Happy hour musings

Every six weeks or so Penny, Julie and I pick a new place to experience happiness together. We drink wine and try yummy new appetizers. Last night it was 47 Scott with its tasty pork fritters, deep-fried pickles, and most impressive thinly sliced apples arranged in a fan as a garnish to baked brie. We want to try Janos’ new Downtown Kitchen + Cocktails but we’ll wait till it calms down a bit after last week’s opening.

We talk about everything in our short two hour visit: the color orange and the nature of horizontal stripes; what it means to be Jewish, if not religious are we genetic, historical or cultural Jews; fear of death and the possibility of past lives (two say yes, one says no); our teeth and gums; Social Security (two care, one doesn’t yet); a little bit of politics, but uh, we’re there to be happy; Odyssey Storytelling, the Burrito Files and new projects; what to do about burgeoning stomachs, and is it worth it to enjoy food and not worry so much about the fantasy of becoming svelte; refinancing my house in Maine and paying off credit card debt — the thrill of it; my upcoming Arizona Jewish Post story on mental illness in the Oct. 29 issue… I’m sure there was more but that’s all I can remember this morning.

In a way, some research says it doesn’t matter what we talk about but explains why sisterly chats make people happier. I used to wish my brother and I would talk more about personal stuff instead of movies, politics and sometimes the Boston Celtics. But I’ve realized that it’s the connection that matters (my brother has a rather odd view that it’s ok if we don’t see each other often, because “I know what you look like”).

But you know what, it’s really nice to hear his voice.

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Addendum to “Journalism” post

I referred to the famous line from “Network” in my Oct. 17 “Journalism” post. Apparently, Carl Paladino, or Crazy Carl, the nutty N.Y. Republican nominee for governor, has co-opted “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!”

In my earlier post I was thinking of poor Howard Beale, the news anchor in “Network” who finally goes beserk. Beale was co-opted by right-wing corporate interests: Think Rupert Murdoch and the like.

In the early ’70s, I was outraged by an ad that appeared in Boston MBTA stations: “Get a peace of the action” with a guy holding his hand up in a peace sign. The ad was for a car dealership. Guess the joke was on us peaceniks.

That inane language weirdness reminds me of the current political climate, with tea party loonies yelling about the need for a Republican populist takeover, while the rich get richer. Tea party candidates benefit from undisclosed campaign contributions — thanks to the right-leaning activist U.S. Supreme Court.

After all these years being a political junkie, teaching about politics  and trying to be a menschette (the feminine of a good person), I still don’t get how so many Americans carry on about socialism/communism/liberalism and whatever tag line the wealthy choose to finish off the middle class. Yeah, don’t fund education or health care; that’ll put us in our place.

Instead, supposedly sane Americans are being co-opted to care more whether the separation of church and state is Constitutional (duh?), if gays can marry, or women can control their own bodies — while tea partiers profess to want government out of our lives???? Pleeeeeeeaze.

I still like Barack. He doesn’t have the stomach for all this crap. I’m an optimist too, and had hoped his eloquence and intellect would change the political climate.  Didn’t Wild Bill leave us with a budget surplus and The Dumb Decider leave us in humongous debt? Cmon’ people!

This election is a sham if candidates win who don’t have sufficient education or real-world experience, who collect stimulus funds while railing against it.

No doubt that my media brothers and sisters are spinning tea party wins, contributing to fear and loathing on the progressive side.

Enough ranting. I’m going for a hike.

It ain’t over till the fat lady sings…it ain’t over till the fat lady sings.

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“Life” by Keith Richards

The Rolling Stones have been with me for a long time. For most of my life I regretted — along with not getting a PhD. —  the void, never having seen the legendary rock band live.

Then I turned 60. My brother, Joel, who lives in Boston, purchased tickets for us, along with my nieces and Amy and Alison, to eliminate a regret. Can’t beat that. (Now I don’t care about getting a doctorate either).

When I read the piece about Keith Richards’ new autobiography in today’s New York Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/24/arts/music/24richards.html?pagewanted=2&ref=homepage&src=me), I thought “good for him.” In fact, I was charmed.

Keith Richards telling it like it is/was, melodic guitar genius, former heroin addict, tree climber at an advanced age, and I’m not sure I want to know what else. But the music, ah, the music.

I always preferred the bad boys of rock ‘n’ roll to the shiny haired Beatles. Where did that come from? So when a stage started edging out down the center of the giant Fleet Center, and women my age started throwing their panties, bras, probably their phone numbers, at the bad boys’ feet, I just smiled. Looked at my 30-something nieces, we were all giggling, my brother clearly enjoying the nostalgic rush.

