When I first started working for Corporate Banking USA, I was delighted that I could add Miss Chef to my health insurance benefits. Only the large, corporate restaurants offer benefits to all their employees, and paying for one's own insurance is well beyond the reach of most hourly-wage workers. So you can imagine how relieved I was to find a corporate culture that could extend protection to my sweetie in her job working with fire and knives!
It wasn't until after we'd gone through all the selection and registration processes that I started noticing some odd deductions on my paycheck. Lo and behold, it was one of those hidden costs of our inability to be legally married. The cost of her benefits--both the amount the company contributes and my contributions--are considered taxable income. So the company has to re-gross my income by that amount and take taxes out.
It has been nearly 7 years (between two different companies) that I have been carrying this little burden in my paycheck. After my initial resentment and irritation, I eventually just had to accept the situation, and finally pretty much forgot about it. I still appreciated knowing that I had some protection within the company from being treated unfairly because I fell in love with the wrong kind of person.
Last week at home I received in the mail a rather plain envelope from my employer. Inside was a simple, one-page letter regarding the health benefits I was able to extend to my domestic partner. (I love the fact that they don't distinguish between same-sex and opposite-sex partners.) The letter re-iterated the Company's commitment to diversity and inclusion, blah blah blah, and re-stated the situation with the tax penalties I am subjected to.
Then there was this part: "The payment described below will help offset the additional federal and state taxes you incur as a result of these regulations."
Yes--the big, faceless Corporation is paying extra money to ensure I am treated with equality. Not only are they granting me extra payments to offset the taxes I already pay, but they are bumping them up by enough to cover the taxes on the extra money itself! In addition, my July month-end paycheck would include a lump-sum payment to cover those extra costs through the first half of 2012.
I have to tell you, I grew emotional when I read that letter. Even in explaining it here, I'm getting a little choked up. They didn't have to do this. There was no general outcry within the company or among its customers, clients or shareholders. One short paragraph indicates this was a result of feedback on an annual PRIDE Global survey and various diversity and HR organizations within the company. I know the Company's not going to do anything that impinges on their bottom line; I know there's got to be something in it for the Company...but the fact that they were open to the idea, and went through all the calculations and paperwork to make it happen, is a little flabbergasting.
Still, when I went online at work today to check my month-end paycheck, I was not prepared for what was in there. The monthly addition to my pay is not chump change. But the retroactive amount for the past six months was over $1400.
Yeah, that's a nice little stocking stuffer, isn't it? But I'm not sharing the amount with you because I'm excited about it. I want you to think about what it represents. That's $2800 a year of financial penalty because my co-citizens refuse to recognize my and Miss Chef's relationship as legally valid (not morally or religiously, just legally). Over the past 7 years, I have lost over $19,000 by extending to Miss Chef the same benefits that my coworkers extend to their spouses without that price tag. The same that you might use to cover your own husband or wife. The loss would be even greater if we had children. Imagine if I'd been able to divert that much into my 401(k)? How much more secure would my retirement be with those extra funds?
And that's just one hidden cost that we bear. One hidden cost that we weren't really aware of. How many more are we carrying? I am fortunate that my employer is extending protections to me that my government is not willing to. My government, that I'm supporting.
You know what's even more shocking? My employer is one of the big-name, international Wall Street banks that we all love to hate. Yeah, even Big Banking recognizes the right thing. When will the rest of our population?
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Friday, August 3, 2012
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Reaction
Osama bin Laden has been killed, and Americans are jubilant in the streets. Not me. I cannot celebrate a death.
Don't get me wrong. I am relieved, and proud of the amazing skills and courage of the small team that succeeded in this mission. It was long past time for this man to be brought to justice. But I feel like celebrating anyone's death brings us all lower. It had to be done, but it's not something we should enjoy.
Martin Luther King Jr.: "I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."
(On the other hand...there's one guy out there who can say "I shot bin Laden." Can you imagine being him today? I wonder if we'll ever know his name?)
So, what about you? What's your reaction?
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Rerun: Auntie Eva
I just finished re-reading the book that inspired Steven Spielberg's movie Schindler's List, and have been in a bit of a somber mood lately. It's a massive piece of history to try to wrap one's mind around, the incomprehensible extent of open-eyed cruelty and organized death during the war.
