diversity

I really believe in backyard bird feeders.  The sound of birds makes a place cheerful and our feeder is BUSY!  If you don't feed birds in your back yard, click on the link and get going.  Enviro Girl is big on promoting diversity.

Speaking of diversity, I don't care nor am I surprised to hear that Jodie Foster is a lesbian.  That's old news, really.  I do, however, think if you're going to receive an award for a lifetime of work you knew about it beforehand and had plenty of time to write a clear, organized and eloquent speech.  Jodie, you also had time to consult with a speechwriter.  Shame on you and every other lifetime achievement awards recipient who gets up on the stage and blathers incoherently.  It's insulting to your audience and reflects poorly on you as a professional.  There.  I said it.  I've read other people's views on her speech--how moving it was, how touched they were--but I am the straight-talking Midwestern gal saying "The emperor isn't wearing clothes!" 

You want to see diversity, step into a 4K classroom and watch the little nippers draw pictures.  It's adorable.  And it demonstrates a range of ability and interests.  One kid draws a picture, but it's really about the whole narrative around the picture and he starts giving me the whole back story--the drawing itself is a vehicle for storytelling.  I have 3 kids at home who do the same thing.  One girl draws a person, adds grass at the bottom of the page, sun at the top.  Classic.  Another girl uncaps a marker, scribbles a tiny bit, caps the marker, selects a new marker, uncaps the marker, scribbles a tiny bit, caps the marker...and so on.  She's not sure what to do, but she sure likes the smell of markers. One kid draws a football field, complete with goal posts and yardage lines.  Another kid draws a zombie, so the kid next to him tries to draw a zombie.   Each kid takes their own approach with the same tools in hand and it's fun to watch.  Parents, your kids don't need a Leapster or educational CDs or games.  They need TIME and PAPER and MARKERS OR CRAYONS.  That's where the magic really happens and their imagination and creativity and small motor skills develop. (And also where the marker sniffing starts--parents, if your kid comes home with a rainbow of colors between their nose and upper lip, you might want to stage an intervention.  KIDDING!  They were smelly markers.  Totally safe and nontoxic way to get your huff on, yo.)

My new smart phone is very different from my old flip phone.  The battery lasts a fraction as long, for one thing.  I've figured out how to answer calls (good) and tried using the phone camera at Mr. G's basketball game.  I was all Oooooh!  Video camera!  Let's do that!  Then I can show my bloggy friends how great he is with ball handling and stuff--give them photographic evidence of his athletic prowess.  You know what's coming.  I get it to work and start filming.  His buddy makes a basket a couple seconds later while Mr. G stands watching.  I say as much to his buddy's mother (sitting next to me) and she's all "Oh!  I missed it!" so I tell her she can watch the video feed of instant replay that I'm holding in my hand.  I wait a beat and set up the camera again.  Mr. G stands watching as his buddy makes another basket.  The third time, after the exact same thing happens again, I draw two conclusions:
1.  This is what I get for being proud and braggy--my intentions SMITED.
2.  If our basketball team's ever in a cold streak and we need to score, I should bring out the smart phone video camera and start filming.  Then Mr. G's buddy will start racking up points while he watches.

It's January and we're on the cusp of shutting down one freezer.   As part of our whole "grow our own food" and "eat local" and "save money" regimen here at Chez Green Girl, our two basement freezers are chock-full in the fall.  We have a quarter beef, bags and bags of tomatoes and stuff from our garden, and various containers of frozen soups and casseroles.  Once a month I try to get by with a minimal shopping list and really hit the freezer hard so food doesn't get lost, forgotten and (inevitably) wasted.  A few years of practice have made me better at managing this.  I know by January we should be down to about 7 jars of jam, 10 jars of applesauce, 7 bags of tomatoes and so forth.  If we aren't, then we haven't been making the most of our resources and we're also not eating as healthy.  In another week I should be able to go down and consolidate food into one freezer and unplug the other.  I should see more clean, empty canning jars than jars full of preserved fruit.  We'll from one "meat" freezer" and one "produce" freezer to one freezer for all the food, tenderloins to blueberries and everything in between.  No more segregation of the food groups, one freezer to rule them all and encase their nutritional diversity at zero degrees Fahrenheit.

Spill it, reader.  Any kind of commentary on wild birds, frozen food, braggy moms, poor speechifyin'.  We're open to all kind of comments here at Green Girl in Wisconsin, Inc.

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promises

It's been chaotic here.  Make up homework from our trip.  Basketball.  Football.  Even winter baseball, for crying out loud, because Mr. D's just a guy who can't say no.   Three boys who want some semblance of a social life.  Parent/teacher conferences.  Birthdays, a wedding and church.  Meetings, a home improvement project and work.  Squeezed into this mess are the usual chores like laundry and dishes and cooking and that poor, poor dog.  So it's NO surprise that everyone's coming down with a variation of the Standard Head Cold.