“I know it’s only rock ‘n’ roll but I like it. I like it. Like it. Aw, I like it…” Thanks, man.

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“Freakonomics”

Read the book by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner. The movie, “Freakonomics,” which I saw on Sunday at Tucson’s cool Loft Cinema, helped me understand all the freakiness better, even if its lengthy examination of corruption and Sumo wrestling was too overwrought for me. Almost put me to sleep.

My favorite part was their clever explanation of the significant reduction of crime during the ’90s. There were the usual suspects, more police on the streets, less crack, and such.  But what accounted for a 50 percent reduction in crime was the U.S. Supreme Court’s 1973 Roe v. Wade decision. That’s right.

Here’s how it plays: When women were able to abort unwanted fetuses in the ’70s, it greatly reduced the number of unhappy young adults and unhappy not-so-good mothers in the 1990s, and voila — less crime. How elegant.

And best of all, the discovery proves that you never know why things happen the way they do. How lucky these guys were to have big-kid work, pursuing questions that intrigue them, then enlightening the rest of us, proving that it’s always good to use your imagination.

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Another pseudo political debate

Phew, I’m sure glad that I didn’t stroll over to the University of Arizona student union last night to watch the Congressional “debate” with Rep. Gabrielle Giffords (D-Ariz.), Jesse Kelly, her loudmouth challenger and Steve the libertarian, who had no idea what to say half the time.

Gabby looks great with her new hip haircut. She pushed the fact that she’s the “only military wife in Congress!” That was a surprise, that she would push that fact. But she’s got to, considering the lunatic fringe loudmouth voters. She’s worked hard. Not that she’s always reflected my views but for the most part I trust her intentions.

Kelly had the most quotable line of the evening, I’ll give that to him: “I’m for a 10 percent flat tax. If it’s good enough for Jesus it’s good enough for me.” Huh?

Does anybody remember when Ronald Reagan suggested that pollution was the fault of trees? I didn’t get that either, but how could Kelly even imply that a religious policy of 2,000 years ago has any credence in today’s world? Yeah, and Benjamin Franklin didn’t have an iPad either. Does Kelly care what makes sense?

Course not, it’s the tagline: I’m a Christian, I’m a Christian, that’s all you need to know about me. Ha ha ha ha ha, she’s not.

I’m glad I didn’t attend the debate because it was mostly about which candidate’s supporters hollered the loudest, which makes me wonder, does politics bring out childishness? I want my guy to win, no matter what, uh, cause he’s my guy. It’s like a game of dodge ball. I was always picked last for team sports so I didn’t care about my team. If I was going to win at anything I had to do it myself.

Some people are team players, but when they’re left alone they can’t keep their mouths shut. Delaware Republican U.S. Senate candidate Christine O’Donnell must think she’s smart, or she’s too stupid to realize how little she knows. In her debate last night she asked if  separation of church and state was part of the Constitution. http://thecaucus.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/10/19/odonnell-questions-church-state-separation/

We’re in big trouble.

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Journalism, the essential fourth branch of government

At least that’s what I used to teach. I drew a tree with three gnarly branches on the blackboard (remember those?), making a big deal as I added the fourth implied branch: Respected Journalism, gathered by people who were knowledgeable about different points of view, conducted in-depth interviews, did painstaking research, and didn’t report quotes out of context. Mistakes were made, but for the most part, these folks were dedicated to their profession.

Thank the universe for Amy Goodman, Bill Moyers and Rachel Maddow, journalists who do real research. And thank goodness for comedian Jon Stewart.
(http://www.jewishjournal.com/marty_kaplan/article/waiting_for_sanityman_can_jon_stewart_save_america_rally_to_restore_sanity/

What happened to mainstream journalists like those of yesteryear, Walter Cronkite, for example, who at one time was the most trusted man in America?

Full disclosure: My heroes in my ’20s were I.F. Stone of the muckraking I.F. Stone’s Weekly, broadcast journalist Edward R. Murrow (“Anyone who isn’t confused doesn’t really understand the situation.”), and Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas. Yeah, I swing to the left.

But I was trained as a questioner, as a teacher whose highest goal was to encourage students to think, to question their most staunchly held opinions. I remember teaching social studies at Hartford High School in White River Jct., Vermont in the late ’70s. Principal Frank Kennison called me into his office to relate a call from an irate Democrat, who insisted I was teaching Republican dogma. We both laughed. The call made me feel good and showed that I presented — and allowed — a wide range of opinions in my classroom.