I missed January 27th this year--the United Nations' Holocaust Remembrance Day--but the US Congress has declared May 1 2011 as this year's Day of Remembrance. This re-edited post from 2010's Remembrance Day is a good reflection of my thoughts these last few days.
Do you remember, as a child, when the arrival of the mail was still interesting? Do you remember a time when unexpected packages promised mystery and excitement?
Most of the packages arriving at our big farmhouse in the country were not unexpected. Christmas and birthdays brought regular boxes from the UPS truck. But every once in a while, out of the blue, we'd get a box from Auntie Eva.
I had no memories of Aunt Eva, though she was very present in our photo albums. Both my brother and I dandled on her knee as infants. Yet, since we'd moved to Ohio, and she remained in Manhattan, I hadn't seen her since I was about a year old.
I can't say her absence bothered me. After all, in the pictures, she seemed very serious, even grumpy to a kid like me. And she was greatly overweight. I was happy that my mother was the more attractive of the two.
However, Eva got major points for sending packages! You see, Back in The Day, the New York Times was not available at every convenience store or gas station. My parents, having met and lived in Manhattan, missed the world-class reporting that was unparalleled in the days before satellite communications and internet. So every month or so, Auntie Eva would pack up a box of her gently-used Times and ship them off to northeastern Ohio.
Even though I was too young to read such serious fare, I was always excited when her packages came, because there was often something besides paper in there. At Christmas, she usually sent a real gingerbread house, which was displayed on the dining room table--and never eaten! She also sent chocolates, candies and other treats; I especially remember strawberry candies in red wrappers with green tufts that mimicked the fruit itself. I've seen them since, but they've never tasted as good as the ones Aunt Eva mailed us.
As I grew older, I began to delve into the Times Sunday Magazine. At first, it was mostly to look at the pictures, to see how the other half lived. My brother and I often pored over the real estate section in the back. Estates for over a million dollars! Back in the eighties, conspicuous consumption was something we kids aspired to.
Of course, I eventually began to read some of the articles, usually starting with the humorous one-page essay at the back. I didn't "get" a lot of the articles, especially the ones dealing with strictly NYC affairs. The Fashion Issue was completely beyond my comprehension (and still is!).
At some point, having visited my dad's sister and brothers in New York and New Jersey over the years, it suddenly dawned on me that Eva didn't fit into either family tree. "Is she a real Aunt?" I asked my mom. No, she wasn't. In fact, Eva was one of my mother's dearest friends.
They met in Manhattan through an international club at Hunter College, and I get the feeling Mom was impressed, if not comforted, by Eva's worldliness. Mom had come from a small town in Pennsylvania, and college, to work in and study biochemistry. I think between moving into the big city on her own, and starting post-graduate studies in a man's world, she must have been a little nervous.
I never heard much about what made them such great friends. I know they joined a ski club together--picturing the obese, unhappy woman from my baby pictures at the top of a mountain, perched on thin wooden slats, tested my imagination. Whatever their adventures may have been, Mom always seemed to tell Eva stories with laughter in her voice.
Eventually, I had more questions about Aunt Eva...where was she from? What about her family? And her story opened my eyes.
You see, Auntie Eva was a Holocaust survivor.
Her story is less dramatic than most that you hear about. She and her mother somehow escaped the camps. They were moved into the Jewish Ghetto in Budapest, where they lived, crammed together with strangers, scraping by the best they could on meager supplies of food.
According to Mom, Eva's obesity resulted from a metabolism destroyed by surviving for months on nothing but beans. Mom shared a story Eva had told her to illustrate their desperation in the Ghetto. A doctor came one day to treat a sick person in their building. He arrived in a horse-drawn carriage, and entered the house to treat the patient. When he came back out, the horse was gone.
That night, everyone in the building had meat for the first time in months.
I don't remember if Eva had any siblings; I do know she had a father. He was not as lucky. He was sent to a concentration camp, where he eventually died of exposure. The only reason Eva learned what happened to him was because someone--a guard, another prisoner, I don't recall--found a picture of Eva in a book of his after he died. There was enough information on the back of it to contact the family after the war.
Eva and her mother somehow escaped Hungary before the liquidation of the ghetto as part of the Final Solution. They emigrated to England, and her mother later remarried. Eva was sent to stay with relatives in the US, which is how she eventually entered into our lives.
