Some Last Thoughts on the Judge

img_0408Earlier this week I heard some things on NPR that gave me a slightly altered perspective on Brett Kavanaugh: Someone who knew him at Yale said he was always the one standing by the keg hoping to get the girl. “He never got the girl,” she added.

A friend who also knew him from Yale spoke of how surprised he and his friends all were to learn at graduation that he had done quite well, a fact he attested to last week before the Senate Judiciary Committee. Through his whole student career, Kavanaugh said, (rather inelegantly) “I busted my butt in academics.”

And, as we now know, he also partied. Fifteen times in his testimony he spoke of beer. “I drank beer. I liked beer. I still like beer.” He wouldn’t answer when asked if he had ever had so much to drink that he blacked out. With a face contorted by anger at the presumption of this question by Senator Amy Klobuchar, he said, “I don’t know Senator, have you?”

So here’s a man about whom it can be said that he worked hard and he partied hard. Perhaps in his mind, as in many of our minds, he thought that the one thing justified the other. Many if not all prosperous Americans feel they richly deserve the fancy car, the ski vacation Aspen, the commodious house surrounded by wide green lawns, and never mind that others in this country also work hard; work at two, even three, jobs and stand at bus stops both in the dark of morning and in the dark of night. They know they can never let loose and party hard because of the silent judgment directed toward those who have less, especially if they are people of color or people otherwise judged as ‘other’. Think of the still closely-held belief that reveals itself in that old American taunt, “If you’re so smart why ain’t you rich?” That tells you what we value all right. The accumulation of wealth is the primary measure of a person’s worth.

Still, my mind keeps returning to this image of that 19- or 20- or 21-year-old boy who stood so often by the keg hoping to get the girl and rarely got her. He told the Senate Judiciary Committee that he was virgin in high school and “for many years after.” I’ll admit I laughed out loud on hearing that last week in my car but maybe it was true. I know that most of my classmates were virgins in high school, as I was myself. And I dare say most of us stayed that way for one or two years after but not for ‘many years’. By the age of 19 or 20 most of us had begun seeing ourselves as adults and were getting about the business of living. And I do understand that the world was different then. This was in the later mid to late part of the 1960s. But in the self-indulgent, feel-good 80s Brett Kavanaugh was still clinging to his virginity for those many years he speaks of? That strikes me as both sad and unlikely.

I know the Senate will likely have cast their vote to move the nomination forward before I get these scattered thoughts posted. Still, I had to set them down. The Judge’s notions – as well our own notions of what we are entitled to – expose dark trends in our possession-loving American hearts. We want what we want and we’re sure we deserve what we want. And that’s the best way I can state it at the moment.

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What Did YOUR Mom Do All Day?

I spent all weekend fixing things, or trying to, so today I’m dressing up as my mother and meeting my friends for coffee in the living room… My friends are all  imaginary so I won’t have to clean up much.

See how pleasant we all look? I’m the one with the dark hair.

style model 60s

  • We may play a hand or two of cards after this.
  • Or discuss silver polishing techniques.
  • Or the best way to keep your girdle from riding up.
  • Or if we feel really daring , maybe we’ll talk about that new Magic Fingers gizmo you find these days at the Howard Johnson Inn…

The kids are playing stickball outside, we think. Johnny sassed his little brother earlier but we’ll have to wait for Father to come home to deal with that since after all Father Knows Best. Or, er, Ward Cleaver maybe, the Beav’s dad…ha ha.  A little irony for you guys today! In truth my hair has never looked as tame as the hair of the lady on the left.

Here’s how I really look today, a fresh two inches of rain having fallen on my little head  last night.

Photo on 6-10-13 at 11.35 AM

Truth in advertising ha ha! And while I’m telling the truth I should admit I borrowed the photo on top from a Chock Full O’Nuts ad in a magazine.

Let’s Talk About This

chainsaw warning labelLet’s talk about all the stupid warning labels out there, like this one on the left.  Or, “Do not take internally,” it will say on your spray deodorant, just in case you thought you’d start using the stuff as mouthwash.

You see these ‘Don’t Take Internally warnings everywhere: On your sunscreen. (Really? You don’t want to try swallowing it for a nicely bronzed set of lungs?) On your cleaning products… It seems so crazy – though come to think of it, my neighbor did just report to me in a text message that she recently sprayed some those famous foaming bubbles into her face, instead of the toilet.  “You know the kind that sprays blue and turns white when everything is cleaned?” she texted me. Well I’m here to tell you it really does spray blue.. even on your eyes, face and teeth!”

You see it on hair coloring. – though come to think of it again, I did almost tint my insides a trendy Autumn Glory once in a dyeing mishap so comically awful even a shameless revealer such as I am cannot tell the story….. Well, maybe if you got me drunk.  And if I were on my deathbed.

And you were dying too.

I made cookies last week from the kind of frozen kit school kids are always hawking door-to-door.

  1. “Preheat oven to 325,” the instructions read. OK, easy enough.
  2. “Bake 10 – 12 minutes.” Got it.
  3. “Do not burn cookies.”

‘Do not burn cookies?’ It might as well say “Listen, just stop now. Baking is beyond you.”

That one seemed to me the most insulting set of instructions yet – that is until last Saturday when the mail brought from my sister Nan in Florida an envelope.

It contained no letter but only the instructions that come with one of the many electric appliances  we ladies use on our hair.

“Keep cord away from heated surfaces,” it said about this curling iron.

OK, fair enough.

“Do not touch hot surface of the appliance,” it said, which seems, you know, kind of obvious.

“Never drop or insert any object into any opening” it went on, and I’ll admit that one struck me as a little strange. Don’t try using this curling iron as a what, a piggy bank?

But the instruction Nan had highlighted with yellow marker was the best one of all.