Mr. T goes with pure stuffiness, scratchy throat and fogged-up ears.

Mr. D prefers the classic raw throat and sneezing.

Mr. B's a mucusy mess with a seal's barking cough.

Mr. G sniffles and feels warm to the touch.

I take a hit off the ol' asthma meds and limit the suffering to my nasal passages.

Time to slow down, say no, limit what we've piled on our plates.  I started today when getting an email asking me to sub at church on Sunday.  Well, that one was easy since I'll be out of town.  

Mr. B and Mr. G got their black belts Sunday night.  No more karate class after school for Mr. G.  We're all in the same time slot now, reducing my trips to town and taking the edge off the supper/homework crunch twice a week.

Gratuitous photo of Mr. B (2nd degree) and Mr. G (1st degree) with their instructors at their graduation celebration.

I'll set aside the home improvement projects until deer hunting season.  That's when I'll have some time to tackle those jobs and they'll still get done before the holidays and any significant snowfall.

That's all low-hanging fruit.  The next level of cuts will hurt.  I guarantee we'll feel some suffering.  But in order to keep our family unit strong and healthy we need to make some tough choices.  That means clarifying our priorities and keeping focus. 

I solemnly swear not to take on any further responsibilities until our schedule clears.  Read my lips:  NO NEW ACTIVITIES OR COMMITMENTS.  We're adhering to austerity, a policy of isolationism to preserve our sanity.  We will have a better tomorrow, tomorrow. We hold onto hope that things will change as we set aside our different schedules and begin to work together. 

A new start this November--a choice for the future--united we stand.

But first?  I have to get to the polls.

Happy Election Day!

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harsh

You might be offended today, but I have to get this off my chest:

The Taliban, who thinks it's righteous and holy to shoot a teenaged girl for pursuing her education, should be castrated in boiling acid.  One prick at a time.  Until they're all wiped out.  You can judge a tree by it's fruit, or nuts in their case.  No civil society should allow room for that kind of behavior.

Equally offensive thoughts in my head:

I totally judged you when I passed you in your yard yesterday, overweight man with cigarette in one hand and electric leaf blower in the other. 

Why does every tailgater seem to drive an SUV?  There must be something awfully empowering about driving such a vehicle that makes a person have NO SENSE OF FEAR, since they feel safe driving two feet from my rear bumper at 60-70 MPH.  People, you never see anyone tailgating in a Buick.  Just my personal observation. 

Food for thought, tailgaters:  I'm driving an 8 year old dented tan Momvan slightly above the posted speed limit.  If I can't see YOUR front grille in my rear view window, there's very little preventing me from braking hard and fast and there's very little space for you to react to avoid rear-ending me.  What do I have to lose? 

On Halloween costumes.  Boys can look scary, brave, bold, supernatural, super-powered, armed, professional, silly and/or creative.  Apparently girls have two options: princess and slutty.  Don't believe me?  Check out any Halloween costume ad and you'll see what I mean.  Total sexist crap, IMHO.  I'm not the only one feeling this way.

Finally, and this last one just irritates the hell out of me.  In karate we do various drills.  Last night's involved kicking (hard) in various ways, then doing lunges to the back wall and back to do the next series of kicks.  The first people done are usually slackers, sissy-tapping the body shields and striding instead of lunging across the floor.  Also, the first people done are usually kids.  The last people done usually did it right, which takes more time and effort.  They're also usually adults.  Anyway, as one of the last ones done, I have to listen to all the pipsqueak brats cheer me on.  "You can do it, Ms. W!  Come on!  You're almost done!"  As if I require their encouragement to finish.  As if they finished first and have the right to cheer for me coming in behind them.  As if they finished ahead of me because they're better and faster, and gee, why don't I catch up?  I want to stop and scream at them, "Listen you little punks, if you'd have done this drill correctly, you'd still be doing it and you'd actually be sweating and out of breath instead of yelling at me to 'Finish strong'!"  But that probably wouldn't settle well with their parents, would it?

Okay, I'll leave you with this link, which is a riot if you're an NFL fan.  If you're not, go in peace.  I'll be back tomorrow spouting rainbows, sparkles and happy thoughts.

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self addressed stamped envelopes

First, thank you for your kind thoughts and words yesterday. Today is less sad for everyone here. The sun still shines, the manure still stinks, but I forged ahead and baked a chocolate cake.

I got something in the mail the other day that my mind keeps turning over and over. I'm feeling peevish about this mail, a little self-righteous in my indignation, too. A family we know, not well but distantly, mailed us a request for money. They're adopting a boy from Africa and they'd like their church family to help support this choice through prayer and financial donations.

Ahem.