Now, as I said, I was never close to Eva. I met her once as an adult; she came to my (real) aunt's house while we were visiting in New Jersey. Oddly, I don't remember much of that visit--other than being shocked that Mom and Aunt Barbara were preparing a ham for lunch! Apparently, Eva wasn't too religiously observant.
I do remember Eva was a presence. She made a living for several years as an extra in movies and tv shows, and proudly contacted us to let us know when she'd be on tv. She said she was known as the big lady with the big laugh.
In spite of my apparent indifference, I think Eva enjoyed watching my brother and me grow up, even at a distance. I can recognize now that she would have liked to be a bigger presence in our lives, as she never had children of her own. She didn't marry until her 50s or 60s, though she was very happy when she did!
A few years ago, my mother called to tell me that Eva had died suddenly. I don't know if we might have met again, but it saddens me a bit that she'll never know how she affected my emotional development. Not only did her old Sunday Times broaden my horizons, but her life story introduced me to the horrors of World War II in a very personal way. It took me many years to figure out why I was so particularly empathetic to those in untenable situations--slavery, poverty, abuse. I believe it's because Eva's story made it so real.
In 2005, the United Nations declared January 27th, the date of the liberation of the camp at Auschwitz, as Holocaust Remembrance Day. It is a day to remember victims of all holocausts, not just those of the second World War. It is not a day to wallow in despair, or point fingers of blame. It is a day to honor the victims by taking this lesson to heart: a holocaust can still happen, if we let it. It takes more than hate-filled people with weapons. It takes, as a wise man once said, for good people to do nothing.
It is a day to remember that all people are human.
I missed January 27th this year--the United Nations' Holocaust Remembrance Day--but the US Congress has declared May 1 2011 as this year's Day of Remembrance. This re-edited post from 2010's Remembrance Day is a good reflection of my thoughts these last few days.
Do you remember, as a child, when the arrival of the mail was still interesting? Do you remember a time when unexpected packages promised mystery and excitement?
Most of the packages arriving at our big farmhouse in the country were not unexpected. Christmas and birthdays brought regular boxes from the UPS truck. But every once in a while, out of the blue, we'd get a box from Auntie Eva.
I had no memories of Aunt Eva, though she was very present in our photo albums. Both my brother and I dandled on her knee as infants. Yet, since we'd moved to Ohio, and she remained in Manhattan, I hadn't seen her since I was about a year old.
I can't say her absence bothered me. After all, in the pictures, she seemed very serious, even grumpy to a kid like me. And she was greatly overweight. I was happy that my mother was the more attractive of the two.
However, Eva got major points for sending packages! You see, Back in The Day, the New York Times was not available at every convenience store or gas station. My parents, having met and lived in Manhattan, missed the world-class reporting that was unparalleled in the days before satellite communications and internet. So every month or so, Auntie Eva would pack up a box of her gently-used Times and ship them off to northeastern Ohio.
Even though I was too young to read such serious fare, I was always excited when her packages came, because there was often something besides paper in there. At Christmas, she usually sent a real gingerbread house, which was displayed on the dining room table--and never eaten! She also sent chocolates, candies and other treats; I especially remember strawberry candies in red wrappers with green tufts that mimicked the fruit itself. I've seen them since, but they've never tasted as good as the ones Aunt Eva mailed us.
As I grew older, I began to delve into the Times Sunday Magazine. At first, it was mostly to look at the pictures, to see how the other half lived. My brother and I often pored over the real estate section in the back. Estates for over a million dollars! Back in the eighties, conspicuous consumption was something we kids aspired to.
Of course, I eventually began to read some of the articles, usually starting with the humorous one-page essay at the back. I didn't "get" a lot of the articles, especially the ones dealing with strictly NYC affairs. The Fashion Issue was completely beyond my comprehension (and still is!).
At some point, having visited my dad's sister and brothers in New York and New Jersey over the years, it suddenly dawned on me that Eva didn't fit into either family tree. "Is she a real Aunt?" I asked my mom. No, she wasn't. In fact, Eva was one of my mother's dearest friends.
