Bread and Circus

Periodically, I get to thinking about how very vulnerable we are as a nation.  Not our foundation, mind you, our foundation of democracy and justice is steel-strong.  It's our structure, the flimsy materials, the shoddy posturing that worries me.  I cringe every time someone gives off the "F Europe" vibe (pardon my french...SEE right there, that pardon itself equates curse words to the french themselves.  And I really have a hard time believing a nation that brought us Amelie, warm crusty bread and so much lovely wine is all bad.)  We are a great nation.  A noble nation.  But MAN are we economically, socially and politically vulnerable these days.

When I want to get myself even more freaked out, I think of the Romans.  The holy Roman Empire and the power therein makes the scope of America's dominance seem both short-lived and measly in comparison.  For years, decades, CENTURIES the HRE was the most feared and revered global force.  You LOOKED at a Roman the wrong way, and you knew that you weren't messing with him alone, but with the entirety of the largest military that the world has ever known.  But here's the thing.  Rome got a bit high on its haunches; hubris surpassed diligence, pride over reason.  As long as the empire provided bread and circus, its populous remained distracted, unquestioning and non-progressive.  The unyielding faith of the Roman people of their permanent dominance led to their inevitable collapse- the people just weren't paying attention.

This past weekend, I attended The Donkey Show.  This cross-dressing, glitter-filled extravaganza loosely follows Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream.  The barely dressed cast with gyrating hips and lustful eyes provided an escape from reality for those of us in the audience.  Part dance party, part edge-pushing theater, the Donkey Show was reminiscent of Studio 54, without the intermittent cocaine infusions from the air vents.  About 1/2 way through the experience, I started thinking about Rome (NERD ALERT, duly noted) and how this level of extravagance is just what worries me about our distractability.  My compatriots and I indulged for a designated 2 hours of our lives, but so many of those around us live this way - consumed and content by and with distraction.

But then again, if there was a chance to be always well-fed and entertained, I guess I'd take it too.  But I do think my ideal equation would be Pinot Grigio and Circus.  God bless those French grapes.

Toe-ing the Line

As a teacher I learned about multiple intelligences; while some kids are super smart if they see something in picture form (visual) others 'get it' more if they can act out a lesson (kinesthetic).  As a HUGE nerd, I'm pretty well suited in most of the intelligences.  The critical exception to this rule is the elusive spacial intelligence; the ability to see how items can be connected in space.  If I see an open car trunk and a bunch of suitcases that are to fit inside, I start sweating and imagine luggage stacking like an out-of-control round of Tetrus, right before the scary wall closes in on the piles of colorful bricks.  Try as I may, I can not rationalize nor intellectualize the relative nature of shapes and matter in a distinct space.

My tendency to misjudge space was in full form just two weeks and two days ago when I stumbled to the bathroom at 4am in a sleepy stupor.  On the return trip to my bed I literally spaced out with regard to the limits of the space around me and proceeded to SLAM my right foot into a bookshelf that slants upward on the wall.  My baby toe went weeeee all the way to the other side of a wood slat and hence began the 'toe era' of my life.  Admittedly short, the toe era has been profound.  Until very recently all of my decisions pended the approval of my toe: will the toe mind if I stand up?  Will the toe be ok going out tonight?

My toe became the magic eight ball of my social and professional life.

Taped until this morning, my litter tater tot has made me very grateful for the other 9, healthy toes in my life.  It has also put me on high alert to other rogue pieces of furniture that may interfere with my late night stumbles and bumbles.  Makes me want to re-energize my whole 'simplify' goal of a few years ago.  If a life with fewer things means a life with fewer toe catastrophes, then it certainly is the life for me.

Deep Breaths

When it comes to children's books, my dad tended toward "Goodnight Moon".  A short sweet nocturnal send off to all the objects in the book and, for my dad, in the room.  I'm going to guess that Goodnight, Larry Bird was said quite a few times as my dad sent me and my little sisters off to bed with the Celtics playing in the background.  For me, however, I prefer "Alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad Day."  The poor guy falls asleep with gum in his mouth, which winds up in his hair the next morning and that, my friends, is the BEST part of his day.

Today, I had an Alexander type of day.

After several pieces of stressful and disappointing news at work and enduring a permeating mist that created a Jackson-5-esque afro on my head, I accepted the fact that I- and perhaps the world- may have been better had I never arisen from bed this morning.

Following work, I drudged to my local yoga studio- traditionally my haven in a crazy, crazy world.  The class is co-taught and has a theme each week.  Last week's perfect theme was 'hips', I left loosey-goosey, flexible and zen.  This week's theme: arm balances.  GULP.  After several misguided attempts at balancing my shoulder on my arm, my hips on my arm or my ENTIRE BODY on my arm we arrived at the mother of all arm balances- the hand stand.   We partnered up, in an effort to support and guide each other toward upside down bliss.  My partner, a lovely elderly woman with a bird-like frame, was not the optimal match for me- but I was closing in on zen and I decided to go with it.  After a few failed attempts, the yoga teacher stepped in to help in my quest.  With her expert help, I FLOATED up: my legs hung GRACEFULLY above my body and then...she dropped me.  On my head.

