You’re Very Welcome

I am a firm believer in the the idea that if you ignore an annoying person they will go away. My Internet friends I would like you to embark on a mass ignoring campaign with me. Trust me, it’ll work.

A few years back we heard about some crazy chick in California who gave birth to a litter of children, despite the fact that she’d had half a litter at home already. The story unfolded before our eyes, and said crazy chick seemed to want reality show notoriety as a result of giving birth to a small village of babies.

My friends and I railed against her in disgust. Yet we were all fascinated. We clicked on the links leading to news stories about this woman. We tuned in when she was talked about on the news. Yet we were horrified at her quest for fame through her babies. That was when I said to my friends, “OK, time for a mass ignore campaign. We need to stop clicking on her links. We need to stop tuning in. We need to stop listening. We need to stop giving her air time.” I stopped clicking on links to stories about her. And I think my friends did too. Before we knew it, her spotlight faded. They thanked me. I bowed humbly and said they were just as responsible as I was.

Now I am proposing another mass-ignore campaign. This time I want everyone to ignore another woman I am equally horrified over. She served as a Governor in a state just west of the Canadian border. She has publicly marveled over being able see Russia from where she stood. I will not say her name here, but she left office and stranded her state from the office they entrusted to her in an election. She up and left. Quit.

Now this woman is discussing the possibility of running for the presidency. She has a reality show. Her teenaged daughter shared the spotlight when she had a baby out of wedlock (How’s that prayer-y abstinence-y thing workin’ out for ya? You bet’cha your daughter will get knocked up if you don’t teach her about birth control.) Since leaving office she’s holding her hands out for every money making opportunity in front of a camera she can push her way into. Will she up and leave the presidency when the going gets tough. I think so, after all check her track record.

I maintain that if we ignore her she will go away. If we stop listening, she’ll stop talking. If we stop clicking to read about what idiotic thing she’s done now, the news outlets will stop reporting on her.

Someday this former governor pseudo political figure will bump into the woman with the litter of babies in line at Starbucks and they will both say “Wow, you look familiar. Do I know you? I swear I know your name…”

And then you can all thank me.

Rock the Vote, Kind Of

My parents voted in every single election. I remember sitting in the car with them while they argued over the issue of whether our little Connecticut town should have its own police department, or whether it should be under the state police’s jurisdiction. Sure, it would probably save the town a lot of money. But how much coverage would my town have gotten from the state police? On the way home from the polls I listened from the backseat as Mom and Dad discussed how they’d voted on the different referenda questions. On the issue of the town police department Mom had voted one way and Dad voted the other. (My town did retain its own police department after that election, by the way.)


I have always felt guilty about not voting in the midterm elections. My parents always voted because they came from a country where they didn’t have that right, so they made sure that their voice was heard. I vowed to do it differently this year and to make my parents proud. I am currently sporting my “I Voted” sticker, and I wear it with pride.

On Sunday night Todd and I sat in front of the computer and evaluated the candidates and the state’s referenda questions. We do this before an election so that our votes won’t cancel each other out. Sometimes I pick a candidate that he doesn’t like; sometimes he picks one I don’t like. But we discuss and agree on our choices before hitting the polls. (For example, a few years ago we’d discussed whether ex-cons should have the right to vote after serving their time, as was the referendum question that year. I said yes and he said no. We discussed it and I made the point “Well, if we want them to be a functioning part of society after doing time, then this is part of being a member of society.” Then I brought up a friend of ours who is an ex-con and said “So, you think he shouldn’t get a vote?” He changed his answer to yes.)

This morning we went to a church near our house to cast our votes. I had a list in hand of all the candidates we agreed on. What I wasn’t prepared for was the referenda questions from my town. They were on a yellow ballot. I read them and didn’t understand a damn thing that was on there. For example, on my little yellow ballot this morning were these questions:

• Shall Article III, Section 3.14 of the Town Charter be amended to provide that no collective bargaining agreement between the Town, including the School Committee, and any labor organization shall become effective unless and until ratified by the majority vote of the Town Council?

• Shall Article VIII, Section 8.18 of the Town Charter be amended to provide that an all day referendum shall be required when any changes to the capital improvement or operating budget at the financial town meeting exceed $180,000; and Section 8.10 be amended to provide that the capital improvement program and capital budget be approved by the Town Council concurrent with the operating budget?

• Shall Article XII of the Charter be amended to update titles and functions; Article XIII amended to provide for consistency review of the capital improvement program; Article II be amended to delete local district apportionment by voters rather than population; and should the charter be amended with punctuation and grammar corrections and to achieve gender neutral terminology?

Just what in the hell do these questions mean? I like to think I am a pretty smart person. I watch CNN every morning, I listen to NPR every day on the way to and from work, I read the Providence Journal every day. I have a Masters degree. Yet, I have no fricken clue what these questions mean so I didn’t vote on any of them.

I looked it up on the town’s web site later, and of course there were explanations on the site. Why can’t they write these questions in plain English, rather than in legalese on the ballot? More people would get involved in the issue and more people would make an educated decision rather than an educated guess when voting on these issues that affect my town.

