since this doesn't appear to be available to pro-choice audiences, I may never know. I think it's unlikely that I'm in it, since I said that people who supposedly are "pro-life" have killed a lot of actual people, and that they really scare me. Seems like something that a "balanced" film would not want to highlight.

The Tipping Point

One of my former bosses told me that she always knows who has had restaurant experience when she goes out with a group of people based on how much they tip. She said that people who've never worked in the food service industry generally give tips of up to 15%, but people who have worked tables give closer to 20%. I am fortunate enough to have been able to go through life thus far without waitressing (I guarantee that I would be awful*), but I tip 20% unless service was utterly abysmal (i.e. - the staff was actually rude to me). My ex-boss said I am an exception.

I find that in NYC, most people are calculate tips in one of two ways: they double the tax (which is 8.75%) or they give 20% of the subtotal. Either way seems right to me. The minimum wage in the restaurant industry in NYS is $4.60. In theory, if staff do not earn enough tips to average them out to $7.15 an hour, the restaurant must cough up the extra dough. But how likely is that? Not very.

I rant about this now because I have gone out with some people a few times who consistently refuse to acknowledge that they have to pay tax and tip. It is so bad that I've actually pulled out a calculator to show how their $15 entree is really over $19 when you add tax ($1.31) and tip ($3), so putting in $20 is fair. Even after this, people have argued with me that they overpaid.

Not everyone is good at math. I understand that. I'm no math genius myself. But when I fucking run through the numbers and explain them, and my co-diner still doesn't want to pay his fair share, I am going to be very angry. Because I'm not going to short restaurant staff because my companion is too fucking cheap to pay what he owes, I get stuck paying for it. And it adds up over time. Eventually I just focus on how the person is going to screw me or someone at the end of the meal, and I don't enjoy myself. It makes me not inclined to dine out with certain individuals any more.

*Maurice, the hamster who runs on the wheel that powers my brain, would never be able to keep up with all the orders and I'd always forget to bring people drinks or who ordered what and all that.

The Jamie Kennedy Experience

This story was told to me by Husband and Brother-in-Law. Although I have never done illegal drugs, nor have I ever even been drunk, I do not remember this incident at all.

In 2007, Husband, Brother-in-Law, and I went to see a documentary at the Tribeca Film Festival about stand up comedy. The film was done by the comic and actor Jamie Kennedy, who wanted to know why people don't find certain brands of humor funny. The first half of Heckler included many famous comedians talking about hecklers. The second part of the movie, however, focused on why critics hated Kennedy's movie, Malibu's Most Wanted. He hunted down critics and badgered them, insisting that they just didn't get it. (Husband said it was the worst movie he's ever seen at the Tribeca Film Festival, and I'm sure I hated it, but of course, I don't remember.)

Usually screenings at the Festival are packed. This one had only about ten people. Still, Jamie Kennedy came out after the movie to talk about it. Once Husband mentioned this part to me, I did recall that Kennedy was wasted on something. He heckled the audience. At one point, he asked us a question about what we find funny and why, and I made the mistake of raising my hand to answer it.

He did not like my response, whatever it was, and yelled at me. I yelled back at him. Apparently, we argued loudly for some time. Husband and Brother-in-Law found this hilarious.

I wish I could remember when I got into a verbal slam down with Jamie Kennedy.

Things I Do Not Understand, Part 794A

1. The YIVO Institute has the records of American Displaced Persons Camps in Austria, Germany in Italy from 1945-1952. Since my grandparents and father lived in camps in Austria during that time period, I am eager to see what is in the archive. YIVO is conveniently open Monday-Thursday from 9:30 am to 5 pm. However, the reading room is open until 7:30 on Mondays. I called and asked until what time the library was open today and was told 7:30. After work, I rushed down to get as much time as possible with the records.

After passing through the metal detector and sending my bag through the x-ray machine, using the mandatory coat check, and providing photo ID, I took the freezing elevator to the library and reading room on the 3rd floor. The woman at the information desk informed me that since YIVO closed at 5:00, I could not get the records I wanted. I am extremely confused as to why a reading room is open when the records that one is supposed to read in that room are unavailable, but there were people in there using computers and looking over books from somewhere, so what do I know.

2. On the subway home from my failed trip to YIVO, a woman rushed onto the train with a stroller and four or five year old girl in tow. After mowing people down to get the stroller in the middle of the car, she wedged herself in the small space between me and the extremely large man on the other side. She struggled to pull her daughter onto her lap.

"Excuse me," I said. "Would your little girl like to sit down?" I gestured at my seat and moved slightly to get up.

"I HAVE TWO KIDS WITH ME AND I NEED TO SIT," she yelled in my face. That is when I realized that she had earphones on. They were blasting music. Not only could she not hear me, but if her kids needed something, they were shit out of luck.

Resisting the urge to slap her, I tried again. "Yes, I see that you should sit. Would your daughter like to sit also?"

"DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME? I SAID I GOTTA SIT DOWN BECAUSE I GOT TWO KIDS WITH ME!" One of the earphones slid out of her ear slightly when she pulled her daughter up higher.

"Yes, I heard you," I sneered. "But I am asking if your girl would like my seat." At that, I stood up and tried to wiggle around the stroller to get away from this cuntface.

"Oh, naw. She'll just sit on my lap."

Since there was really no standing room, I sat back down. The woman standing in front of me who witnessed the whole scene sighed. "Yeah, no good deed goes unpunished," I said.

"She's probably just used to people being rude," the stranger replied. The woman, of course, could not hear a word anyone was saying. The stranger was very kind, and chatted up the little girl about Valentine's Day. For all the mother knew, she was soliciting the kid. When she got off the train, the little girl kept waving and saying, "Bye bye. Have a good night."

It broke my heart. I know that there are times when parents don't want to hear their kids, but the girl kept trying to talk to her mom, who just nodded, unhearing. So awful.

Join Today!

Anyone who is 50 or older, whether they are working or retired, can join AARP for $16 per year. I know this because they sent me a membership card and requested that I send them my $16 check immediately to activate my exciting benefits as an AARP member.

I will say one thing: I look damn good for someone who is 50 or older.

I Don't Even Know What to Title This

Granny is mostly OK. Sunday the cardiac doc came to discuss her options. Her blood work indicated that she had a very small heart attack, so he wanted to do an angiogram. Depending on what he saw, he would insert balloons or stents into her arteries. Everyone agreed that because she needs oral surgery soon, he would use nonmedicated stents because the medicated ones would basically cause her to bleed out if she had dental work.

On Monday morning, the doctor told us that the test went well. He said that her heart was strong and that there was no damage from the heart attack. Then he said he saw a lot of heart disease and inserted a balloon and two medicated stents.

My mom and I recoiled. "What do you mean medicated stents?" she asked.

"Oh. Ooops. I forgot. I even wrote it on the board and I forgot. Sorry about that."

Yes, that is actually what he said. "Ooops... sorry about that."

"What about the oral surgery?" my mom asked. She was trying not to punch him. (She later told me that she was more angry about his flippant tone than the fuck up, not that she condoned the fuck up.)

"Oh, she'll have to wait at least six months, but I really recommend a year," he said as if it's no big deal to have a mouth full of rotting teeth. "Maybe you can find a dentist who would be willing to do a procedure while she's on Plavix."

I pictured some back alley dentist ripping up my Granny mouth and leaving her to bleed out when things went awry. I wanted to slap the doctor. (Husband suggested slapping the doctor - with a lawsuit.) I know it could be worse, but this really, really sucks.

Thanks for the Heads Up

A minute ago, an email popped up on my BlackBerry. It was from an organization that I interviewed with in early November. The email thanked me for recently interviewing with them.