Regarding this red-hot electric-cattle-prod of an appliance it actually said, “Do not use while sleeping.” How would you manage that even if you wanted to? is what I wonder. So do manufacturers include all these warnings because care for us? Because they worry about us, more than a roomful of brand-new parents? No, ladies and gents. It is because they don’t want to end up in court  here in frontier-town America, where instead of the six-gun the latest weapon is – can anyone doubt it? – the lawsuit.

Hooking Up

“Follow the Bouncing Body-Part” I should have called yesterday’s post. Don’t they have some amazing ways of dancing these days though. And how on earth do people hear each other at the noisy clubs? How can they even begin to size each other up when all they have to go on is what meets the eye?

Or maybe the point really IS to just the quick ‘hook-up’, a phrase that always sounds  very painful and fish-hook-like –  with a barb on the end to wound you in your tenderest parts -and also sadly mechanical, like those long, dull docking sequences from The Empire Strikes Back.

Neil Paumgarten wrote a piece for The New Yorker earlier this summer about online dating sites, sites that one handsome, single friend just told me he wouldn’t dream of using since in his mind they smack of “desperation”.

Boy is he wrong. As Paumgarten put it,  “The process of selecting and securing a partner, whether for conceiving and rearing children, attempting motel-room acrobatics or merely  finding companionship in a cold and lonely universe” is really “consequential. 

“Lives hang in the balance. And yet we have typically relied for our choices on happenstance – off-hand referrals, late nights at the office, or the dream of meeting cute.”

College campuses and cities  meanwhile he calls great “habitats of abundance and access” when it comes to meeting possible partners  “but as people pair off, and as they corral themselves, through profession, geography and taste, into cliques and castes, the range of available mates shrinks. “We run out of friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends. You can get to thinking that the single ones are single for a reason.”

Which is nonsense of course. Few people are single because they deserve to be. My Great Aunt Mame used to say it about pairing off: “For every old sock there’s an old shoe.” All people really need is the help of the complicated algorithms so painstakingly perfected by sites like e-Harmony and Match.com and OK Cupid. You need the pre-sorting that they do. How are you going to avoid getting in too deep with a Tea-Party-when you’re a Socialist, if the best you can do is read lips at some noisy club?

As for Joe Nichols here, well we all know this: getting a girl out of her clothes thanks to alcohol is pretty much the last thing any woman wants to remember having done the morning after, however coyly cute Joe looks singing about it. 

Everybody’s Birthday

Here’s a great postcard that my college roommate sent me several years ago now. I could never mail it to anyone – I could never part with it! – and now I know why: This funny old-time card,  the work of the very clever Ashleigh Brilliant, is perfect for today.

Because July Fourth is everybody’s birthday, right?  I know we’ve been setting off fireworks around here since Saturday. (Calm down; they’re legal in the state where I’m spending the weekend.) And tonight, just as the loons are starting to whoop, we’ll drive into the village and see how the pros do it.

Take a look at Ashleigh’s website and support small business by ordering some cards for your own special occasions. Then take two minutes and watch this trailer from the great Barry Levinson’s great 1990 film Avalon about the man who immigrates to America and lands in Baltimore on a day just like this day 97 years ago.  And here’s to a great Fourth for everyone – ND a great year upcoming for our big loping good-natured country, just now coming out of its long adolescence. After all this living I have done I still can’t think of a place I’d rather live.

Workin’ 9 to 5

It’s Saturday and I feel LAZY. Slept late  today – ‘til 7:30 as against 5:10 – and went to bed last night with no t’s crossed and no i’s dotted, very unlike me.

One minute I was reading Jane Eyre on my bed, fully clothed my meager four ounces of wine at my elbow and the next I was sound asleep and dreaming all kinds of racy ancillary adventured for old Jane to get involved in.  Then it was I-don’t-know-what-time and I was under the covers, mostly clothed and drooling, the wine still untouched beside me.

I get so tired as the week goes on. We all do. I look at the traffic report on TV mornings and there we all are in our cars hours before dawn, inching along toward work. I go out in my own car and there we are waiting at bus stops, in snow and rain and air so cold it makes your fillings hurt.

The French have it knocked. They’ve got free this, free that, 6 weeks of vacation and nobody goes in to work ‘til 9 or 10 in the morning and then they’re out at the cafés nights laughing and smoking their brains out and drinking the good red wine.

Say what you want about us Americans, I think we’re  the hardest-working people anywhere. So me falling asleep sitting up? And the two EMTs seen sacked out below?  Well it’s bound to happen sometimes, right? 😉


The Gift-Laden Tourist

Speaking of  ‘and all I got was this lousy T-shirt’ what’s this new custom where you’re supposed to bring everybody presents when you go away? My parents never did that, maybe because they never went away except for a yearly business trip to New York when they’d send us kids a postcard of a hotel with an arrow pointing to some room on the 27th floor.

Me I’m just back from Italy where I bought nothing but the meals I ate (which come to think of it stands in great contrast to the last time I went when our foodie kids had us practically sewing ten-pound hunks of cheese and cured meats into the hems of our coats.) Truth is I can’t stand all that trinket-buying. It’s just so wasteful! And mindless!  I mean did you really want a hand towel with the Royal Family on it? Does your kid really need a Sea World T-shirt?

As the lawns grow ever stiffer with cold you can feel us getting closer to the mass delirium of holiday shopping. Yet the happiest people I know these days seem to be the ones who have a kind of lottery at the holidays and give their one person the coolest thing they can come up with for under 25 bucks.

Maybe my family will do that this year, buy our little ones a bunch of cheap little gizmos and spend the rest of the time playing board games and shooting the breeze. Keep it simple as the man said. Let our home be our mast and not our anchor. Because otherwise, think about it:  who’s gonna dust all THIS?