SHE DROPPED ME ON MY HEAD.

Frigging namaste people.

I think I'll move to Austrailia to hang with Alexander.

The Thug Life

With all this drama in the WDC, it's pretty hard being Nancy Pel-o-si.

C-Span held more drama than an episode of the Jersey Shore last night. Two minutes of yielded time to the Gentle Men and Ladies of our 50 states each resulted in mini-soap operas of epic proportions. After a weekend that featured racial epithets slung at John Lewis and homophobic slurs hurled at Barney Frank, one would think that the floor debate would offer a welcome recalibration of civility. But one would be wrong. It was passionate, it was climatic, it was nearly Shakespearean. IT WAS AWESOME.

In between the doom and gloom of the right and the elation mixed with a bit of I-told-you-sos of the left, real substance about the nature and future of our nation unfolded in the hallowed chamber and the legislative branch of our nation rediscovered its soul. The hard work on Health Care Reform, its implementation, is forthcoming but the passion from both sides last night was a redemptive splash of democracy in action.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 'Merica!!

In like a Lion, out like a Lamb.

Spring sprang in Boston this weekend, reminding us all why we endure the long, arduous tundra of winter in our colonial  city; the novelty of a rare sunny day fills us with exaggerated joy.  I half expected to look up and see a cartoon blue bird on my shoulder today as seemingly every pale, sluggish Bostonian reemerged, excited to engage in any activity that allowed for the Vitamin D from which we'd been so deprived for months.   It was a veritable Where's Waldo: Springtime Scene.

Thus the beginning of Dog Park season kicked off for me and my dear friend Beth.  Neither Beth nor I have a dog.  Yet, we both want a dog- for financial reasons (me) and fascist apartment complex rules (Beth) we are unable to commit to pet ownership.  Instead, we live vicariously through the wonder that is the Charlestown Dog Park (CDP).  Our pattern is predictable, we choose the walking route that 'casually' takes us by the CDP.  We don our most inculpable faces as we sidle up to the park, desperately hoping that the dog owners that casually chat and toss Frisbees to their respective Champion/Tiger/Rover* will assume we are One Of Them.  We squat and pat our laps, make whistley-kissey noises and regret not packing a spare piece of bacon or two in our coat pockets as we attempt to get the cutest dogs to come play with us.   Beth tries to make friends with beagle owners, I try to scope out any single guys with cute dogs.  Neither one of us has the nerve to approach and make the first move- too afraid of rejection, not wanting to risk our anonymity that allows us to continue our frequent visits to the CDP.  

In short: we are the dog park creeps, just one step short of being the guys with the windowless van with treats inside.  Totally fine. 

* Bonus points for those of you who recognized those dog names as options for Annie's dog prior to settling on Sandy.  

Move it!

The cast of the Jersey Shore is officially more successful than the United States Congress. Snooki and The Situation wrangled a sweet $100K/episode deal with MTV while Pelosi and Boehner-head wouldn't be able to reach a consensus on whether or not to include mustard on a ham sandwich. Mustard is a right! If the government provides mustard, we will lose our fundamental rights to eat sandwiches/smile/breathe- we must KILL the mustard movement. All the while, Americans remain hungry. Hungry for leadership. Hungry for sanity. Hungry for honesty and forthrightness.

Everyone is so afraid of making the one vote or sound bite that will lose them an election. Some, such as Sen Bayh have opted to completely drop out of the frenzied tango that is Senate expectations. Two republican Senators, Voinovich and Bond, set to retire at the end of their term, broke with the GOP caucus to move the Jobs Bill along- as did Scott Brown, remembering that he represents the people of Massachusetts- rather than the anguished, angry Tea Partiers nation-wide. Yet for the most part, all votes are along party lines. Who knows who is painting these lines on which Congresspeople so eagerly line up, terrified that one millimeter of movement from the burdensome linear thinking that both enables their continuance and also entraps them in the Congress.

Its troubled times like these that call for some real leadership, that summon the will of the men and women who RUN OUR COUNTRY to concede that some things are more important than reelection. As a liberal democrat with pragmatic tendencies I say this: if the country is really moving the way of the Tea Party and Conservativism- let it go there! We are a reasonable people. We are a perceptive people. We are also a people of BIG TALK and moderate action; we can out smack-talk any potential high school athletic foe, but will probably end up having a post-game Clown Sundae at the Friendly's booth next to her and her family.