I'm pro-choice in the sense that I believe you choose whether to have a baby (or not). My friends who choose to have only a couple of babies don't ask me for support, neither do my friends who choose to have no babies. My friends who've opted for expensive fertilization treatments to have babies don't ask me for cash towards their doctor bills. And my friends who choose to adopt or foster children don't ask me for support. I acknowledge the considerable expense of having babies, having had 3 myself. I also know it's expensive to adopt a baby, whether from America or another country. While I applaud their courage to help this boy, I feel miffed that they're soliciting donations to their worthy cause.

It's one thing to get an invitation to a baby shower to help a new family get started. The gifts flow out of love and excitement. It's one thing to feel inspired by hearing about this family's adoption and voluntarily mail them a check of support. It's another thing to get a postage-paid envelope in the mail with a form letter requesting my charitable dollars. In my view, if you can't afford this choice, don't make it. It's each family's individual decision to have the size of family they are comfortable providing for--don't go adding to it if you can't hack it.

Does this sound harsh? Believe me, I'm not heartless. I feel charitable towards neighbors with five kids and the parents have been out of work for the past year and it's tough feeding everyone. Those situations break my heart and I feel a huge sense of obligation to pitch in. With open hands I've stepped forward to assist families battling terminal illnesses and medical bills, disasters like house fires, victims of accidents. But an international adoption is a planned event, the kind of thing you sort out before hopping on a plane. You should know before you get your passport whether it's an affordable choice. And you should not be looking to your friends and neighbors to foot that bill.

It makes me think about another family whose 5 daughters keep going on mission trips. They regularly mail us requests for money to pay their way overseas. When I was 18 I spent my summer in Egypt on a mission trip, working at the Lillian Trasher Orphanage. I paid for that trip largely out of my own pocket. Yes, some people financially supported my decision to go, but the bulk of the funds came out of my savings account and graduation gifts. I felt very uncomfortable asking people to pay my way anywhere, especially as it was my calling to go, not theirs. These girls going on mission trips are no doubt doing great things, but I don't like them asking me to help fund their Campus Crusade ministry over spring break in Florida. I think they should pay for these trips themselves.

For the same reasons I don't like people asking me to fund their overseas adoptions. Your good works shouldn't come out of someone else's wallet. That doesn't make it your good works and it isn't biblical. Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians 4:11 "Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody." He says again in 2 Thessalonians 3:8 "Nor did we eat anyone's food without paying for it. On the contrary, we worked night and day, laboring and toiling so that we would not be a burden to any o f you. We did this, not because we do not have the right to such help, but in order to make ourselves a model for you to follow. For even when we were with you, we gave you this rule: 'If a man will not work, he shall not eat.'" The Bible is full of directives to serve the poor, the foreigner, the widows and the orphans. We're supposed to do good works. But I'm not getting the message that we're supposed to ask other people to pay for our Christian charity in this way.

Spill it, reader. How would you feel?

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more madness

Tonight, instead of watching the Season Three Mad Men Marathon, I'll be at yet another school board meeting. My pretty speech is writ. I'm weary of fighting for adequate staffing and I daresay the school board might be weary of seeing my face at every meeting. Tonight they'll make decisions and then Mr. D and I will make ours. The superintendent will propose hiring a part-time Pre-K teacher and moving a crappy full-time Pre-K teacher up to Kindergarten. The crappy teacher is on maternity leave until January. This proposal is supposed to appease parents who've been circulating petitions and expressing outrage about the staffing plan for months. Because apparently we're dumb enough to forget that they forced the resignation of a good full-time Kindergarten teacher and the enrollment for the incoming Kindergarten class is up from the previous year's. Essentially, more kids, fewer teachers. But by pretending we're getting a full-time Kindergarten teacher!, the superintendent believes the parents will shut up and go away. She conveniently forgets that we asked for two full-time teachers. One to replace the resignation and another to accomodate the additional students in this class.

Did you follow all of that?

I've thought about what my Ranty-Pants should look like for this meeting--black gabardine power-business pants with a full leg worn with high heels? Comfortable broken-in blue jeans with a hole in one knee? Cargo khakis with pockets? Or should I wear shorts?

No, I'll go looking like Betty Draper--cool, calm, collected. Who'd have the nuts to disagree with anyone looking like this?

That's a don't f*ck with me look if I've ever seen one.

And when they ask me to stub out my cigarette, I'll say in a quiet, level voice, "I'm sorry," before grinding out the butt on the table and continuing with my speech.

After the meeting adjourns, I'll send Carla home for the night, tuck in the kids and pour myself a Manhatten out of the decanter on my sideboard.



I'll light another cigarette while finishing my cocktail and then head upstairs to bed. With Don.


Mmmm-hmmm.