These days, Arizona Gov. Jan Brewer and other Republican candidates refuse to debate their Democratic opponents. Brewer so embarrassed herself with her lack of expertise and her misuse of “did” at her one and only debate with Democratic challenger, attorney general Terry Goddard, that her handlers figured it was better to not let her loose again.

And forget about a Beck or Limbaugh spouting factual history to their radio minions. PEOPLE — I want to yell out the window like Peter Finch in the movie “Network”: “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.” Beck, Limbaugh and their ilk are not journalists, they’re entertainers, making millions dredging up an economically frustrated citizenry’s latent anger.

At least Jon Stewart and Steve Colbert use humor to attempt enlightening, lightening up the seriousness of their message.

The Tea Partiers revert to their own revisionist history. (http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2010/10/18/101018fa_fact_wilentz)

I remember William F. Buckley, the late editor of National Review and a true conservative. I didn’t agree with his views but he was a true intellectual and a brilliant debater who stopped at the right-wing belief of a liberal-socialist-communist conspiracy trying to take over America.

My mentor, the late Howard Zinn, the radical (and proud to be so) Boston University professor emeritus and author of “The People’s History of the United States,” was often accused of writing revisionist history. I would call his work alternative, out-of the-mainstream history, but why was it less essential than the history of robber barons and generals?  His work illuminated  missing parts of traditional American history.

Last night Dan and I were watching one of this month’s new “Saturday Night Live” shows. On “Weekend Update,” Seth Myers noted U.S. Senate candidate Christine O’Donnell’s (R-Del.) complaint about the “media’s tricks.”

Two tricks the media [or real journalists] use, said Myers, “are record and play.”

I sure miss Howard Zinn.

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What, not Arizona?

Why do I live in a state that’s last in per capita spending on education, second only to Mississippi in poverty, against ethnic studies and supposedly  pro-refugee (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/09/us/09refugees.html ) but passed the loathsome SB 1070?

There are plenty of loony Tea Partiers here but they’re everywhere, even in fairly sane Maine. How does the Repugnican-dominated  Arizona state legislature get away with its often heartless cuts?

This morning I was hanging out with a few women friends discussing anti-aging facial products, when three of the five said they were considering leaving Arizona. The crazy right-wing politics had gotten to them.

Paul Le Page, Maine’s Republican candidate for governor has recently taken flak from sensible Mainers for announcing that when he becomes governor, he would tell President Obama to “go to hell.”

Mainers, or as I prefer, Maine-iacs, generally don’t like over-the-top proclamations. Many respect the presidency, no matter who’s in office.

I don’t know first-hand what political shenanigans are going on in other states (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/09/opinion/09collins.html?_r=1&src=me&ref=homepage
).

But malaise is rampant. I date it back to Ronald Reagan and his “Fuck the Middle Class” politics. And, says economist Robert Reich, former U.S. Secretary of Labor, “income in America is now more concentrated in fewer hands than it’s been in 80 years. Almost a quarter of total income generated in the United States is going to the top 1 percent of Americans.

The top one-tenth of 1 percent of Americans now earn as much as the bottom 120 million of us.” http://www.salon.com/news/great_recession/index.html?story=/news/feature/2010/10/18/the_perfect_storm

TGen years ago, my high school students yawned, complained about how bored they were reading French aristocrat Alexis De Tocqueville’s “Democracy in America,” which was written in the 1830s. Tocqueville was amazed by the sense of fairness, optimism and real hope for equality that he perceived in fledgling America.

A few students have since thanked me for imposing  Tocqueville’s old-fashioned drudgery; perhaps it gave them a sense of that now quaint “American Dream.”

I know a bright, wonderful young woman in the military who wants to be deployed to Iraq. She’s passionate about attending nursing school, but didn’t graduate at the top of her high-school class 15 years ago — the only avenue open to her would be the G.I. Bill.

Who’s running for office who cares about her “American Dream?”

Reagan’s “trickle down economy” was a facade for his pals to amass unimaginable wealth. Corporate giants were supposed to share their profits with their workers — really? Maybe Ben ‘n’ Jerry’s, those damn socialists, but who else?