Since they had told me at the time of my interview that second round interviews would take place in mid-November and then no one called me, I used my finely honed logic to deduce that I was not a finalist for the job. It wouldn't bother me if they had just sent an email two months later thanking me for coming in and informing me that I didn't get the job but for the fact that it said "recently." Two months ago - not recent. Either send a timely rejection, or don't bother. Yeesh.

Incidentally, I accepted my current job once I left that interview. All's well that ends well.

There's Goes That

I decided in October to grow my hair a little longer. The guy who cuts my hair said that he'd cut it so it would grow back in stages. I loved it. I actually decided to keep it medium short, and went in for a trim this morning.

"Hey, I just want a little trim," I told my stylist.

"Sure," he said. Then he went outside to check out the traffic situation because there was a lot of honking. A few minutes later, he ran out to move his car before it got a ticket.

With all that disruption, he seemed to forget what I wanted because I am sitting here at my keyboard 90 minutes later with really short hair, depressed and wanting a paper bag to put over my head because not only is it shorter than I wanted, but it also is not that great. There are worse things in the world, but it's really frustrating to think that I'm right back to where I was two months ago, except worse because he didn't even cut it in a way that will grow back nicely.

Copping an Attitude

When I walked into the subway at midnight, I discovered that all the turnstiles read "no entry." My writing workshop professor asked a man in the crowd assembled on the mezzanine what was going on. He shrugged. No one seemed to know how long both platforms would be closed.

A large white cop hustled back and forth, walking up the stairs to the street, then back down again. "Can you tell us what's happening?" Zia asked him. He stared at her. She asked again.

He made a face. "I can't tell you."

"Really? Not even a hint? Do you know when can we go back down?"

The cop stopped pacing. "Look lady, if you want to see two dead bodies, go right on down." He practically spat at us.

Geez, sorry for wanting to know what goes on in our city...

Bye Bayh Repro Rights

Many of the bad things that are happening in the Senate today take me back to my earliest years in public policy. In the summer of 1995, the country was hotly debating welfare reform. I interned with the child care division of the Department of Public Aid in Illinois, and I followed the discussion closely.

By the time I returned the next summer, the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunities Reconciliation Act (PRWORA) had passed Congress and was signed into law by President Clinton. States wrangled with how they could meet the welfare for work requirements and move people off of public assistance programs as soon as possible. Next door, the governor of Indiana, Evan Bayh, embraced welfare-to-work so wholeheartedly that I was certain that he was a Republican. I'm fairly certain that I even had an argument with Husband about it. I was wrong.

These days, over thirteen years after I first cut my teeth on public policy work, Bayh is still causing me to scratch my head. Evan Bayh is now a pro-choice Democrat in the Senate. Yet he voted for the Nelson/Hatch amendment that would have essentially forbid health insurance plans to cover abortion services. On the flip side, Democratic Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid is anti-choice, but voted against the amendment. What the fuck?

Sen. Reid showed great initiative in explaining his position, finding common ground and recognizing the need for health care reform to be passed. I commend him for taking the time to do the right thing for more people than himself. Sen. Bayh offered no explanation for voting against the women that he has courted for votes. It’s baffling. OK, it's more than baffling; Sen. Bayh's lack of courage on this issue is pathetic.

I learned in 1995-1996 that I really couldn't count on Evan Bayh to make sound decisions when it comes to the health and welfare of women and children. A lot of time has passed since then. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Sigh.

What We Saw at a Bus Stop in the West Village

Warning: This is likely the most disgusting thing I've ever posted on CUSS...

As Steph and I strolled through the West Village this afternoon, she pointed out all the things that had changed since she moved. One of new arrivals is fancy bus shelters. We walked up to a glass and metal bus structure, and Steph gasped.

"Do you see what I see next to the bench?"

"Um, yes. Yes, I do."

"That's a dildo."

"With shit caked on it, yes."

Naming Names: A Cautionary Tale

The number one rule of blogging is not to use people's names unless they tell you it is OK. Generally, I follow this rule religiously. Some of my friends and family are identified by their real names; others get fake ones. If I link to a blog, I use the blogger's blog name, which may be different from his or her non-blogging name.

So I have no idea what I was thinking back in February, when I wrote a post about why I hate Valentine's Day. Not only did I use the real names of guys I knew in high school, but I lost my mind completely and also put in their last names. Perhaps this was due to a carb deficit, as I was in Phase I of the South Beach Diet, and Maurice (the hamster who runs on the wheel that powers my brain) was unable to perform at the minimal level he usually offers. Whatever the reason, not cool.

Even less cool is how this came to my attention. The gentleman now referred to as Mr. X was displeased that I shared this story. It seems his in-laws and maybe also fantasy football league googled his name and then mocked him, although I don't see why he was mockable - I'm the total fucking shit in the story. Whatever, he was not amused. I felt awful and took his name out, but we all know the problem with the internet - once it is out there, it's not entirely erasable.

I sincerely hope that this will not cause Mr. X any more grief. It was incredibly bad judgment on my part.

Best Cartoon Ever Revisited

Years ago, I wrote a post about a "game" called "ookie cookie" or "cum on a cookie." Basically, guys stand around in a circle and jerk off onto a cookie and whoever finishes last has to eat it. I profess to not understand males in any way, shape, or form. There are so many things that are wrong about people who would engage in such an activity.

Anyway, in response, my friend Mar sent me the greatest cartoon ever:



I am committed to republishing this cartoon every once in a while because I find it so fucking hilarious. Enjoy!

Publishers Weekly Best Ten Books of 2009 - 100% Male

The problem with feminism is that it makes women crazy. We seem to believe that our words and our stories matter, and that we are not only capable of telling stories, but that we can excel at it. Our voices and our story telling techniques may differ from what has traditionally been viewed as great literature, but we think that doesn't mean that they are not equally good.

Of course, these beliefs are silly, and Publishers Weekly took great pains to remind people that women's work is just not up to par with that of (white) men. Their list of the ten best books of 2009 includes ten dudes, nine of whom are white. Some people bristled at this. Kamy Wicoff at She Write - an online community of women writers that is free and you should join - wrote:

Try to imagine if they had come out with a list of the Best Books of 2009 and it had included ZERO MEN. Try to imagine if Amazon had released its Best Books of 2009 and it had included only TWO men. I know it's hard. But just try.

Wicoff asked the She Writes community to take action. To protest this ridiculous list, we should all buy a book published by a woman in 2009, take a photo of ourselves with it, and explain why we bought it.



Here I am with the 2009 paperback edition of American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld. When the hardcover came out in 2008, it received glowing reviews. My friend Alex Elliot read it for her bookclub, and said that I would really like it. Sittenfeld and I are the same age, and I wish that I had an ounce of her talent.

I don't have pictures of myself with another two books that came out in 2009, but last night I attended a reading of A Friend of the Family by Lauren Grodstein. I thought it was great. Deborah Copaken Cogan also read From Here to April, which came out in hardcover in 2008 and paperback this month. It was also excellent. Both works were funny and thought-provoking, as were their creators.

If you are also pissed about the Publishers Weekly list, join the She Writes community's protest. Once you post a picture of yourself on your blog holding a book you bought by a female writer that came out in 2009 (the deadline is Friday), send Kamy the link at kamy@shewrites.com. She Writes will send these links to the entire community (5000+) on Saturday. While the emphasis is on women writers protesting, I think anyone who cares about sexism should feel free to participate.

Move On

When the liberal advocacy organization MoveOn.org was founded a few years ago, I was psyched. Approximately 900,000 emails from them later, not so much. Every day in the last few weeks, I received three emails from them. I blew my gasket today.

My motivating MoveOn email today noted that the Senate could really screw up the health care bill. My presence was requested at a rally to support the legislation that was out there. There was a little line thrown in about how anti-choice advocates muscled their religious beliefs into health care, denying women access to abortions, but whatever.

