White Women Gone Wild

Supporters of Hillary Rodham Clinton protested Saturday as the Democratic Party’s Rules and Bylaws Committee met in Washington to discuss seating the Michigan and Florida delegations.

Il mio male for playing the race card here, but that the first thing that came to mind when I saw this photo on the home page of the New York Times.

I never used to think about race, but since it is brought up so much these days (in both good and bad ways) I tend to think of it more.

At any rate, I feel sorry for the voters in Florida and Michigan. But face it, folks, your state party leaders violated national party rules. They played a game of chicken and I think they are going to lose.

I read an article a while back (and I’m too lazy to look it up now — besides it’s a nice day outside and I have to go mow the lawn) which discussed a proposal to change the presidential primary election process. If I recall correctly, Iowa and New Hampshire would remain in the lead-off and #2 spots with the rest of the country divided into regions. The regions would rotate as far as which regional primaries would follow New Hampshire. It sounded like a good idea.

Happiness is a Warm Kittie

How I felt after the Mets won the game last night:

I was quite surprised with how happy I felt when Fernando Tatis doubled in the tying and winning runs.

I like to think I am a reasonable fan. Supportive, not fanatical, I don’t kick the cats when the team loses. I can be a happy person even when the Mets are losing.

But the team has been so highly criticized this season — some of it justified, some of it not — that I have felt very sorry for the players, coaches, and manager. Players are getting booed by their own fans. Some fans want the entire coaching staff fired. I swear, some fans act like the players are trying to lose on purpose. It’s all quite nuts. So mixed in with my happiness over the win was a sense of relief for the team.

Last night’s game was especially good for the manner in which the team won: extra innings, came from behind twice, the much-maligned bullpen performed well, the offense never gave up. It was the kind of game that was common for the Mets in 2006, but very rare since. Winning last night was good, but even if we had lost the level of play was outstanding and I would have termed it a “good loss.”

I’m an easy-to-please person. Seeing a nice sunset, the bright moon in a dark sky, a butterfly in the garden …. I don’t need much to be happy. I don’t need my team to win, but I do need them to play good baseball. If they play solid ball then the wins will take care of themselves.

Let’s go Mets.

The Dan Patrick Show: Just Another Manic Tuesday

After two days of “The Best of the Dan Patrick Show” (old interviews packaged into a show’s worth of material) DP returned for a live show today.

I’ve been listening to the show live for the past few weeks. A nice change from having to listen to downloaded shows in bits and pieces. But there was something that I hadn’t been able to put my finger on. After hearing shows composed of recorded interviews on Friday and Saturday it hit me: While I like DP’s fireside chat demeanor, his new show is almost frenetic. We’re not at the fireside; we’re at a sports bar. I like his interaction with Paulie and Seton; they make a good team. But at times the banter becomes incessant. The Friday and Monday shows were simply DP chatting with a guest. Very simple, very pure. It was good radio.

But a stripped-down sports radio show is likely to have just one fan: me.

Maybe that’s why DP downs all those venti skim chais: to fuel the fuego.

Memento Mori

No big plans for this day. We’re rather tired, having spent the whole weekend working on projects around the house. It feels like a Sunday, actually. But a little while ago I heard the familiar crack of volleys from the cemetery at the end of the block and I remembered it was Monday, Memorial Day.

The rifle squad was, I think, untrained or a little nervous because I heard not three distinct blasts of gunfire but three smatterings of shots. I hope their imprecision did not upset the veteran’s family.

After the volleys came “Taps,” which floated on the breeze. I couldn’t hear all the notes, but it seems ethereal — more heavenly, even — that way.

I’m glad for the real-life Memorial Day reminder I got today.

I really like living near a cemetery. It’s large and peaceful and I often think of the people who are buried there. Two of my neighbors are buried there, and I think of them often. They lived next door and I miss hearing them speak to each other in that quiet, loving way elderly couples do. Sometimes when driving by I’ll see visitors at a grave site, tenderly caring for it — placing flowers and manicuring the grass — or standing or kneeling before it deep in thought. What are they thinking? “I miss you.” “I love you.” “I’m sorry.” “I’ll never forget you.”

Maybe “Thank you.”

D-i-v-o-r-c-e

Well, the Mets lost tonight, getting swept by the Braves in a four-game series. We are now one game under .500. Ouch.

Although I’m not an NBA fan anymore I’m glad DP is spending so much time on the playoffs. Yes, I’d rather hear about baseball, but I don’t need to hear about how poorly the Mets have been playing or about the racially-tinged comments made by manager Willie Randolph. I already get enough of that from the NYC-area media outlets, not to mention Mets fans blogs and message boards. It’s pretty dang depressing. The season has felt long, but we’ve only played 45 games. 117 to go. If the team keeps playing the way it has this is going to be one excruciating summer.

I suppose I could just quit the Mets and pick another team to follow. But I’m not that kind of girl. In addition to being monogamous, I am highly loyal. I have never dumped anyone. I always hang on until the bitter end — past the bitter end — and wind up being the dumpee. It’s not that I’m a Candide, but I always think things will work out.