They met in Manhattan through an international club at Hunter College, and I get the feeling Mom was impressed, if not comforted, by Eva's worldliness. Mom had come from a small town in Pennsylvania, and college, to work in and study biochemistry. I think between moving into the big city on her own, and starting post-graduate studies in a man's world, she must have been a little nervous.
I never heard much about what made them such great friends. I know they joined a ski club together--picturing the obese, unhappy woman from my baby pictures at the top of a mountain, perched on thin wooden slats, tested my imagination. Whatever their adventures may have been, Mom always seemed to tell Eva stories with laughter in her voice.
Eventually, I had more questions about Aunt Eva...where was she from? What about her family? And her story opened my eyes.
You see, Auntie Eva was a Holocaust survivor.
Her story is less dramatic than most that you hear about. She and her mother somehow escaped the camps. They were moved into the Jewish Ghetto in Budapest, where they lived, crammed together with strangers, scraping by the best they could on meager supplies of food.
According to Mom, Eva's obesity resulted from a metabolism destroyed by surviving for months on nothing but beans. Mom shared a story Eva had told her to illustrate their desperation in the Ghetto. A doctor came one day to treat a sick person in their building. He arrived in a horse-drawn carriage, and entered the house to treat the patient. When he came back out, the horse was gone.
That night, everyone in the building had meat for the first time in months.
I don't remember if Eva had any siblings; I do know she had a father. He was not as lucky. He was sent to a concentration camp, where he eventually died of exposure. The only reason Eva learned what happened to him was because someone--a guard, another prisoner, I don't recall--found a picture of Eva in a book of his after he died. There was enough information on the back of it to contact the family after the war.
Eva and her mother somehow escaped Hungary before the liquidation of the ghetto as part of the Final Solution. They emigrated to England, and her mother later remarried. Eva was sent to stay with relatives in the US, which is how she eventually entered into our lives.
Now, as I said, I was never close to Eva. I met her once as an adult; she came to my (real) aunt's house while we were visiting in New Jersey. Oddly, I don't remember much of that visit--other than being shocked that Mom and Aunt Barbara were preparing a ham for lunch! Apparently, Eva wasn't too religiously observant.
I do remember Eva was a presence. She made a living for several years as an extra in movies and tv shows, and proudly contacted us to let us know when she'd be on tv. She said she was known as the big lady with the big laugh.
In spite of my apparent indifference, I think Eva enjoyed watching my brother and me grow up, even at a distance. I can recognize now that she would have liked to be a bigger presence in our lives, as she never had children of her own. She didn't marry until her 50s or 60s, though she was very happy when she did!
A few years ago, my mother called to tell me that Eva had died suddenly. I don't know if we might have met again, but it saddens me a bit that she'll never know how she affected my emotional development. Not only did her old Sunday Times broaden my horizons, but her life story introduced me to the horrors of World War II in a very personal way. It took me many years to figure out why I was so particularly empathetic to those in untenable situations--slavery, poverty, abuse. I believe it's because Eva's story made it so real.
In 2005, the United Nations declared January 27th, the date of the liberation of the camp at Auschwitz, as Holocaust Remembrance Day. It is a day to remember victims of all holocausts, not just those of the second World War. It is not a day to wallow in despair, or point fingers of blame. It is a day to honor the victims by taking this lesson to heart: a holocaust can still happen, if we let it. It takes more than hate-filled people with weapons. It takes, as a wise man once said, for good people to do nothing.
It is a day to remember that all people are human.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Friday Fragments
Hmm...I'm beginning to think my lovely, thoughtful, fascinating blog is going to be reduced to Flartus' Friday Fragments.
Why?
Well, I know I've mentioned it a few times before, but let me be explicit about my sudden new work schedule. As my handful of regular--and very much valued--readers know, I recently accepted a part-time teaching position. Yay! Very exciting; an adjustment to the schedule, but after a few weeks, I knew it would be fine.
So my Monday through Wednesday evenings are taken. No prob; I still have the rest of the week, right?
WRONG! Ever hear of a little government program called Cash for Clunkers? Well, my day job is in auto loans, and our volume has suddenly tripled. Besides working 10- to 12-hour days during the week, my department has worked every Saturday since...well, sometime in July. And it's going to continue for at least another two weeks. The worst thing is, 50 hours a week still leaves us 3 days behind!