Now to find bobby pins and styling gel so I can get those waves in my hair...

Spill it, reader. What do your ranty-pants look like?

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freedom to hang

You already know about Green Girl's affection for her clotheslines. Besides being handcrafted by her grandpa, who was a welder by trade, she loves that hanging out her family's laundry costs her nothing but a little time. It makes their clothes smell fabulous, it reduces their energy use. Hanging out her wash is totally retro, like how she buys milk in glass bottles. It gets her outside, it slows her down, it's convenient. She can hang out the wash in the morning and leave it until sunset--without worrying about shrinkage or her electric bill.

So when people make a documentary about clotheslines? You know she's interested.




Spill it, reader. Do you hang? Would you consider it?

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fabulous!

A sure sign of spring: it's snowing but not sticking because the temperature is just warm enough to melt it away. Nature's snow shovel is 34 degrees Fahrenheit. Fabulous!

In other fabulous news, I spoke to a town council member about recycling bins and it turns out they're slated for purchase, but they're waiting to order with another community to save on the expense. The recycling bins will be the same ginormous size as our garbage bins (squee!), but recycling pick up and garbage pick up will remain the same schedule. I was glad to hear this, but will write letters to prompt things along. The local paper doesn't want to publish all of my splendid editorials about environmental issues (like generating less trash, not throwing trash out of car windows onto the road, not flushing pharmaceuticals down the toilet and into our water supply), but I haven't tried taking the staff out for cocktails yet...alcohol can be a mighty convincing tactic.

I fear I'm gradually becoming that crotchety old zealot who kvetches about politics and environmental issues at every opportunity. People are starting to avoid making eye contact with me, suddenly whipping out cell phones or bending over to tie their shoes as I approach. "Where the hell were all the parents for that school board meeting? They pack out the gym 8 Saturdays in a row to watch their five-year-olds chuck up air-balls, but they can't be bothered to speak out for their kids' education?" "Recession my ass! Have you seen how this town fills its garbage dumpters? You can't be that poor if you're shopping every weekend!" "What this town needs is a giant community garden and compost collection sites! Ban the plastic shopping bags and make the school cafeteria serve locally grown parsnips!"

Thank goodness for fabulous bloggy friends who pat my hand and say, "There, there, Green Girl, it'll be OK. Keep fighting the good fight."

And speaking of fabulous...

it's the end of February and time for another fabulous giveaway! My writing partner and dear friend Nina Romano has a new poetry collection fresh off the presses: Coffeehouse Meditations (Kitsune Books) is finally available! The poems are as stimulating, rich and complex as a good cup of coffee--and to sweeten the deal, I'm including a $5 Starbucks card with a copy of Coffeehouse Meditations because this book begs to be read with your favorite coffee drink in hand (ideally at an outside table alone--but I can't give away good weather and babysitting). Nina writes lovely, accessible poetry and I am so excited this collection is at last for sale because I'm dying to share it with friends and family.

Here's how you can win February's Fabulous: leave a comment between now and Saturday. I'll pick one lucky winner and announce them on Monday. Spill it, reader, what would you spend your $5 Starbucks card on? I'm a Venti Latte, no shots, no skinny, no soy, nothing but fattening, creamy, delicious caffeinated bliss!

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voices in my head

I had one complaint about Barak Obama's presidential inauguration. The poem, "Praise Song for the Day" was great, but Elizabeth Alexander should not have read her own work. Her reading was dull, lending no interpretation to the poem. I was reminded of the years I judged high school Forensics and would cringe hearing freshman girls rush through a piece, giving it no life, no pause, no passion. I lamented that they should've asked Garrison Keillor to read her poem. He'd have done it justice.

The fact is, some authors have no voice for reading their work.

That said, it's a lovely thing to read a book and have the author's voice resonant in your head. I'm halfway through Frank Deford's book The Old Ball Game. I'm a huge fan of his storytelling in that mellow, expansive way that he has--he's lavish with fancy words and outdated slang and the cadence in his story is perfectly paced and intimate. Reading this book is like sitting next to the man himself in a corner bar, listening to him speak of the old times while sipping a drink. I'm rapt, leaning on my elbows, occasionally forgetting myself while he spins his tale until the bartender asks if I need a refill or the TV behind the bar switches from ballgame to commercial.

I've heard many writers read their work--some are brilliant at it, projecting emotion, their voice adding another layer of meaning to their work. Frank McCourt comes immediately to mind. I was charmed by his reading of 'Tis. It's always lovely to hear David Sedaris, Billy Collins, Lesley Kagen, Jim Heynen and Michael Perry. JK Rowling does a nice job bringing her books to life, as does Alice Hoffman. Toni Morrison and Maudy Benz read so badly that I never want to read more on my own.

Chime in, readers--who are the hit or miss author voices in your experience?