Maybe I am a Candide.

At any rate, there’s a lot of negativity simmering in the Mets’ fan base as well as in the media. In newspaper articles, blog comments, message board posts, what-have-you people are nitpicking. Not just on-field performance, but things like whether or not guys are cheering for each other from the dugout, whether or not guys shake hands after a game, the players’ and coaches’ demeanor when they speak with the press (not just what they say to the press, but how they say it). I’m finding it all quite odd. It’s like being in a fading relationship where what used to be a cute quirk or something you’d overlook has now become a deal-breaker. Little things become huge things. And even when something goes well (e.g., we swept the Yankees last weekend), reasons are found to denigrate it (the Yankees are a .500 team, A-Rod and Posada did not play).

I’m not about to divorce my team. My team, however, may divorce its manager. Now that might make the DP Show. But maybe I’ll be lucky and the Mets will fire Willie Randolph the day after Kobe drops 100 points in a playoff game.

Our passion bucket is empty ….

On edit, Friday morning:

Just saw this on John Delcos’ LoHud Mets Blog, Why?

Some of the comments are really great, a lot more compelling than the reason I became a Mets fan (I didn’t really have a team, I used to live in NYC, I got tired of following the Yankees soap opera, I like the Mets theme song, Mr. Met is the Best. Mascot. Ever.) Spiderpig hit the nail on the head by saying that the team is charming.

This is an Until Death Do You Part kind of thing for me.

The Hard Labor Farm

(With apologies to Raymond Mungo.)

I’ve been taking advantage of the good weather to work in the yard, leaving myself quite worn out and tired and not real capable of stringing together thoughts for blog posts. What’s rather disconcerting is that instead of developing essay topics while working in the yard I find that I slave away happily and don’t think of anything at all. It’s like my mind is a complete blank when I am out there. Maybe this is what it’s like to be one with Nature.

At any rate, I saw this in today’s Times, Contrarian Carbon Cutters. It made me wonder where manual labor would rate. My many hours of working in the yard have generated a lot of exhaled CO₂. Not to mention some blood — so far I have stabbed myself in the arm with an Echinacea stalk, sliced a finger with a pair of grass shears, nearly impaled my head on garden stake, and rammed a hand into a forsythia stump. (I’m like the Les Nessman of gardeners.) That last accident came in the midst of a major project: clearing a forsythia thicket in order to establish a new vegetable plot. At least ten hours have been spent so far cutting and bundling branches and digging out stumps. I wonder if less CO₂ would be produced by using motorized equipment. Using a powered saw and a tiller it probably would have taken only a few hours to clear out the forsythias. As it is, I think it will take another five hours of manual labor to finish the job. Maybe more.

Breath less and leave a smaller carbon footprint?

The Dan Patrick Show: Happy Birthday from Marilyn

DP’s birthday is today. Maybe Keith will call in and sing Happy Birthday to him. If not, then here’s a poor substitute:

The Fishbowl Life

Hawaii commented in Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust and ‘Til Death Do You Part:

Are people really “fascinated” by Jenna Bush’s coming of age?! I recall some humor when she was busted for under age drinking, but I can’t honestly say I know anyone at all who give the Bush girls much thought. And in my mind that is completely fair. Unless the grown child involves themselves in politics they should be off limits to most discussions. Mary Cheney only opened herself up to scrutiny after she began involving herself in politics. As far as I have heard, neither Jenna nor Barbara have done so seriously, so they should get all the privacy they desire.

I saw an article in the Washington Post on Chelsea Clinton, Too Solemn for Her Generation?; if memory serves the link on the home page asked not if she was “solemn” but if she was too “goody-goody.” Geez. I don’t think she’s been ticketed for underage drinking or DUI, she hasn’t borne a child out-of-wedlock, and she hasn’t appeared in any “Girls Gone Wild” videos. I think she did pretty well in college, although she wasn’t a Rhodes scholar like her father. The author of that article, Ian Shapira, asks “So how does Chelsea fit in with the rest of us?” (i.e., the twenty-something’s generation). My question: Does she have to?

I don’t feel like I fit with my own generation, or at least the media’s conception of it as regards politics. According to the well-researched electoral demographics, as “a woman of a certain age” I should be suporting Hillary Clinton and not Barack Obama. I’ve always been a square peg and rather like it this way.

At any rate, people fascinated with the lives of the First Children need to get a life. Those kids didn’t sign up for a public life; they got dragged along when Mom or Dad decided to run for office. If they do decide to get involved in campaigning or on public issues or enter public life, as with Mary Cheney and Chelsea Clinton, then they become fair game. Sort of. But this still doesn’t mean the public gets an invitation to the wedding.