Can I please have a do-over?

Really, What is the Big Deal?

On the way to work I listen to NPR. On Wednesday morning I listened to the aftermath of Tuesday’s election and ranted all the way to work when I learned that the voters in Maine repealed their law that allowed gay couples in that state to get married.

“What is the big deal?” I asked the inside of my windshield. Can anyone out there on the Internet answer this question? I am having trouble understanding why this is such a heated issue. Am I missing something?

The last time I checked, we live in America. America, also known as the land of the free and the home of the brave—you know, that part at the very end of our national anthem? Why, in the year 2009, is this such a big deal?

What’s the worst that would happen if gay couples were allowed to marry in every state of this nation? Is gay marriage a threat to national security? Will gay marriage change my marriage, or my life? Will it cause the sun to rise in the west if legalized? Will it rain dog shit if gay people can marry? Will chickens lay hard boiled eggs?

The way I see it, only good could come out of gay marriage. More people would be allowed to share every bit of their lives with their best friend. More people could build a family without judgment from anyone else—in a time when families in our nation are falling apart.

Again I ask, will someone please tell me what the big deal is?

Give me one good reason.

I dare you.

Inauguration

I don’t like discussing politics, and I sure as hell never considered writing about them on my blog. Mostly it’s because I fear I’ll look uninformed when I express my opinion, despite my CNN, NPR, cnn.com, and msnbc.com addictions. Today I am deviating from my usual political hermit crabness, and will write my first politically themed post here on A Life of Adventure, so there you have it—history in the making.

For the first time since the Clinton administration I am excited about presidential politics. When I was a freshman in college I voted for the first time. I stood inside the booth and flicked the lever next to Bill Clinton’s name. I stood there for a moment looking at all the buttons, names and levers and felt the butterflies in my stomach wake up. The second time I voted for him, in 1996 was when I first lived on my own. I registered as a voter in Massachusetts, and I walked to a local school a few blocks from my first apartment and pulled the Clinton lever again and hoped for another Clinton victory. My wish was granted.

I have come from Republican parents. While my brothers have largely carried on the Republican gene, my sisters and I are more left-leaning. When home from college, and in the period between college and moving out of home, I worked for my dad at his machine shop. I worked with my brothers and my sister on a daily basis. It was my job to do anything from answering the phone, drilling holes into pieces of metal, entering data into an ancient amber screened computer system whose information was backed up to tapes at the end of every day. I spent most of my time working in the office along side my die-hard Republican Limbaugh listening brother, Walter. Part of my duties was to answer the phone during the 12:00-12:30 lunch period. Walter usually ate at his desk, and blared the first half hour of Rush Limbaugh while he ate and while I was held prisoner in the office, chained to the ringing phone.

“Listen to this guy, Beej,” Walter prodded, “he’s the God of politics. He’ll teach you something.” So I listened. And I hated every minute of it. But I still listened and tried to give it a chance.

“If he’s so smart,” I began, “why doesn’t Rush run for President? All I hear his him bitching about this and that, and then telling everyone over and over how smart and great he is. I don’t really hear anything interesting here.”

“Then you aren’t listening. You’re what’s wrong with this country. You elected that idiot we have in office now,” Walter sighed, referring to President Clinton.

“I don’t think he won by only one vote. In fact, I think he won by a lot of them,” I replied, cheekily.

“You know what I mean, it’s people like you that elected him” he growled, and bit into his sandwich. I gazed at Walter’s blue eyes, an anomaly in my brown-eyed family, and not for the first time wondered if he was adopted. There was no way to logically infer that we’d come from the same womb.

On a November morning in 2000 I stretched on the floor of my gym as I watched the news. I didn’t stay up the night before to watch the election results. I couldn’t bear to. Still a Massachusetts resident, I cast my vote for Gore, and hoped for the best. I watched the drama unfold with the election results in Florida, and bit my nails down to nubs hoping for a miracle. I did the same in 2004. It’s not that I was a Gore fan, or a Kerry fan. I would have voted for a panda bear if one ran against Bush. The choices for President for those two elections didn’t interest or inspire me. “At this point, I am voting for the candidate I dislike the least,” I would dejectedly sigh when the conversation turned to politics.

In November, Todd and I watched the election results roll in. At the top of each hour, the newest tally was presented from which ever state closed their polls. We watched politically themed movies like “Black Sheep” and “American President” while we waited to be updated every hour. We cheered every Obama victory. We watched McCain’s concession speech, and commented on how classy it was. We sat up and watched Obama’s victory speech, and giggled excitedly. We barely slept that night for the excitement.

I’ve been listening to the preparation of the inauguration on NPR in the mornings on my way to work. More than once I’ve felt the slight sting in my eyes as I feel like I am about to cry out of joy and excitement. For the first time since my first time voting I am excited and inspired by my country’s President. Mr. Obama, please don’t let us down. There are a lot of us out here rooting for you.