No, not whatever. I am sick of sacrificing my rights for the "greater good" when no one else seems to think they should ever do so. In yet another mass email I received (this time from Media Matters for America; I swear every progressive organization on the planet emails me daily), I learned that media coverage of the legislation is - surprise, surprise - completely misleading:

Media figures continue to falsely claim that a proposed anti-abortion amendment to the House health care reform bill would only have the effect of prohibiting government money from being used to pay for abortions, echoing a myth previously advanced about a proposed amendment to a prior version of that legislation. In fact, language in the current House bill already segregates federal money so it cannot be used directly to fund abortions, and the proposed amendment would effectively ban abortion coverage for some who have it now.

(Emphasis mine.)

Ellen Malcolm explains at The Huffington Post:

The Amendment effectively bans private insurance companies that participate in insurance exchanges from providing coverage of abortion. It tries to camouflage the impact by providing an "abortion rider" that women could choose to pay extra for to cover costs if they have an abortion.

I'm tired of being thrown under the bus so that others can roll forward over me. When the Catholic bishops (who launched "a forceful lobbying effort" that is credited "with the success of the provision") and other religious fundamentalists next want to forbid insurance plans from covering contraceptives or protect "pharmacists" who decline to fill prescriptions that they find morally objectionable, am I again supposed to step aside for the greater good? No. Instead, I shall Move On.

No Justice. Again.

The House of Representatives passed a shitty excuse for a health care plan. It includes no public option. (Sorry, I misunderstood the newspaper this morning.) It also gave in to fundamentalist religious groups and barred abortion coverage for anyone obtaining health insurance with government subsidies.

Some might argue that it is wrong to use taxpayers' money for things that certain taxpayers might object to. But we do that every day, anyway. I object to the death penalty, but every execution that happens in my state (which fortunately has been none) would be partly subsidized with my tax money. I object to Halliburton receiving no bid contracts to do nothing in Iraq. I object to hiring private "security" (paramilitary) firms being paid to "guard" stuff in Iraq. I object to the ludicrous idea that companies that are contracted by the US to work in Iraq are not subject to following US laws, so that women are raped by their co-workers and fired, the company has no responsibility. I object to using taxpayer money to build sports stadiums. The list goes on and on.

The problem with democracy is that sometimes you are stuck monetarily supporting things that you find morally reprehensible. If a person doesn't like it, too fucking bad. He doesn't have the right to impose his religious beliefs on me or other people.

Of course, not all religious groups are obnoxious fucking hypocritical assholes who insist on religious freedom for themselves but them force their beliefs down the throats of others. I know this. That's why, even though I don't believe in a Judeo-Christian God, I support the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice. I think they do important work reminding people that religion does not have to oppress other people. I suppose it will be hard to continue supporting them when I live in my cave, hanging out with bats and shunning humanity, but as I said, there's no justice. I don't even know why I expect it every once in a while.

The Gonifs* Win

A few years ago, Rudy Giuliani, a mega Yankee fan and dictatorial mayor, put together a deal offering the Yankees a new stadium. This ballpark would be financed in part by New York City taxpayers. It would also require taking one of the few public parks in the South Bronx** and handing it over to the Yankees for the new structure. Boo! Hiss!

Then, thank to term limits (a concept I generally disagree with as it is not compatible with democratic elections, but that's another story), Giuliani could not run for mayor again. Whew! The new mayor, Michael Bloomberg, announced that the public was not in the business of building new stadiums for sports teams. Hurray! Rah rah rah!

Fast forward a few years, and Mayor Bloomberg inks a deal turning Macombs Dam Park over to the Yankees for their new stadium. There is lots of taxpayers supported financing, and a secret deal for a fancy luxury box for high ranking city officials, which somehow is called a public benefit. The Yankees also get a new MetroNorth stop, so that rich Republican assholes from Westchester need not set a foot in the surrounding neighborhood. In exchange, the Yankees agree to create a series of new little parks for the impoverished people of the South Bronx. Very generous of them, right? Boo! Hiss! Rotten tomatoes!!!

Now that the Yankees won the World Series, are the people who live in the shadows of the new stadium gathering in the newly built parks to celebrate? No, because there are no new parks. At best, there might be a park in 2011. But one of the lots promised to be a park is now actually going to be a parking lot. Sure, I understand that "parking" has the word "park" in it, but my dear Yankees, they are not one and the same.

So, go Yankees. Nice work. Taking from the poor and giving to the rich is considered an admirable American trait. You are exactly the American champions you set out to be.

*Gonif: Thief in Yiddish
**The Bronx, incidentally, is the poorest urban county in the US. The South Bronx is the poorest neighborhood in the Bronx. Clearly, these people have a lot to spare for a struggling sports team that has little revenue...

Elections: Good and Bad News

For the second morning in a row, the day began with promise. I woke up early and with big plans. Then I picked up The New York Times.

At first I didn't understand what I saw. Why was that fucking anti-choice, social conservative idiot with no plans at all for how to govern New Jersey on the front cover of the paper? No paper puts a big picture of the loser, and as my friend said on Monday, a good sign that he is not intelligent is that his first and last names are more or less the same. (Maybe this would work in Scandinavia, but it is silly here, I agreed.) But no. The stupid fuck his his right-wing agenda and won. People in New Jersey chose a moron with no ideas other than attacking his opponent's plans to save their state from recession.* Good luck with that.

I was relieved, however, to learn that the Democratic candidate in a district in upstate New York won. For 150 years, this community was represented only by Republicans. (Of course, that meant something different 150 years ago when it was the party of Lincoln, but that's another story.) Crazy conservatives around the country banded together to smear the moderate Republican candidate because she had the audacity to support gay marriage and keeping abortion legal. She was supported by all the local Republican leadership. But it seems that what people want is not good enough for the fringe elements that control the Republican party, who know much better than everyone else what they want, and if you don't agree with them, you will be punished. After months of verbal assaults from the likes of Sarah Palin and Rush Limbaugh, who supporting a crazy right-wing third party candidate, the Republican dropped out right before the election and endorsed the Democrat. He won narrowly.

My interpretation of all this insanity is that people still do not want to elect hatemongers. Christie won in part because he hid his conservative agenda, and this is also true of the Republican who just won Virginia. They emphasized the economy, not hating gay people or women's reproductive rights. In upstate New York, when the candidate foisted onto the voters emphasized his intolerance of people not like him, he lost. See, Sarah Palin and Rush Limbaugh and the crazy bitch in the Times who praised the national coalition who imposed their will on a small area of New York, people do not embrace your so-called values. If you want to win and continue to oppress people with your evilness, you have to hide your agenda.

There may be hope yet.

*This reminded me why a story that we read in class that same night made me laugh. My classmate submitted a story about playing guitar in high school, and described his magnet school as offering an education to "the best and brightest of New Jersey." I thought he was making a joke about New Jersey's image as people with big bangs and a love of shopping malls, but it turned out he was serious.

Dearest Room and Board

Dear Room and Board,

Remember me? I came to your store in SoHo with my husband on Aug. 8. After several salespeople ignored us, one woman finally deigned to take our order for a fancy new couch. This was only because she was incompetent and unable to properly enter it into the system. When I pointed out that the receipt did not reflect what we attempted to purchase, she consulted with the manager, who suggested that she add a note modifying the purchase order.

We were then informed that our fancy new couch would arrive at the Minneapolis warehouse in late September, and we would receive it by the end of October. I found this a bit odd, since the manufacturer is in North Carolina and Minneapolis seems a bit out of the way for a couch going to New York, but I accepted the verdict. At the time, I did not realize that there was also a warehouse in New Jersey.

The oddity of it all made me nervous, so in mid-September, I decided that I didn't care if I acted like a crazy paranoid lady, and called you to check on my order. Surprise, surprise. It was wrong. Adjustments were made, and you promised that the proper couch would arrive. An even bigger surprise was when your New Jersey warehouse called me two weeks later to schedule the delivery of said wrong item.