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waffle-weave marks on the backs of my thighs

Grab yourself a drink,


pull up a lawn chair...



and come join me over at the Women's Colony today. I'm hanging out by the campfire.

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earth day '09

Happy Earth Day, everybody! Click on over to EcoWomen: Protectors of the Planet and enter our comment contest today!

The state of the planet today is a mixed bag, as it was back in 1962 when Gaylord Nelson first began the Earth Day movement (it wasn't an official holiday until 1970). Our messed-up economy has brought our planet some blessings: fewer people driving, lower bottled water sales, reduced consumerism and increased incentives for people to save money on energy costs. That said, developing nations like China are a toxic cesspool of pollution, we've got more chemicals in our water and food supply than ever before and we continue to lose our planet's biodiversity at a mind-numbing pace. To keep it in perspective, there's this. Yeah, you read that right. Plastic bag manufacturers, in a nod towards consumer backlash, are offering to develop plastic shopping bags that use 40% recycled material--in 6 years. Whatever. Thanks, but no thanks, guys. Holy green-washing, Batman!

Bottom line: more people are serious about environmentalism. Living green is no longer a profane idea. That said, plenty of people still don't get it.

A great case in point is my town. Recently we adopted a new garbage collection system--every household got a trash barrel provided by the county. The trucks sort of scoop up the barrels, reducing energy, labor and blown over trash barrels (in theory). Our new garbage bin is a whopping 65 gallons--4/5 of my family can physically fit inside this hog. (Our old trash barrel, now consigned to composting our food & yard scraps, holds 15 gallons.) Garbage collection is still weekly. Recycling collection? Reduced to every other week. So, larger garbage cans and weekly pick up came alongside reduced recycling pick up. Not environmentally friendly by any stretch in my book. People are now less encouraged than ever to recycle and more encouraged to chuck their waste in the landfill because Hey! This bad boy holds 65 gallons--plenty of room!

I'm going to hang my laundry on the clothesline now (washed in eco-friendly Seventh Generation detergent). Then I'm going to drink my homebrewed with tap water Fair Trade coffee and ponder what else I can do to live greener and leaner this year. (Don't you despise people who are all self-righteous and virtuous? They disgust me too.)

I raise my cup to everyone working on reducing their footprint this year. Cheers to you!

Green Girl & Bachelor #3 getting their hands dirty in the spirit of living greener.

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best part of the Christmas story

As a history buff, I'm well aware of the horrible and disturbing things people have done in the name of religion--including and in particular my favorite Christmas baby. History provides a great case against the belief that people are basically good and badness is an anomaly. Still, every year when I read the Christmas story in Luke 1-2, the part that amazes me is how God chose to come to earth.

I mean, come on, the God of the Universe. Creator of all things. Divine, holy, righteous, perfect, omniscient and all-powerful. If it were me, I'd have chosen a more comfortable route--perhaps descending from the clouds and immediately reclining on the nearest jewel-encrusted throne. My entrance would've been flashy--with an entourage of heavenly host and lots of human genuflecting in my direction.

But God chooses a young teenager from a podunk farm town to carry His son to term. He antes up a step-dad who is a carpenter by trade, the original Joe Six-Pack.

Grand entrance? Before going into labor, Mary schleps to Bethlehem for some stupid government census (and if she hadn't have gotten knocked up by the Holy Spirit, she could've stayed home, but because of her condition and saving social face she has to accompany her intended to his ancestral home). The town is mobbed with people obeying Cesar's command and Joseph gets turned away--no place to stay. (Remember, this is Joseph's ancestral home--were the relatives too shocked by his pregnant teenaged fiancee to let them sleep in the back room? I always wonder...)

But! There's a barn, says the guy running the local brothel (an "inn" in Biblical times is NOT the modern-day equivalent of a Best Western). Go out back and take that empty stall. Luke doesn't tell us, but I bet the guy charged Joseph anyway--that's human nature, isn't it?

While Mary is pushing and straining to get the Lord of the Universe through her birth canal, angels are gearing up overhead. Angels must look like something humans cannot fathom--every time they show up, the first thing they always have to tell people is Don't be afraid. Jesus comes forth--Joseph wipes his brow with relief and Mary leans back exhausted and sweaty against a pile of straw.

And a heavenly host descends.

Here's my absolute favorite part of the story: the angels don't show up in Herod's throne room or scare the crap out of Cesar Augustus while he's eating dinner. They don't announce the birth of the Lord of the Universe to rich people or powerful people, temple scholars or the High Priest. Nope, they present the big birth announcement to shepherds, working in the fields that night. All of God's glorious bragging about the birth of His only son is sung out to a bunch of guys working third shift on the outskirts of town.

Why?