Now, I don't want to complain (not that I haven't been complaining on my tired, panicky days!). I'm paid hourly, so the overtime isn't hurting the bank balance. And Miss Chef has been working these kinds of hours for at least 4 years, so I know it's not the end of the world. But that's why I haven't been to the farmers' market in a month. And why I dropped the ball on the garden, the canning, the teaching stories and the food pics. There has been very little cooking in the Flartus household! Hopefully by the end of September, I'll have some more time to share with you all.
So, anyway, off to the Fragments!
Brussels sprouts THIS is how they grow:
They start out like any little cabbage plant. As they grow taller, you cut off the lower leaves, promoting larger buds. You can see some of the leaves on the ground around this plant. I didn't realize they would need cutting every week or two. But Miss Chef was the one who wanted to try these out, so I figured everything I did was extra, anyway. :)
Miss Chef's Birthday Well, falling on a Saturday, this was going to be another working birthday for Miss Chef. In fact, she and I both went to school Saturday morning: she to do a demo for the open house, me to work on my lesson plans (our computer was still down, so I needed to go onto campus anyway.) We had lunch together at O'Charley's, where our food runner turned out to be one of my students. That happened fast; I'd only been teaching for a month before I ran into a student. Anyway, we each went off to our separate workplaces after that.
Why?
Well, I know I've mentioned it a few times before, but let me be explicit about my sudden new work schedule. As my handful of regular--and very much valued--readers know, I recently accepted a part-time teaching position. Yay! Very exciting; an adjustment to the schedule, but after a few weeks, I knew it would be fine.
So my Monday through Wednesday evenings are taken. No prob; I still have the rest of the week, right?
WRONG! Ever hear of a little government program called Cash for Clunkers? Well, my day job is in auto loans, and our volume has suddenly tripled. Besides working 10- to 12-hour days during the week, my department has worked every Saturday since...well, sometime in July. And it's going to continue for at least another two weeks. The worst thing is, 50 hours a week still leaves us 3 days behind!
Now, I don't want to complain (not that I haven't been complaining on my tired, panicky days!). I'm paid hourly, so the overtime isn't hurting the bank balance. And Miss Chef has been working these kinds of hours for at least 4 years, so I know it's not the end of the world. But that's why I haven't been to the farmers' market in a month. And why I dropped the ball on the garden, the canning, the teaching stories and the food pics. There has been very little cooking in the Flartus household! Hopefully by the end of September, I'll have some more time to share with you all.
So, anyway, off to the Fragments!
Brussels sprouts THIS is how they grow:
They start out like any little cabbage plant. As they grow taller, you cut off the lower leaves, promoting larger buds. You can see some of the leaves on the ground around this plant. I didn't realize they would need cutting every week or two. But Miss Chef was the one who wanted to try these out, so I figured everything I did was extra, anyway. :)
Here's a close-up of the growing stalk.
Miss Chef's Birthday Well, falling on a Saturday, this was going to be another working birthday for Miss Chef. In fact, she and I both went to school Saturday morning: she to do a demo for the open house, me to work on my lesson plans (our computer was still down, so I needed to go onto campus anyway.) We had lunch together at O'Charley's, where our food runner turned out to be one of my students. That happened fast; I'd only been teaching for a month before I ran into a student. Anyway, we each went off to our separate workplaces after that.
But it wasn't all lame-o work stuff. As he did last year, Chef Adam made Miss Chef a cake, and they called me from the restaurant to come for post-service cake & drinks. Which meant driving half an hour and arriving at 10 pm. But you know I love the post-service family-meal time there, and Chef once again ended up telling stories and acting out weird previous employees, so it was worth the drive. Plus, the cake was really good!
Sunday we went to see a free Shakespeare Festival rendition of Julius Caesar. It was not as good as the Twelfth Night show we had seen the month before, but we met up with Michele's (of Bosky Acres) two oldest kids, and stumbled upon an excellent little soul-food restaurant for dinner afterwards. So it was still a fun change of pace.
Teaching I love realizing that my students and I have established a group relationship. They know my sense of humor, I know more about their interests, strengths and weaknesses, and I've encouraged a number of them through some frustrations and bad grades. I may have finally figured out how to use the book: have the students read the bare-bones content before class, then flesh it out next session with more examples, explanations and practice. I'll see Monday how that works.