After much confusion, your staff told me that you would hold the couch in your warehouse until the proper sofa bed arrived and would be swapped for the wrong one. Since I was originally told that I would not have the couch until late October, this did not phase me much. I could wait.

However, when your warehouse again called to deliver the sofa this week, no one seemed sure what exactly I would get. One rep said a memory foam mattress would arrive sans sofa on Thursday (bad), and that a sofa with an air mattress would be delivered on Friday (bad). Another rep said I would get a sofa with an memory foam bed (good). A third said I would only get a sofa with an air mattress (bad.) Today your incompetent sales rep called to inform me that I would receive a sofa with an air mattress and that the mattress I actually ordered was on back order. One day in the future, that would be delivered to my home and the sofa bed swapping would ensue. She said you didn't want to delay my enjoyment of the couch.

I really wanted to ask WHAT THE FUCK THE COUCH WAS DOING IN YOUR WAREHOUSE FOR FOUR FUCKING WEEKS IF THE MATTRESS WAS ON BACK ORDER WITH NO DELIVERY DATE IN SIGHT, but I instead said OK and hung up the phone. Then I called my husband and suggested that he deal with you while I go to a job interview. We concluded that we don't really want your stupid fucking couch at this point.

Thank you,
Suzanne Reisman

PDA

No one gave me the memo, but based on graphic anecdotes, yesterday was PDA Day. By PDA, I sadly am not referring to Personal Digital Assistants, like my BlackBerry. Every day in New York City is that PDA Day. It's impossible to go anywhere without someone walking into you because he or she is texting while walking down the street. (Guilty!)

Rather, yesterday seemed to be Public Displays of Affection Day. But really it was EGPDA (Extremely Graphic/Gross Personal Displays of Affection) Day. I have only two examples, but I am certain they were part of a wider trend that I missed by staying home all day and watching Top Chef re-runs to recover from whatever stomach bug had me in bed and on the toilet all day on Tuesday. (As an aside, I do not recommend watching "Top Chef" or other food-oriented shows while you are eating toast, bananas, and Jell-O and starting to recover your appetite. Just saying.)

I ventured out at 7 pm to go to class. Still a little weak from lack of food over the last 36 hours, I took the only seat available when I got on the subway. Unfortunately, this was directly across from a couple sucking face. Literally. I might have been part of some horror movie scene in which it seems like a couple is making out, but really the girl is some sort of face eating monster-bot. They did not stop for air once between 72nd Street and 42nd St. The groaning and swaying were over the top. Of course, this happened to be the time I had nothing with me to read, so I had no idea where to look. I tried staring at the bag on my lap, but that didn't stop the pleasure noises from invading my ears. At any moment, I thought the girl was going to unzip the guy and give him a blow job.

Then, as I walked home from my subway stop after school, I encountered another couple going at it. They stood right in front of the Jewish Community Center, vacuum suctioned onto one another's mouths. The man was feeling the woman up right on the corner!!! Unlike on the subway, I noticed two other people pointing at the lovers and laughing.

People, have you no sense of decorum? How bad is it when I, a person who writes about throwing brown acidic stomach contents through my nose, am the arbiter of good taste? Yeesh. New Yorkers, go back to your BlackBerries and clueless and antisocial wandering!

The Two Star Review

There are sixteen reviews of my book about unusual things to see and do in New York, Off the Beaten (Subway) Track, on Amazon.com. Fifteen of them rated the book with five out of five stars. (I am humbled and honored!) In the wee hours of this insomnia-filled night/morning, I discovered a two star review:

This book is much more suited to people who live in New York or know the city very well. If you are new to the city is not a good way to get accustomed to the city, as the book doesn't really lay out general information and most of the attractions in the book are very odd.

The first part of the comment is probably true. The second part is definitely true, as it is a book about unusual things to see and do in New York City. The subtitle is, "New York City's Best Unusual Attractions." Amazon's description includes lines like, "Off the Beaten (Subway) Track is the first book to focus on the hundreds of off-the-beaten-path destinations in the city," and "These are the types of places and things that fit perfectly with New Yorkers' psyches and egos and satisfy the desire of tourists to see the unusual." Given these cues, I am not sure what else a reader might expect. Mission accomplished.

Honestly, there are some potentially excellent reasons to give it two stars. I find it hilarious that it was rated poorly because it delivered exactly what it promised to deliver. It's almost one of those compliment/backhanded insult situations. So, if you are thinking about buying a copy of Off the Beaten (Subway) Track, I hope you will not be disappointed that a book about unusual things to see and do in New York City focuses on places that "are very odd."

The Squirrelly and the Acorn

It's been a bad morning. I overslept, then while eating breakfast, read several depressing stories in the New York Times. The one that upset me most was about a "sting" operation enacted by two ultraconservatives who decided that they would bring about the right-wing wet dream of destroying the community organizing group Acorn.

Acorn is not perfect. It has had a series of scandals involving its officers over the last few years. But it also has done legitimate work to empower and engage disenfranchised, low income Americans in politics and economic growth. In New York City, Acorn has helped families frozen out of the housing market obtain places to live through shrewd credit counseling, homeownership classes, and technical assistance. People who participated in Acorn's programs here are not losing their homes to foreclosure.

Conservatives hate nothing more than when low income people ask for their fair (or I should say, fare) share of the heaping American apple pie. Actually, forget the "fair share" - they loathe when people who have been locked out of the mainstream systems that benefit white, middle- and upper-classes as for even a crumb or two of what they deserve. These groups and people, many of which have engaged in questionable activities themselves (remember Rush Limbaugh's illegal prescription addition and how he blamed his maid?), thus must bring down organizations like Acorn that are successful.

Today's New York Times article explains that two squirelly right-wingers dressed up as a prostitute and pimp, then went to Acorn offices and asked for help acquiring a home that they could use a brothel for under-age El Salvadorean girls. Two Acorn workers didn't blink an eye, explaining not only how to obtain the property, but also how to hide their illegal activity from the government.

There is nothing excusable or OK about what these Acorn employees did, and they have been fired. As a result of disgusting actions, Acorn is losing federal housing funds. But here's the problem with these incidents: they were isolated. And we don't find that out until deep in the article. See, the Times notes that the filmmakers "spent months visiting numerous Acorn offices, including those in San Diego, Los Angeles, Miami and Philadelphia, before getting the responses they were looking for."

Why is no one demanding the rest of the tape? The evidence where almost everyone they came into contact to at Acorn did the right thing? It's like shutting down an entire hospital because of one awful doctor and a shitty nurse. Investigative journalism is NOT when you go out and do undercover investigations, find one thing that confirms wrongdoing, and then portray it as rampant corruption. YouTube may have made this video popular, but it certainly did not help tell the truth.

Between these squirrelly, unethical "truth seekers" and the fucking lunatics who protested in DC on Sept. 12, I really give up. Americans are not, as far as I can tell, interested in truth or justice. The sad part is this is what the real American way might be.

Burned

For the second time in three weeks, I felt the sun bore down on the back of neck and forgot that I had sunscreen in my backpack. My fried neck was a small price to pay for such a gorgeous wedding, though:


I know I am biased, but I love (liberal) Jewish weddings. The chupa (wedding canopy) is so beautiful, and since I've never been to Orthodox wedding in which strict gender segregation is practiced, I always am extra-touched by the equality demonstrated in the ceremonies. Other than the sunburn, the only downside of the wedding was the number of bees flitting about the lush landscape. Bees scare me shitless. Another guest assured me that these bees were friendly, though, and I will say that it was certainly friendlier than the one that chased me around the parking lot of an ice cream shack at a beach town in New Jersey. (I offered that bee my ice cream and wallet to make it go away.)