One of my journalistic heroes, Bill Moyers, recently delivered a dynamite speech on the occasion of Common Cause’s 40th anniversary (http://www.ourfuture.org/institute/blog-entry/2010104008/honoring-common-causes-john-gardner-now-its-citizens-turn?t=1286654124).

What happened to the hope, the dream of America? Moyers says it best, quoting former Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis: “You can have wealth concentrated in the hands of a few or democracy, but you can’t have them both.”

There you have it my friends, which brings me up back to wacky Arizona. Remember when Americans of all political persuasions thought Sen. John McCain was a maverick (hell, he doesn’t remember but the dude is old and lost)?  Remember when he was the champion of campaign finance reform? If he hadn’t sold his soul before, he surely did by choosing Sarah Palin as his 2008 running mate, unleashing the lowest form of American politics yet.

Whip up anger.  Dumb people down. Remember when someone at a health-care reform town meeting yelled out, “The government better not mess with my Medicaid!” It’s not about taking back America — it’s about throwing it away.

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The Weight of it

“The Weight of It” by my niece Amy Wilensky chronicles growing up with her sister, Alison ( http://www.amazon.com/Weight-Story-Two-Sisters/dp/0805073124/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1286502400&sr=1-2#reader_0805073124/ref=sr.). I was always so impressed with Amy’s take — it didn’t matter to her that Ali was fat. But it mattered to Alison, partly because her svelte year-older sister, Amy, played sports, was popular, pretty and all that.

Do we always want to be something that we’re not? I used to have a flat stomach, never had stretch marks after birthing two big babies, and I figured I would always be thin. I didn’t eat much when I was a kid growing up in Waterbury, Conn. And I was a slow eater. My friends would sit on the back porch waiting for me to finish supper, reading comic books while I pushed bits of food around my plate.

Sans estrogen, my post-menopausal stomach rolls gushily sticking over the top of my shorts, possibly (oh no!) the precursor of some horrible disease.

I’m torn between wanting to eat whatever I want and imagining my own svelte self of yesteryear, which is also about staying healthy as an aging baby boomer. I’ve given up on the tiny black dress of five years ago, which made me feel like I could be 22 again, although I don’t want to be.

How do I balance feeling young, still being curious about life and what I might do next as I glimpse my aging body passing by the mirror in our bathroom.

I remember a children’s author who used to frequent my bookstore in Southwest Harbor. On her 6oth birthday she told me, “You know, I looked in the mirror this morning and I was truly surprised when I saw my face. I feel the same inside as I did when I was 20.” I understand that now. But I still wish my stomach was flatter.

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Books I remember

The Things They Carried and In the Lake of the Woods by Tim O’Brien, Amos & Boris by William Steig, Stranger in a Strange Land, Catch-22, Gift from the Sea, Divided Kingdom by Rupert Thomson, Sailor Dog by Margaret Wise Brown, The Giver by Lois Lowry, Refuge by Terry Tempest Williams, A Couple of Kooks by Cynthai Rylant, You Can’t Be Neutral on a Moving Train and The Politics of History by Howard Zinn, The Hunger of Memory by Richard Rodriguez, Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney, All the Little Live Things by Wallace Stegner, Herzog by Saul Bellow, Looking Back: A Chronicle of Growing Up Old in the Sixties, Black Olives by Martha Tod Dudman, Words Under the Words by Naomi Shihab Nye…

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Dogs are people too, or are they?

This morning I was off to Pilates class on my bike. Around 30 dogs were barking in the park, their people engaged in the Yoga child’s pose, which is supposed to be relaxing.

The sign said Doga Yoga. Yes, it’s all about the woof-woofs.

What the hell is going on, I wondered, passing by all the noisy creatures. Times have changed. I used to like dogs as much as the next person. When my kids were growing up we had two successive Samoyeds, 80-lb. fluffy white dogs with the Christmas spirit in their hearts, as the breed book announced. Once, our dog — whose name was Friend — was locked up in the Bar Harbor prison after an older woman reported seeing a polar bear on her front lawn.

These days, the police would probably haul a person in for questioning who doesn’t go ga-ga over dogs.

These days, people sometimes let their enormous dogs or their little yappy ones run free on hiking trails, while they smile and assure you that their dog (or pack of two or three) won’t hurt you, regardless of how uncomfortable you are.

Doggie psychologists, health insurance agents, dentists, pooper scooper merchants and even doggie spas cater to America’s top pets. Geez, why can’t we offer the same amenities to the homeless, mentally ill, poverty sticken, and maybe the children of dog owners? But let’s not get too wild and crazy.

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