Teaching I love realizing that my students and I have established a group relationship. They know my sense of humor, I know more about their interests, strengths and weaknesses, and I've encouraged a number of them through some frustrations and bad grades. I may have finally figured out how to use the book: have the students read the bare-bones content before class, then flesh it out next session with more examples, explanations and practice. I'll see Monday how that works.
I came up with a really good partner practice activity for last Wednesday's class. They had to describe their situation ("I'm thirsty") using some new expressions, and their partner had to suggest where they should go to solve their problem ("Tu vas au café"), using new vocabulary and a new grammar structure. Unlike some classwork, this felt very natural; they found it amusing, too, but best of all: they were communicating in French.
Sure, it was very basic, the pronunciation was mediocre, and they could cheat by falling into English. But walking around, watching and listening to them do exactly what this course is designed to do, is one of those rewarding moments that inspire me. It's one of the few times I can see the tangible results of my work.
Ted Kennedy It's been all over the news the last two days: how much he did for the disadvantaged, and how good he was at reaching "across the aisle." I don't know a whole hell of a lot about his history in either area (nor about Chappaquadick, which seems obviously absent from what I've heard; let us speak not ill of the dead, I suppose). Sounds like Ted did a lot for his country and probably was sincere about trying to help the citizenry.
But I keep hearing about how he would compromise, reach out to conservatives and back off some aspects of his bills to make sure something got done. How he had actual, true friends of the opposite political persuasion. And it makes me wonder if that's all done. Is there any hope of sewing up this conservative ~ liberal, Democrat ~ Republican, red-state ~ blue-state, us vs. them, name-calling divide? As a true blue liberal, I could easily blame the past administration, but as Mom always said "It takes two to tango."
Cut it out, Americans! Would you start looking past political opinions and maybe consider where that other person is coming from? There's got to be a reason they feel, believe and vote that way, and no, it's not because they're crazy or stupid. Just different. Every sane person generally acts from a basis of rational thought.
And yes, I need to heed these words myself. I'm no saint, either. But sheesh; where is all this hatred coming from? Is this going to be our new reality, or are we still capable of returning to a more mature mode of communication? I'm scared, people, very scared for our little 200-year old political experiment here. As George Washington said (I believe), "Democracy breeds mediocrity." Are we becoming just another isolationist, ignorant populace, led by the nose by our demagogues?
I hate to end on a down note, but that's all I've got for this week. Maybe something miraculous will happen at Ted's internment tomorrow, and we'll all find ourselves joining hands and singing "Kumbaya" together.
Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?
Monday, January 26, 2009
OMG, Please Be Kidding
Um..."honoring?" Seriously?
Do you think this is actually Obama's economic stimulus plan? I mean, these things go for $20. Sell one to even half of his voters, and you've got almost enough money to buy lunch for the CEOs of all the bailed-out companies.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Reflections on Inauguration Day
Yes, this is late, but reflections take time.
I wasn't sure I wanted to write another political post, but I have found myself riding an unexpected emotional roller coaster. It's more of a kiddie-sized roller coaster, but it's still a ride I am surprised to be on. I would like to try to elucidate what I've been feeling, and also reveal that there are those of us who supported our new President, but don't actually believe he is the Messiah.
I did vote for Obama, and was very excited about having such an intellectual President at the helm, but I do know the man is not perfect. He is a man, one man, and, even worse, a politician. He will disappoint me; I know that already. I don't even agree with all his viewpoints; I shudder at the gross amount of dollars offered up in his economic stimulus package. But I have to trust that, for the most part, he will move in the right directions.
I was determined to watch the inauguration from work, which I did in our breakroom, along with about ten other people. We have a fairly even balance of black and white in our office, and we had both colors represented in our little audience. Nobody got overwhelmingly emotional, but it felt like being in church--no one wanted to talk over or make too much noise during the important moments. I was happy to see our new President installed, but that was about it.
Until later. As I drove home that evening, and over the next few days, some surprising feelings surfaced.