Other things that I saw on my trip that uplifted my spirit, were these murals in the Mission District of San Francisco:



OK, so the birthing mural freaks me out a little (but I overall think it is cool) and the sidewalk graffiti is not technically a mural, but whatever. It reminded me that I like humanity. However, discussions that I had with friends and Bob Herbert's column in today's NY Times brought me back to reality.

I am burning with indignation at the lunatics who live in this nation. Protesting Obama's speech to school kids about studying hard and respecting teachers as socialist brainwashing? Calling him a Nazi? What the fuck is wrong with people? Of course, these are the same assholes who insisted that I had no right to dislike Bush since he was our president and as president, I needed to respect him. Gah!!!!! I give up.

Alli: Causing a Real Shit Storm

Cross-posted at BlogHer:

Filed under "Who Didn't See This Coming?:" The US Federal Drug Administration (FDA) is investigating reports that alli, the only FDA-approved nonprescription weight-loss drug, caused liver damage, according to The Washington Post. (Man, if that sentence wasn't a mouthful, I don't know what is. Except, of course, that people using alli can't have a mouthful because of how alli works, but more on that later.) While there is no conclusive link, more than 30 people using alli and Xenical, its stronger prescription sibling, were hospitalized with liver issues between 1999 and October 2008.

OK, so people using alli (pronounced like "ally" - clever, no?) can really eat a mouthful, just so long as said mouthful doesn't contain too much fat. This is because alli "works" by stopping a person's body from absorbing fat. Anyone remember Olestra and "anal leakage" side effect? Yeah, it's like that. But worse. Basically, if you make a mistake and consume too much fat while using alli, you will essentially shit yourself. I'm sorry, there's no nicer way to say it. What distresses me about alli is that a lot of people (especially women, who alli is primarily marketed towards) are so desperate to be thin (and also continue eating what they want to) that crapping their undies is a better option than, god forbid, being overweight. (And let's not confuse overweight with healthy because they are often very different things. Certainly someone who is thin but uncontrollably poops through her thong is less healthy than someone who is overweight but can control her own bowels. Plus, studies have shown that what people we consider "overweight" are actually healthier than people considered a "healthy weight", but that's another story.)

BlogHer Health and Wellness Contributing Editor Catherine Morgan blogged about alli back in July 2007, noting that 1. FDA approval of the drug concerned her, as many drugs get approval and then are shown to be unsafe; and 2. "Limiting your fat intake per meal WILL facilitate weight loss, even without a pill that gives you diarrhea. She also pointed out that the only way to sustain weight loss is through a healthy diet. For these excellent insights, she was raked over the coals by some commenters. (Several claimed that people who eat too much fat - whether on alli or not - are at fault because they have no willpower or self-restraint. Another person demanded that she present her medical credentials for making such a ridiculous argument. Seriously.)

Although I clearly am irritated that people would attack Catherine's scientific, evidence laden post, I understand why. We live in a world we are pounded day in and day out with messages about body acceptability. We are also bombarded nearly 24-7 with ads selling tasty foods. At the same time, busy schedules, socio-economic pressures, and other issues may preclude people from having access to fresh foods, the time to prepare meals, and ways to exercise. These are not excuses, they are realities. And the reality is that drug manufacturers take advantage of our insecurities by selling us miracle pills to make us thin. Is GlaxoSmithKline, the distributor of alli, any better than a snake oil salesman peddling his wares from his wagon at the turn of the century? No, both sold people easy access to things that were and are just out of reach.

I'm not going to lie: I'm no more immune to the pressure to be thin than anyone else. No matter what I look like, I always think I am fat, except for a period of time about seven years ago. I had been having various digestive issues for almost a year and seeing a gastroenterologist, when one day I came home from work and needed to use the toilet maybe more urgently than I ever did in my entire life. When I was done, I was horrified to notice orange grease floating in the toilet. (As this is a family blog, I won't describe what else was in it.) For the next six months, whatever I ate slid out of me undigested like it was a vat of Olestra. I lost a lot of weight, quickly. And despite the fact that I was becoming nutritionally deprived, smelled from gas, had constant cramps, and my ass hurt from the amount of wiping I needed to do every time I used the bathroom - and I mean every time I sat on a toilet, something very bad came out of me (TMI, I know - sorry) - I liked how I looked. At least I liked how my body looked in a tight pair of jeans. My face looked like a zombie because I was seriously ill.

Many unpleasant tests later (for details, see Part I and Part II, but warning: it involves collection buckets and a refrigerator), no one understood why I naturally produced the as-yet-uninvented-alli, and I was warned to be very careful about how much fat I ate. The bottom line is that not digesting fat is really, really unhealthy. That's why I am not surprised that alli may cause liver damage.

Why I Love Barney Frank

According to a NY Times op-ed blurb, a crazy bitch (classification mine, not the Times at a town hall meeting hosted by Rep. Barney Frank screamed at him about why he supported President Obama's "Nazi policy." Rep. Franks replied, "On what planet do you spend most of your time?"

Cackle. Seriously, though, it is about time someone started standing up for common sense.

Well, Do They?

It's been months since I played the game where I look at my blog stats go through the list of how people who visited CUSS got here. When I looked at the referrals yesterday afternoon, a nestled among the usual suspects (unshaved, Jewish pussy, kosher pussy, hairy pussy, etc.), there was a real head scratcher.

I turned to Husband. "Hey, listen to this crazy search. Someone came to my blog by googling, 'do orthodox jews put carrots in an entryway.'"

Husband glanced up at me from the newspaper. "Well, do they?"

I suppose the question is better than the direction I originally thought the question was taking, unless "entryway" is a euphemism.

American as Apple Pie

Until this morning, I struggled to understand why so many (white) Americans are seething about the plan to offer health care benefits to all Americans. I thought about a photo, showing an older white man screaming at Sen. Arlen Specter (who looked like he just ate something that left a very bad taste in his mouth, which cracked me up, but that's another point) that ran last week on the cover of The New York Times. The enraged man shouted, "One day, God is going to stand before you and he's going to judge you!"

This morning, however, when I looked at a NYT headline that announced that the public option would likely be dropped from whatever plan passes, Maurice (the hamster who runs on the wheel that powers my brain), dropped the seed he was eating and jumped on his wheel. Really, is not America founded on the idea that some people have rights, and they will protect those rights and do everything they can to prevent others from obtaining them? Those self-righteous colonists, shouting at King George, were essentially the same angry white men who then turned around and made sure that women, people of color, and white men without property could not vote or hold public office. In addition, a good portion of the public could not go to school, work in certain fields, marry who they pleased, observe their religion without being harassed, or in the most extreme cases, be considered human beings. They said Jews could not serve in the Continental Army (although they were happy to get Jewish money to pay for it, while insisting that Jews were unpatriotic for not serving in the army). Etc, etc.

The real problem with America is that it is utterly un-American to believe that all people are equal. When people fight to preserve a system that benefits only a few at the expense of others, they are upholding the true American way. There may be better opportunity here for people than in many other places in the world, but really, that's just saying how truly awful many places in the world are. And how wonderful it is that there are so many un-American Americans who want to extend rights and freedoms to all.

Where Can I Get a Pair of Michael Pollan's Rose-Colored Glasses?

I agree with the basic tenet of Michael Pollan's writing about food: what is mass consumed in Western culture is full of chemicals, leads to unsustainable farming practices, and is bad for everyone's (and I include the earth as everyone) health in the long run. My (organic, grass-fed) beef is with his analysis of how people ate in the past, and what we can do today.

Over at BlogHer, I address the gender absurdity he ignores. (In a sustainable, farm-raised nutshell, he says that people spend less time cooking wholesome foods at home because women have jobs, and does not ask the pivotal question: why don't men pitch in now that women have less time? Instead, it is the fault of feminism for rushing women out of the kitchen. Sigh. I suppose you can say feminism also failed in convincing men to do "women's work," like cooking, so the lack of time spent cooking is therefore also the fault of feminism.)