To our legislators I say this: Stop making empty, anti-government/anti-liberal threats. ACT. DO IT. We will eventually moderate. It's the threat of the conservative blitz or liberal government take over that keeps us from actually DOING SOMETHING. So we DO NOTHING. Let's go to extremes. Let's play that hand out. We'll eventually return to the middle that the founding fathers and all subsequent great American leaders and citizens had always envisioned our nation: sane, productive and united.

The People's Seat

In case you've been under a rock and/or tune into the news only to learn about Heidi Montag's latest plastic surgery disaster, we've got a new Senator in our fair Commonwealth. He is handsome. He is a GREAT campaigner. He has a truck. That's all I really know about him. Oh, and I also know a lot of things he's against- like health care reform (which he voted FOR in MA (will return to this in a bit)) and calling the his seat Senator Kennedy's seat. He REALLY hates those things. Yet, it remains to be seen what he actually is FOR. He is like one of those grumpy guys on the Muppets, complaining about everything that the other, more proactive Muppets do but not ever taking a position on what would be better.

The national media is all over this story. OBAMA FAILS! CHANGE of the CHANGE! HEALTH CARE REFORM IS DEAD! THE PUBLIC SPEAKS! AMERICA! WOO!

The thing is, this election meant a lot and is hideous for the democrats and our futile attempts to salvage vulnerable seats in next year's mid-term. But one thing that this election is NOT is a repudiation of health care reform. Despite unprecedented global shit-storm, health care reform maintains a 76%+ approval rating in MA- those are numbers that are of political dreams. 97.4% of our citizens are and have been insured for the past two successful years of reform. How you like 'dem apples, Norway? NINETY-SEVEN POINT FOUR PERCENT. Only 1% of the budget is a result of health care reform associated costs (according to the non-partisan, right-leaning Mass Taxpayers Foundation). In other words, and let me be clear here:

HEALTH CARE REFORM IS WORKING.

Naysayers can shrug, selectively ignore facts and use simple phrases to miscategorize it, but on this one, I can assert that I am right and they are wrong. I work with the numbers people. Thus I can say: it is hard, we need to really focus on system delivery and the cost of care in general. The tenets of health care reform are not the problem, but the ass-backward market that establishes rates that promote excessive use and specialty care and financially punishes doctors for going into the proven preventative type of medicine, primary care.

So, to Mr. President and Congresspeople I say this: we are women and men not Muppets. Let our emotion-laden election not interfere with real progress. I'm not saying push a bill through, but stop pretending that your job is anything BUT creating and implementing meaningful legislation, with or without a super majority. As Jon Stewart, the smartest American of our generation said, "W. didn't need a super majority when he did WHATEVER HE WANTED for 8 years."

Fe que da Alegria

Ten summers ago, I spent 5 weeks in the Dominican Republic with a group of fellow Eagles. By day we ran a summer camp called Fe y Alegria (faith and happiness); by night we lesson planned and reflected on the sense of community of the lovely, rural town that zealously embraced us and how to incorporate the love of simplicity and 'it takes a village' mentality that abounded therein. Toward the end of the trip, my group and I journeyed to the far western edge of the DR, just over the Haitian border. The juxtaposition of the lifestyle there compared to the poor, yet hopeful one we'd left behind with our gear was so severe, to this day I find it difficult to articulate.

The village of small huts was home to about 200 individuals. Raw sewage ran through the streets, rendering the water undrinkable. Animals and humans coexisted under what could barely be referred to as shelter and children took to hitting each other with brush for sport. The most incomprehensible image that haunts me was the looks on the villagers faces upon our arrival. They were neither angry nor confused; welcoming nor dismissive. They weren't, contrary to what Disney would have you believe, gracious and SO THANKFUL for our arrival. What they were was...blank. Completely void of emotion, tenderness and humanity. These were people whose exposure to violence, poverty, political corruption and disillusionment had taken a serious emotional toll on their very being.

The millions of images that have flashed in front of us for the past 72ish hours since the devastating 7.0 earthquake near Port-Au-Prince, are a constant reminder of my decade-old visit. The outpouring of needed medical aid, supplies and world attention has been remarkable- a testament to human kind. Yet, when the next big disaster happens- or when Jay and Conan next decide to feud like boys who long to be king of the mountain during recess, rather than men who earn in the MILLIONS- Haiti will be forgotten and the mental and emotional health needs of the Haitians who need hope and compassion will remain unmet.

I get so caught up in the memememe of my life, that I often forget to step back and reflect. This is a time of reflection, I'm glad that we are caught up in it, but the problem of extreme poverty persists. I'm truly not sure as to what America's role should be. We can not afford, both financially and resourcefully, to be either the world's police officer or its provision manager. But we must do something. Because 55 thousand people died this week and are currently being used as road blocks for lack of a better place to 'dispose' of them. 55 THOUSAND. My heart and funds, in $10 increments, go out to the Haitians. I can't let another 10 years go by without letting that powerful day get to me again.