We know from reading on that Herod goes mad with jealousy when he hears of prophecy fulfilled and a bunch of baby boys under the age of 3 get whacked. I imagine the rich and powerful person would've felt threatened or defensive by God's coming.

But ordinary folk, farmhands in the hillside of Bethlehem react quite differently. They immediately rush to the barn behind the brothel and find Jesus--I like to imagine their appearance.

Quietly and awkwardly they enter the stall and inquire--was a baby just born? A boy? Is it the Christ? Mary holds out the bundle of red-faced infant wrapped in rags, Joe Six-Pack steps aside and lets them take turns holding the baby, marveling in turn as we all do at a newborn's tiny perfection.

When they leave, they head straight into town to tell everyone they could find of what they saw and heard. The reaction on the streets was "amazement."

God reveals himself to ordinary people, folks literally on the fringe of society. The scholars, the pious leaders, the rich and powerful are too hampered by pride or greed to acknowledge His gift. He knows who needs His promise and He showed up for exactly those people--people with nothing to offer, nothing to lose. Christmas is about humility and goodwill, love--the hard kind of love to folks who don't return it in kind and often don't deserve it in the first place. Religion hasn't always remained true to these ideals, but if you read the story closely you'll find the truth in the Christmas. Only someone divine could set aside all their power and glory to save lost souls and love them no matter what--no working for it, no earning it, no ritual, no sacrifice--just believing. If I was God, I'd work it a whole lot differently--and that's what makes the Christmas story awesome.

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Common Sense

Thomas Paine, author of Common Sense

These are the times that try men's souls.

Where is Thomas Paine when you need him? I think we need Attila to start writing some pamphlets and start a nationwide distribution. She's got the spunk and cutting verbiage that could make people sit up and pay attention. Consider the following:

* The endless speculation on what is causing our economic collapse. I've got the answer, folks: Greed. Greedy greedy greed greed greed. CEO's commanding obnoxious salaries, investors demanding record quarterly profits, retired Baby Boomers unwilling to budge on their standard of living, politicians lining their pockets with lobbyists, people spending more on crappe made in China than on their investment portfolios, people saving a buck by buying foreign made rather than supporting their hometown economies, a nation at war unwilling to sacrifice on the homefront, and house flippers stunned to learn that when everybody tries to make a profit on real estate the market implodes. Even a 6-year-old knows that if you spend more than you make, you end up in the hole. And that same 6-year-old knows the turtle won the race because even though the rabbit started strong, he wore himself out. A 6-year-old knows, despite how many 1st place ribbons get handed out, not everybody wins. Some people come in 2nd, others come in 3rd, and a fair amount don't place. It's not fair, but it's a realistic expectation.

* The auto industry demanding a $25 billion government bailout to refurbish their plants to manufacture more energy-efficient cars. Really? The same auto industry that decried fuel efficiency standards for the last 30+ years? They didn't see the writing in the wall? No, they ignored it and squeezed every last dime out of SUV production they knew was bound to fail after gas prices reached $4.00 a gallon. Gas prices reached $4.00 a gallon because of supply and demand. No amount of lobbying, denial or false promises of offshore drilling will make that go away. Now they want a bailout because they were (wait for it...) GREEDY. They're calling it a "loan," an "investment," but let's call a spade a spade.

* The bailout of AIG, Freddie Mac, and Fannie Mae--now taxpayers will fund the bill that came from poor decision-making resulting from GREED. The greed that led these firms to make risky loans and investments without having cash on hand to cover their bets. Too bad the taxpayers didn't get to be at the party enjoying the good times and fat paychecks that preceded the bill. Instead they get stuck with paying for Daniel H. Mudd's (departing head of Fannie Mae) $9.3 million severance package while struggling to pay for groceries, heating bills and fuel. They get to cover Richard F. Syron's (departing chief executive of Freddie Mac) $14.1 million exit package while saving for their kids' college education, paying for their health care and shouldering the burden of charitable kindness to their less fortunate brethren. AND the taxpayers get to pay the salaries and expenses of the government takeover of these firms. But what's their benefit? And why didn't they get to decide if that's where they wanted to invest their money--that's a standard stockholder option, isn't it?

In 1776 Thomas Paine penned these words on behalf of Americans in response to England, but he might well have expressed these very thoughts for American citizens today:

...it will be found best to divide the whole into convenient parts, each part sending its proper number: and that the elected might never form to themselves an interest separate from the electors, prudence will point out the propriety of having elections often: because as the elected might by that means return and mix again with the general body of the electors in a few months, their fidelity to the public will be secured by the prudent reflection of not making a rod for themselves. And as this frequent interchange will establish a common interest with every part of the community, they will mutally and naturally support each other, and on this depends the strength of the government and the happiness of the governed.

O ye that love mankind! Ye that dare oppose not only the tyranny but the tyrant, stand forth!*

* Read the full text of Common Sense here.