The other problem with Pollan is how he looks at the past. I read In Defense of Food for my book club, and we all thought it was condescending bunk. He claims that we should go back to cooking and shopping the way that our great-grandmothers did. This idealized notion of home cooking assumes that our great-grandmothers didn't work 14 hour days at shirt-waist factories, were not bent over fields doing sharecropping, or otherwise occupied in a struggle to earn some sort of income for their families. Further, it assumes that people had access to fresh fruits and vegetables. Photos that I have seen of cities from a century ago tend to depict vendors standing in the street with raw sewage at their feet. Of course, that assumes that my great-grandmother even had the money to buy fresh items - the reason that the Federal Poverty Level is based on the cost of a basket of food is because food was the biggest expense in a family budget in Ye Goode Olde Dayes.*

My guess is that my great-grandmother did not spend hours cooking after she arrived home from the sweatshop as a young woman; she was just glad when people in her household had anything to eat. In fact, back in Pollan's Ye Goode Olde Dayes, the infant mortality rate was much higher and people died (for a lot of reasons) younger than our diabetes-infested society members do today. One of these reasons is that poor people (who make up a lot of the population) had limited access to nutritious foods.

Pollan wants to return to a past that never existed for many people. Without acknowledging why affordable, fresh food and nutritious has always been a problem in some way or another, he prescribes solutions that are ridiculous. Spending more time preparing healthy, delicious food at home is a good goal, but how can we achieve it when fresh food remains unaffordable to so many, as it always has? (Seriously, when I was at McDonald's last week, I got a small meal for less than $4 - I can't eat for even close to that at my local farmers' market.) How can we change the industrial farming practices that Pollan so rightly abhors as stripping plants, animals, and the earth of its nutrients, and make sure that people can afford to buy what is produced? How can we re-direct farm subsidies that go toward harmful practices to get better, affordable food? How do we help people find the time to cook, and make sure it is an enjoyable way to spend time so people will choose to cook?

Blaming feminism and ignoring the realities of the past is easy. But it won't solve anything.

*Today, the cost of housing is by far the largest line item.

Paraphrased Quote of the Day

"A Republican can't enjoy a meal unless he knows that other people are hungry."
-Mary Karr, The Liar's Club

(I forgot to bring the book to my exile at Cosi, so as soon as I have both the book and internet access in the same place, I will update this into the Quote of the Day.)

God, I wish that I could come up with lines like that!

So Burn Me at the Stake Already, You Fascists

During the last presidential election, Husband regularly received mailings from the McCain campaign requesting donations. (He regularly gives to Democratic candidates around the country.) After the election, issues of The National Review mysteriously appeared every month in our mailbox. On Friday, when I retrieved our mail, I discovered the scariest sacrilege yet: an envelope depicting black cloaked priests lying face down in the aisle of a crowded church, next to a picture of priests holding a "Dominicans Friars for Life" banner at a march. In the upper left corner, the envelope read, "God is calling new men to the battle. And the Dominicans are answering - again. (Battle plan enclosed.)"

Inside, a six page letter read:

Dear fellow Catholic:

About 800 years ago, a poisonous heresy arose in southern France. Left unchecked, it could have threatened the very existence of the human race.

Its adherents saw the human body as a prison for the soul, and thus adopted an anti-life philosophy. They forbade procreation, applauded divorce, and openly encouraged suicide.

The Church called these beliefs Albigensianism.

Seeking good men to fight the Albigensian heresy, Pope Honorious III approved the founding of the Order of Preachers, better known as the Dominicans.

St. Dominic and his preachers rose to the Pope's challenge, using Truth to blot out heresy. They did their job so well that, nowadays, you'll never meet an Albigensian.

I interrupt this letter for a moment to point out that we would never meet an Albigensian regardless of the Dominicans because they all would have killed themselves or died through lack of reproduction. Also, Husband is not a "fellow Catholic," so "God" is apparently not very good at dictating "Truth" in mailing lists. But back to the scariness:

Today, the Dominicans are rising again - to defend Christian morality against an attack that is even more widespread, vicious, and uncompromising.

Yeah, that first part of the sentence scares the fucking shit out of me.

What is this latest, most ferocious attack on Christian truth and morality? Pope Benedict XVI calls it the Dictatorship of Relativism. Relativism is the "universal heresy" because it dissolves all truth and eliminates all categories of good and evil. This deranges the mind and morals of modern man to a dangerous - indeed frightening - degree.

Fore example, relativism not only dictates that abortion is merely a personal choice, but also dictates that the government muse guarantee the "right" to this choice... Relativism can also cause people to take a good thing - such as holy matrimony - and tamper with its very definition to fulfill their own selfish purposes.

Right. I forgot that love is selfish. Of course, I also think that abortion is "merely a personal choice," and my people killed Jesus according to this institution's "Truth," so what do I know? I'll cite one more line:

Relativism is profoundly irrational - anything that denies objective truth denies reason.

Am I the only one whose eyes are bleeding? That is the most fucked up twisted "logic" I've read since Husband's free issues of The New Republic stopped arriving last month.

But on a serious note, the remaining four pages of this toilet paper screed boast about the increase in enrollments at their vocational school, and how their latest crop of 54 trainees are going to stamp out my irrational belief in religious freedom and my vile heresy against the One Truest True Truth. It is pretty damn terrifying to think about these people and what they would do to me in order to "save" me. Shudder.

Ironically, I also pulled out a receipt for a donation I made in late May (right before Dr. Tiller was killed by a psychopath who believed he had to stop abortion) to the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice. I very well might send them more money. Because now I've seen the enemy's battle plan - the Truth - and it is chilling.

Can You Tell the Difference?

So, now conservatives are really angry because liberals paid more attention to the assassination of Dr. Tiller than the murder of Pvt. William Andrew Long outside a recruiting office in Arkansas. (Another soldier was wounded in the attack.) I know that my stupid liberal brain is slow, but I am not sure that I get it.

First, no liberals are expressing joy or relief or thanking God that Pvt. Long is dead. This is unlike the extremist groups that encouraged violence against Dr. Tiller for, oh, like two decades.

Which reminds me: was Pvt. Tiller stalked and harassed before he was killed? No? Did he have to hire security guards because of the repeated threats against his life or the vandalism of his office, which happened repeatedly for almost 20 years? No? Then how are the two murders equivalent?

The killing of Pvt. Long is heinous and vile. But there is pretty much no support among liberal organizations for these aggressive actions against people we disagree with. We do not threaten to kill their children because we think that their actions are morally wrong. We do not bomb their offices. We do not give veiled condemnations of murderous actions that really celebrate those actions.

No one could have predicted that Pvt. Long would be killed. His death is horrible. But it is not part of a long term harassment campaign, and that is why I paid more attention to Dr. Tiller than Pvt. Long. Then again, I don't know why I expect people who equate a fetus to a person who is born, breathing, and feeling to be able to distinguish these types of nuances.

Tea Bagging

The phone rang. I picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Did you know," a recorded voice intoned, "that Americans across the country are hosting tea parties to protest high taxes?"

Click.

Damn. I've been tea bagged! I feel so gross.

Sexual Eating

Lately, I can't keep my hands off the tasty treats, thanks to emotional eating. However, it seems that Mars candy company thinks that women eat chocolate to satisfy sexual urges. Their first new product in 20 years is called the Fling, and it is described as a slim chocolate finger that brings guilt-free pleasure to the ladies.

I compare the Fling to Nestle's Yorkie and Cadbury's Mr. Big over at BlogHer. While many temptations cause my "mouth" to "water," not all satisfy my "hunger" equally.

Barring Common Sense

All ground floor apartments in Manhattan have bars over the windows. Some of the bars are built into the window frame on the inside of the apartment, like this:

Others are built into the facade of the building, like the two apartments in this photo:

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I happen to live in a ground floor apartment with outdoor bars, which always makes me wonder what would happen if there was a fire in my building and I couldn't use my door to get out, but that's another story. Today's story is not about a potential fiery death in an inferno, but about stupidity.