The New Yorker ran a profile on George Clooney a while back, and amongst other things it discussed how effectively he has dealt with being a celebrity:

Clooney can be thought of as a studio of one—someone with the good sense and the resources to provide for himself what movie studios used to lay out for their contracted stars. So, for example, his driver is a broad-shouldered off-duty cop, which is a nice card to play in an argument with a paparazzo. There’s something similarly old-fashioned about the way a public version of Clooney’s private life has kept his actual privacy intact. He is incessantly winning but not confessional: the media gets its wine and cheese, and Clooney—without taking visible offense at any question, without ever taking the conversation off the record—holds on to his soul.

    — Somebody has to be in control

Of course, Clooney opted for the life of a celebrity by going into the entertainment industry, but that still doesn’t mean he owes the public any information on his private life. It must be weird to go through life wondering if your life is going to appear on the cover of People magazine or The National Enquirer:

Asked if he could ever be assured of the social sincerity of new people he met, Clooney said that one test was whether or not, “three days later, your conversation is recounted on a talk show or in a magazine, which has happened a lot. Oh, yeah. That’s frustrating. And it makes you trust so little. You trust nothing. Because I was Nick’s kid, and Rosemary’s nephew, and then spent my time being famous, there is not a moment in my life when I haven’t been aware of the idea that at any moment, including taking a bath or taking a shower or going swimming in my pool, somebody might be watching, or photographing. It’s freaky, so you have to live your life in a very different way. You don’t pick your nose, you know. Or, if you do, you do it under a desk somewhere.”

Hearing Clooney on The DP Show not long after I read The New Yorker article, I was struck by how absolutely natural and relaxed the guy sounds. It didn’t seem at all like he was wary of Dan’s questions and had his defenses up.

Heck, any guy who’d keep a pet pig is cool, suave, and debonair in my book.

By the way, there’s a great photo of Clooney included with the article. I never noticed before, but his hairstyle is a lot like Keith Olbermann’s.

Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust and ‘Til Death Do You Part

Personally, I wouldn’t have a problem being cremated at facility that also cremated pets:

The U.S. military has, since 2001, cremated some of the remains of American service members killed in Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere at a Delaware facility that also cremates pets, a practice that ended yesterday when the Pentagon banned the arrangement.

The facility, located in an industrial park near Dover Air Force Base, has cremated about 200 service members, manager David A. Bose estimated last night. It uses separate crematories a few feet apart to cremate humans and animals, he added, insisting that there had “not been any people gone through the pet crematory.”

    — Some War Dead Were Cremated at Facility Handling Pets

Pets that are cremated are very much loved by their families. Some are probably more loved than certain human members of the same family. I understand how some people would feel that human and animal crematoria should be separate. But for me, pets are part of the family. I wouldn’t be taken aback if I or someone I loved was cremated in an oven next to an oven containing some family’s Spot or Fluffy.

In other news …
This caption was on the front page of the Washington Post over the weekend, under a photo of Jenna Bush and Henry Hager:

First daughter’s decision to privately wed Henry Hager disappoints a public fascinated by her coming of age.

WTF? Since when do presidents’ children owe the public anything? If she wanted a White House wedding, fine. But she didn’t, so end of story. She and her fiancé had the wedding they wanted, which is how it should be.

I once attended a friend’s wedding and reception. His fiancée’s father was s retired corporate big shot and the reception, at a local country club, was about 80-90% geezers and 10-20% younger people. It just seemed that the wedding was more for her parents and their social circle than for the wedding couple. I suppose if the parents are footing the bill for the wedding then they get some say in how it goes. But if you can’t afford to pay for the wedding, then maybe you shouldn’t (and save up until you can) or just have a simple one. Another couple of friends got married at the courthouse and had the reception at their apartment with a lot of home-cooked food. It was a great deal of fun.

Mother Knows Best

Added late Sunday:

The ad popped up in my e-mail the way it always has: “1-800-Flowers: Mother’s Day Madness — 30 Tulips + FREE vase for just $39.99!”

I almost clicked on it, forgetting for a moment that those services would not be needed this year. My mother, Margaret Friedman, died last month at the age of 89, and so this is my first Mother’s Day without a mom.

    — Call Your Mother

A great essay, which made me remember my mother. Again. I think of Mom a lot, even when I’m not being bombarded with Mother’s Day ads.

My mother died almost 16-and-a-half years ago. I don’t remember the first Mother’s Day without her, but I remember the first Christmas without her. She died in early December, a couple of weeks before I was to fly home. We knew she was sick, so in the back of my mind I thought it might be our last Christmas together. And I didn’t even get that. I felt kind of cheated that she didn’t live longer — through that Christmas and beyond. But my college roommate’s father died when she was in her 20’s; her Dad was only in his 50’s. No matter what, when a loved one dies it’s always too early.

I still call home on Mother’s Day. I’m not sure why, but I always called home on Mother’s Day and just never saw a reason to stop. I wonder if Dad thinks it’s weird. We had a nice chat; he went up to the cemetery to leave flowers for Mom, and he also visited the graves of his mother and mother-in-law. We talked about the NBA playoffs, gardening, the price of bananas, and a few other mundane things.

Mother’s Day is a good excuse to call home, even if Mom isn’t there.