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The other F word

Lately I've noticed the collective rearing of feminist heads--women who fought so long that they forgot what they were fighting for, women who've fought hard and given up in despair, women who had a vague memory of feeling passionate once before they got sidetracked by Other Stuff. But lately? All around me there is an awakening, a fresh vigor, discussion and the distinct whiff of possibility. Maybe--just maybe I'm seeing the rebirth of the Feminist Movement.

By my senior year in high school I'd been a Feminist for a few years. Rocking my spiral perm, black eyeliner and thrift shop clothes, I railed against "The Man" in my English class essays and Speech class debates. My outrage was pure (unlike my virtue) and my platforms included any objectification of women (beauty pageants, SI swimsuit edition, pornography, uncomfortable fashion trends like high heels), violence against women (mutilation, rape, domestic abuse) and laws that excluded women.

One day some Douche Bag wrote a letter to the editor of our local paper expressing the view that women should stay home and leave the important things to men. (Deja' vu anyone? The year was 1989.) Enraged, I wrote my own letter to the editor:

To the Editor:
As a 20th century, educated woman I feel responsible and qualified to respond to "Mac's" letter on women and politics.

To begin with his opening statements: some spending will certainly be needed to fix the mess the government is in, free education for everyone is an undertaking unmatched by any other country (so don't be so quick to judge it), and if you would read up on your politics, you will see that a umber of seats in Congress will greatly turn over int his election. Unfortunately for "Mac," the number of women in the Senate might triple, or quadruple!

From the day they stepped off the Mayflower, women (religious, Puritan women) worked side by side with men building and populating this nation. I feel that if a woman had a part in building something, she should have a part in deciding how it will work and how it will affect and govern her. Women make up over half of the population, they should have equal rights because according to definition, America is a democracy in which the majority should rule.

There is NOT proof that women are unqualified emotionally or physically to serve in our government or armed forces. It HAS been proven that women have a higher pain threshold than men (physical superiority) and their sensory perception, language command, and interpersonal skills are significantly more developed according to Richard Arrends in Learning to Teach. Aren't these skills necessary in governing, negotiating, and defending?

Perhaps your wife is not qualified to run your business as you say. But that is not to say ALL women are unqualified to run businesses. Olive Anne Beech cofounded the Beech Aircraft Company, Helene Rubenstein founded the world's largest cosmetic company, and in our own community women successfully create and run businesses every day.

More examples of women's contributions to the world: Marie Curie discovered pennicillin, Jane Addams founded the Hull House, Dr. Mary Walker received the Congressional Medal of Honor for serving in the Civil War, Clara Barton founded the Red Cross, Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell opened the New York Infirmary, Dorothea Dix improved conditions for the mentally ill, Rosa Parks set off the spark under the Civil Rights movement, Mary Lyon founded Mt. Holyoke Seminary, Maria Mitchell discovered a new comet, Rachel Carson exposed the dangers of pesticides, Ida Wells Barnett began the campaign to end lynching, and Sybil Ludington rode 30 miles in 1777 to call out the American militia...in addition to the many women who have won Nobel and Pulitzer prizes and numerous other awards. Where would we be without them? well I'd have to guess we'd still be waiting for men to do these things.

I am unclear as to what "responsibility the government should never take over" but I do know that as a woman with choices I have the responsibility and the ability to make "right choices." Finally, "Mac," you see the mess a male-dominated government has gotten us in, is it such a radical idea to turn it over to women?

NOT Subordinately Yours,
Green Girl

I dug out this letter last night and aside from my shame at my overuse of adverbs, I felt a little proud that I'd written it. And a little sad, because I could re-send this letter to the editor today, 20 years later.

I'm pro-health care, pro-reproductive rights, pro-women's rights, pro-equal rights amendment, pro-free & quality public education. I'm against poverty, domestic violence, rape, objectification, and unequal pay. It pains me that so few women hold public office, that women take pot shots at each other over choosing to work full time or be SAHMs instead of solving the problems we face together. I'm pissed that more women know the latest news about Paris Hilton, but can't tell me the names and positions of the Justices in the Supreme Court. I'm weary of women telling me "I'm not a Feminist," when I bring up the politics of gender and I wonder if they enjoy the property rights, voting rights and equal protection under the law that Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton fought for on their behalf. But I stepped off my soapbox because I got tired of the bitter argument and defending, defending, defending. It sucks to be angry all the time.

But lately? I've felt the stirring of that 18-year-old Feminist deep inside. It's time to gird my loins and grab my shield. Has anyone else been feeling this way?