Back in January, a leak developed in my building that required the super to rip up my bathroom to fix the plumbing. The damage was poorly repaired, prompting Husband and I to consider a bigger bathroom renovation project. We decided to replace the wall tile and the floor tile, as well as put in a new toilet and sink and spruce up the shower. As long as we were ripping open the wall again, we thought we'd see if we could install a washer and dryer in the hallway closet which has plumbing hook ups in the wall between the closet and bathroom.

We hired a contractor, who drew up a scope of work and submitted the plans for approval to the building management, which first ran it by an architect, who made some suggestions that we agreed to, and then submitted the architect's suggestions to the Board. The Board approved the plans on Monday (yay!), with the following condition: we remove the trash through our window.

Yes, the windows which have bars soldered into the facade. Yes, it is literally 16 steps from my apartment door to the front door of the building. No, it makes no sense that there is less potential to damage the building by ripping cast iron bars out of the facade than walking 16 small steps from my apartment outside.

Excuse me while I curl up in the fetal position and rock back and forth while I await my appeal of this insanity.

It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To

I remember very clearly in 1984 worrying about Reagan being re-elected. Although the Gipper managed to fool a large number of working-class families into thinking he was helping them when in reality he was a reverse Robin Hood, my seven year old self knew that bad shit was going down. I was a Democrat through and through.

I survived the past eight years. I was excited to see things change in federal policy. And I am more disappointed than ever. First, the Democrats proved that they like being treated like shit. Lieberman can campaign for fucking McCain, and when his candidate loses, all he has to do is say that he was just kidding and everyone is like, that's cool. Now Arlen Specter changes parties to continue to work against progressive policies, and the Democrats are like, you said you want that conservative psychopath Norm Coleman to win and you joined other shithead Democrats and all the Republicans in voting down fair change in bankruptcy laws so that people with one house get treated the same as people with vacation homes and yachts? That's cool. Welcome to the party.

I am tired of this bullshit. If the Democrats are going to continue to suck the shit out of Republicans assholes and leave me with brown stains on my teeth, I am done. Forget it - that's not cool. I don't think I've ever been so disheartened by the possibilities or lack thereof.

To the caves!!!

Damn, Damn, Damn

Earlier this week, Husband worried that he was coming down with a cold. I advised him to take it easy, particularly since he was leaving for the Old World for a week, and being sick while traveling is miserable. Of course, I did not take my own counsel, staying up all hours and running around in chilly, damp weather, and now I'm knocked again with a fucking cold. Will this winter of discontent never end?!?!

Yesterday evening I journeyed out of my sick cocoon and was distracted by a store offering 70% off the original ticket price of certain items. I found a great sweater, and was pleased by my savings. The cashier told me that they had another shop around the corner with more items, so my friend and I sauntered over there. I found a flattering wrap dress that was originally $98. When I went to pay for it, the cashier said it would be $39.

"Oh, the sign said that the items in that section were 70% off the original price," I told him.

"Right," he nodded. "That's $39."

"No, it's less than that."

He sighed and pointed at the tag. "It was originally $98."

I took a deep breath. "Yes, I am aware of that. And 70% off of 98 is NOT $39. It is $29 and change."

Long sigh from the cashier.

"OK, forget it," I snapped. "I don't want it anym..."

"That'll be $29.40."

Damn, people! Of course, when I woke up this morning and looked at the original price of the sweater, I discovered that they overcharged me by $5.60. Gah!!!!

Adding Insult to Injury

Picture it: New York City, 2009. A young girl (OK, not so young or a girl - a 33 year old) stands in her dining room, holding an unsigned letter from her co-op apartment's management company, eyes wide in disbelief, sputtering "I can't believe this!" over and over again. The paper explains that her share of the "work" done in her apartment in January is $500.

One might remember this "work:" over the holidays, the super knocked on her door. The occupants were out of town, but their cousin was keeping an eye on the rabbit and fort. Said cousin contacted owners of said apartment and explained that the super told her that there was a leak in the basement and that he wanted to hire a plumber to tear open her bathroom wall and possibly floor to locate and fix the leak. The not-so-young-girl agreed, and the work commenced. The leak was repaired, new pipes were installed, and everyone was happy.

However, when she got home, she discovered that there was a big fucking gap in her wall, as the super took it upon himself to re-tile and fucked it up. A battle then commenced over how this would be fixed. The management company acknowledged that it was their responsibility to put things back to their prior semi-shitty condition. More negotiations took place. No work was done.

So when the not-so-young-girl received a bill for work which not only was not her responsibility, but also fucked up her apartment, she blew a gasket.

Satan Comes In Many Guises

Just as I prepared to hit the sheets last night, I noticed a message in a Facebook thread mentioning that so-and-so was not planning to hang out after class on Wednesday night because her class was canceled. Incidentally, her class is my class (let's sing it together, "This class was made for you and me..."), and I didn't know bupkes* about class being canceled. I spent the next hour or so clenching and unclenching my fists while inhaling and exhaling deeply. Long story short, this is the second class (out of two classes) where the administrators of the program don't have me on the list.

My tuition is $22,000 and change. I take a whopping two classes per week, and attend some literature readings and weekend seminars. For all that money, I expect that people could make some fucking effort to figure out who is in what classes. Since this is obviously not the case, I decided to attempt to transfer to another school in city that shall remain nameless but costs 1/4 of the price. Last week, a woman who blogs about how God dictated her stories to her and she writes for the glory of Jesus received a phone call admitting her to the program that my tax dollars support. I did not. (Fists clenching and unclenching, deep breath in, deep breath out...) No, I'm not bitter at all.

Once again, I had a restless night and on my way to the subway this morning I passed by a group of people tempting me with forbidden apples, if it is possible that the plaza in front of the 72nd St. subway station is Eden. Yes, that's right: they were giving out granola bars. Along with propaganda about the seven deadly sins. (Motto: "They may be deadly... but they sure are fun.") My cravings for granola bars are somewhat less this week than last, but still bad. Fucking religious nuts, screwing with me everywhere, I swear!!!

I took a granola bar. I decided that I would not eat it, but save it in my desk at work just in case I ever got snowed in or something and needed sustenance. (I also have a large bar of Jacques Torres milk chocolate, distributed by the landlord of the building for Valentine's Day, stashed in my drawer. And an insulated container of 2% milk, the kind from Horzion that doesn't require refrigeration. It's almost enough to make me hope I get snowed in so I can chow down, but I digress.) Really, I took it because it was free, and I hate turning away free things. Also, I wanted to waste the crazy church's money. However, I am not so evil that I took two. God didn't give me that story to write.

Sigh.

*Yiddish: shit

The Zodiac is Sort of Wrong

As a Capricorn, my best mates are Cancers. The goat and the crab - a natural pairing if there ever was one. (Incidentally, Husband is a Cancer.) I'm not one who puts much stock in astrology, but I do have many of the personality traits ascribed to my sign. In a way, I'm conservative (not politically of course, but I've never been the type to drink or do drugs or party or have one night stands, etc., not that I care if other people do, but I digress). Stubborn and tenacious, I'll plod along the rocky mountain path eating tin cans until I wind up somewhere with a tasty patch of grass.

Still, it's funny that Cancer is a crab, because I am one of the crabbiest bitches on the planet. At my Saturday research seminar, I wanted to slap some wench who waddled in 30 minutes late for the second week in a row, disrupting the class as she took off her coat, unzipped a back back to take out a notebook, then zipped it back up and unzipped a second backpack and fished around for a pen before zipping that bag up, then shifted around in her chair for a few minutes. Once she was settled, she raised her hand and asked, "Maybe this was covered already, but how do you cite a website as a source?"

"Get a fucking style manual!" I restrained myself from screaming. What the fuck? People, try to show up to class on time (she was the fourth person to waltz in late), and if you can't get your shit together to do so, at least don't open your fucking trap and when you have no idea what we discussed before you deigned to show up. Wait until the damn break or after class and ask then.

I fucking hate people. Cleaning bat guano will be a small price to pay for the refuge of my future cave home. Grrrr...

Better than Horrific

So the super never showed up last night, nor did he call us to let us know that something else came up. This morning he told Husband he'd be by at 8:15. When I called him at 9:00 to see what was going on, he seemed irritated that I interrupted him. However, he did show up at my door within two minutes.

He is truly, honestly wounded that Husband and I don't find the repair job acceptable. He said he's just trying to save the building some money, and a professional tiler would not do a better job. Since I beg to differ, I'll provide some evidence.

This is the original "repair" job that the super was surprised that we found unacceptable:


My favorite part is the "new" tile with a big fucking crack in it. Granted, after we complained, he did fix it. That cracked tile is still there, albeit smeared over with grout:

Oh look! The big chip is still missing from the side. The crack is still ther, just hidden from our cheap camera under all the grout. Speaking of grout, many of the tiles are smeared up with the rough substance. Such pickiness!

He also argued with me about whether water went into the little hole in tile that I pointed out in yesterday's blog post. First, he said that water from the shower couldn't possibly reach that area, which is stupid. Then, when I pointed out the mildew stain from the leaky faucet directly above the hole, he denied there was a leak. We turned the shower on, and I watched a trickle of water flow down into the hole. "See?" my super said. "No leak." When I insisted that there was water seeping into the hole in front of my eyes, he touched the wall. "Oh yeah," he marveled. "It is leaking." I gnashed my teeth. He then put grout directly into the wet hole, sealing in the moisture behind the tiles.

If I paid someone who left me with my current tile situation, I would sue them. And that's the difference between the earnest effort my super made, and the result I expect. I'm sorry to hurt his feelings, and I do think he genuinely believes he is trying to help us, but this leaky faucet is getting plugged by someone else. Harumph.

The Great Bathroom Wall of Tile

The bathroom wall saga continues. Quick recap: while Husband and I were away at the end of the year, the super of our building asked permission to enter our apartment and tear up the bathroom wall to repair a pipe that was leaking. We were promised that the wall would be returned to the condition in which it was found. Uh huh...

For reasons I cannot possibly fathom, the super refused to allow the management company to hire a professional tiler to fix the enormous holes that were ripped in the wall. (The management company was perfectly willing to do this.) Instead, he had his handyman do it, but the tiles were cut to the wrong size, pasted in so that the insulation was still exposed, and fell out when I looked at it closely. The next day, Husband asked the super to stop the work until a professional could come in. When we arrived home that night, the outrageously crappy tiling job was ripped out, and a new job was done. It was not as horrifying as the first job, but did contain problems like this:



Yes, that is a small hole next to the faucet into which water drips, probably causing a mold problem to fester. This is in addition to all the old tiles that were cracked or chipped during the work and not replaced, but left there to look like shit. And the corner, which was originally a curved tile, that is now two glued together at a 90 degree angle with exposed ceramic. Not to mention that the new tiles are a different shade of white than the old ones. Furious, Husband called the management company, which agreed to order appropriate tiles and have them professionally installed.

Today the super told Husband that he refuses to accept that his work is not as good as a professional. When he arrives here at 7:00, I would like to ask him to return the $130 holiday gift we gave him in December, as he obviously enjoys shitting in my bathroom and telling me I should be grateful it isn't diarrhea and that he left me a mop. I would also like to break into his apartment and shatter all the tiles in his shower and tell him that it is perfectly fine. And really, why is he fighting this? The repairs are not fucking coming out of his personal pocket. I trusted him to come into my home when I wasn't there and do what needed to be done to save the building from extensive damage. His repayment is to take my old shower, which was rather ugly, and make it worse.

We all know where this leads: he better hope that he doesn't need access to make repairs ever again if no one is home, as I will now let the whole fucking building collapse before he ever touches a fucking thing in here. Hey, I have homeowner's insurance.

Update: The super did not show up or call us to cancel.

Ridiculousness

It is approximately seven degrees in New York. I know that this is not nearly as cold as it is in Chicago or Iowa or other Midwestern or northern states, but for NYC, it is much colder than usual. Still, an intrepid friend who lives in Staten Island had a belated New Year's BBQ today. He made lamb and sausage on the grill on his terrace, which we ate inside. It was fun.

On the way to his apartment, Husband and I passed this house:

The picture makes it look like the house is supported by the Hummer, which makes me laugh. In person, however, it was clear that the stupid SUV is so fucking oversized that it is double the height of the car port.

Another ridiculous item I came across this weekend is the American Life League's protest of Krispy Kreme donuts for offering a choice of a free donut on inauguration day. According to the nutters, the words "freedom of choice" indicate that Krispy Kreme supports abortion on demand. Honestly, if a Southern-owned donut chain were that liberal, I'd freaking eat there all the time. Instead, this is just fucking stupid, albeit sort of funny (the comments on the post I linked to are gut busting). The pseudo-abortion link reminds me of king cakes, which are eaten in New Orleans at Mardi Gras. A plastic toy baby is baked into the cake, and whoever finds the baby in his or her piece gets good luck...

The last ridiculous thing that crossed my mind is how surprised I am that animal rights groups have not been protesting the way geese are being treated by the media covering the US Airways crash landing in the Hudson River. If geese are people too, then there were a lot of fatalities when the flock was decimated by the plane's engines. Fortunately, I haven't seen any groups suing on behalf of the geese. Maybe someone should alert the American Life League.

What Would CUSS Readers Do?: Sloganeeringhat

Once again proving that by the time you read something in a mainstream newspaper, it's probably too late to be of use, today's New York Times has an article about people scamming troubled homeowners by charging money to "fix" the loans, then disappearing.* The Times notes this is a growing scam, but it has actually been a huge problem for at least a year now. (One deputy attorney general in California said that dealing with the swindlers has been all she's done, with 300 calls received in the past year.) Perhaps reporting on the issue six months ago may have alerted people to the scams and helped them avoid them, but whatever. The media just reports what's happening; it's not there to help people make informed decisions or anything. Bah.

Anyway, one of the things I've been tasked with at my new job is to come up with a clever marketing slogan to alert people to the presence of mortgage "fixing" scams and let them know that there is free, government-approved housing counseling available. The best I've come up with thus far is:

In trouble with your home loan?
Stop getting fucked up the ass!
FREE housing counseling is available.
Call blah blah blah and stop the bleeding.

Although it is to the point and accurate, this is probably not going to fly for a variety of reasons. If anyone has any other suggestions (legitimate or not), I'm all ears. I promise to give you credit if I use it.

*As a random side rant (or as my brother-in-law would say, rantom), the fact that people can go up to someone who is about to lose his or her home, promise her that they can save it, and then steal whatever cash that the homeowner may have used to actually save the home, blows my mind. How can the goniff sleep at night, knowing that they've made others homeless? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with people? How did some manage to become such fucking assholes?

Squeeze This, Asshat

As it is winter here in New York, I have been making good use of my cozy bear hat for the last few weeks. Responses to the hat range from frowns that someone "my age" would wear such an item to a preschool age girl saying, "Look Daddy! That girl's a teddy bear!" Generally, people restrain themselves.

However, two nights ago as I entered a little magazine/cigarette shop near school, a man was leaving the store. As he held the door open for me, he said, "Can I squeeze..." I froze. What the fuck was this guy going to try and squeeze? "... your ears?" Before I could respond (I was sort of in shock from the weird request), he grabbed a little ear stub in his greedy hand and manhandled it. Then he walked away.

At least he didn't ask to squeeze my tits. Shudder.