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Beware: Potentially Offensive Opinion

Several years ago I developed a theory when women over 30 started getting tattoos--you know, dolphin tattoos on their ankles, butterflies or flowers on their shoulders, the occasional Japanese symbol for unity and strength inked onto their lower back. These were women who'd never been tattooed before, so they weren't updating the gallery of art on their bodies (those committed to body art are exempt from my theory). I believe they viewed the act of getting a tattoo as a sort of rebellion, a cool, dangerous thing that younger, hipper people do to declare their symbolism or free nature or unrestrained spirit to the world. (This amuses me, too. I'm 37 and can't think of a single word or image that "symbolizes my life." WTF?)

To me, these tattoos smacked of something entirely different. The tramp stamp after age 30 on an otherwise ink-free body screams desperation. It's the new mid-life crisis. It's the way women try to prove they're still relevant.

I imagine going to the beach when I'm 60, looking at the crowds with faded, stretched out, saggy tramp stamps--sorry looking dolphins and butterflies on ankles all around me, shoulder tattoos of roses and lilies in desperate need of fresh ink. Face it, people, old tattoos on old skin is NOT sexy. It leaves the filmy, greasy residue of past mistakes and regret. (I'll add here how easy and cheap it is to erase other past mistakes--like mullets or brassy highlights or even navel piercings.)

Ladies, (yes, this is directed at ladies, because I don't know of many men getting their first tattoo after they hit 30--they get tattoos from ages 18-25 and then have them removed after 30) you want to prove you're relevant? The tattoo doesn't do it.

Think about it. Even Angelina Jolie looks a little silly these days with all the ink up and down her arms and shoulders. Have you noticed how often she's covering those tats up with make up in recent pictures?

Leave a comment--what's your take on this trend? Am I off my rocker or have I hit a nerve?

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35%

That's the projected turn out of eligible voters for today's primary election. Everyone's buzzing about it, ordering extra ballots and so forth. Generally, primaries only elicit votes from 22% of eligible voters. General elections top out at a whopping 42% coming out to vote in a good year.

What makes these numbers cause for bragging? Last I checked, 35% is a failing percentage. On any test a 35% is a failing grade. So is 42%. If people showed up for work 35% of the time, they'd be fired. If a person planned a wedding and only 35% of the guests could make the date, they'd reschedule. If 35% of children attended public schools, there'd be a general outcry of people wondering why 65% of the children are staying home or attending private schools. If 35% of American taxpayers filed their income tax forms, the government would be up in arms. If 35% was the survival rate for surgery, the government would strip medical licenses faster than you can say staphychonosis. (I made that last word up to sound all intelligent and medical. Yes, sometimes Green Girl is a total modern jackass.) Thirty-five percent isn't a huge amount.

It's about a third.

And when only about a third (and usually only about a fourth if you look at overall statistics of eligible voters participating in elections) show up at their polling places, doesn't anyone wonder why?

Do American citizens feel so disconnected from their government that they don't care? Feel their vote doesn't matter? Figure their vote is merely an exercise to make the populace feel good when the real decision about who gets into office is so removed from the polls? Do the choices appeal to American voters? Perhaps people aren't casting a vote because they don't like the options presented to them. Are American citizens just lazy and apathetic? Would people vote more if strings were attached? (No jury duty, a free pass on selective service, one parking ticket deleted from your record.) Is voting too much work for people? Too inconvenient? Too difficult?

Yet in the midst of all of this apathy, our legislators carry on like nothing is wrong and the media rejoices. For 35%.

Reader, what do you think?

***
In other news, we have school today. Yesterday's casualties involved one black eye and one dinged head. And yes, Blackbird, we did everything on that list. It was a long, loud and busy day!

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One Giant Segue for Green Girl, One Small Step for Humankind

Bitter.

That word sums up both the weather and the mood in Wisconsin today. Last night grown men cried--their sobs brought on by a combination of frostbite and defeat. And in the next two weeks before the SuperBowl, Packer fans will lick their wounds and try to find solace in the season leading up to last night--and begin the annual speculation on #4's intentions for next season.

Meanwhile, the cars start hard and people keep their curtains pulled tight against the cloudy skies and fierce winds. We question the sanity of the settlers who first inhabited this godforsaken wasteland of winter. Those pioneers who huddled in sod houses and clapboard homes, burning corn cobs and cow dung, praying for the spring thaw so they could plant seeds to harvest a few months later and store for the next long, long winter ahead. We wonder what madness or determination must flow through our veins, those of us descended from immigrant farmers. What dreams fueled their behavior? What ambition did these pioneers have for their children?

It somehow seems appropriate to reflect on these things on MLK Day. Knowing who and where you came from can help you decide what direction you're headed, and I believe King's vision is appropriate for everyone. It's time we all start setting aside our selfish ambition and begin working and sacrificing for the greater good, because as King said in his famous speech, "we refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation." When we start lifting each other up, we can all rise up together.

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