I first reacted to some of the news coverage, which included images of, and sound bites from, many of the spectators. Most concentrated on black citizens. Of course, they are much more emotionally connected than I am, and I cannot fully understand how they feel right now. But darn it, he's my President, too! Even if you didn't vote for him, he's your President. I did vote for him, but the hope he brings to me has to do with a lot more than his race. In fact, the primary inkling I had of my support for him was due to his focus on energy policy, not his his race, or his military or economic stances. So let's not forget that he represents the rest of the population.
Tied into this are my feelings about our country. I've heard more than one black citizen interviewed say something like "I'm finally proud of being American again." One woman said she had stopped reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, but that she "might just stand up and say it now." I knew exactly how she felt, but from a whole different aspect.
The last administration wounded me more deeply than I realized. The loudest elements of the right whipped up a witch-hunt against anyone who doesn't fall into their religiously conservative norm. You think "witch-hunt" is a strong word? Then you haven't felt the stigma of being pacifist, homosexual, agnostic, Muslim, scientific, poor, or just plain unhappy with the government over the past eight years. It sure hurt to have the religion I grew up in used to flog the opposition with the very intolerance Jesus decried. And it angered me that it was used at all to determine national policies of a supposedly and specifically religiously pluralistic country.
So I could identify with those newly patriotic black Americans--we feel like we have membership again; that America really is our country, that it really does represent us. I've been doing things I haven't done in years, like making sure I capitalize the word President. I might even tear up the next time I hear the Star-Spangled Banner.
Unfortunately, I only partly feel like a real, card-carrying member of the United States of America. When we as a society stop discriminating against people because of whom they fall in love with, then I will feel like a full citizen. Still, I can't help feeling a little better about my place in our society, simply because I expect a return to reason and tolerance in our national discourse. Not in place of religious belief, but alongside, and equally valued. This is not an if/or world; we can have Christian values without excluding other values.
At the same time, I have to recognize that there is a faction on "my" side that is liable to be just as intolerant as I was complaining about above. I've heard Obama called centrist by those far more informed than I; this gives me some hope that he will temper this wild enthusiasm for every crazy left-wing idea that comes down the pike. I do hope we can civilize national discussions beyond name calling and "nanner nanner, I can't hear you!"
Finally, and overriding, underlining and coexisting with these other feelings, is a sense of unreality. I was happy after election day, but the "transition period" was so long, and so ubiquitously reported, that it started to feel like a reality show. So I have to stop myself and virtually shake my head--yes, we have a new President. Yes, finally, somebody I voted for won!
As the new administration revs its engines, I find myself teetering between ebullience and cynicism. Yay, a new start! Nah, it's just a new day with the same problems. Yay, we're finally gonna make some progress! Meh, maybe yes, maybe no. Yay, the US is going to stop being so divided! I dunno...we'll see.
Well, hope is not a bad thing, so I will enjoy it, dammit. And whatever changes the new administration makes--for better or for worse--it will take a while. So I guess I'll just be happy I have a job to go to every day, and keep on plugging. Hopefully I'll see a light at the end of the tunnel before my hope runs out.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Barack Obama
Congratulations to our 44th President. It's been a long, long time since I've heard a president speak with such inspiring hope and determination. We've got a lot of work ahead of us, but it'll be a lot easier if we feel like we're headed on the right path.
This is certainly not the most pressing issue facing us, but...I just have to ask: If you truly believe that "...all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness," will you be actively supportive of marriage for all? Because that surely would be the full measure of my happiness.
I supported you...
Bon appétit, President Obama. See you at the office.
This is certainly not the most pressing issue facing us, but...I just have to ask: If you truly believe that "...all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness," will you be actively supportive of marriage for all? Because that surely would be the full measure of my happiness.
I supported you...
Bon appétit, President Obama. See you at the office.
Mea culpa maxima: Flartus needs to do her research!! Thanks to Liz's heads-up to the Wockner blog (nice template, btw!), I found a very explicitly detailed list of LGBT issues which President Obama plans to act on. He does not support gay "marriage," but rather fully equal civil unions. Which becomes a matter of semantics--if it's the same thing, why don't we call it the same thing? But I will recognize that that may be a fight for another generation; if Miss Chef and I can enjoy the same rights, I won't quibble about names.
Wow, I feel so much better now! Thanks, Liz!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Pigeonholed
I am getting way too caught up in the election. I already know who I'm going to vote for in the major races (no, I have NOT finished my homework on judgeships and the like), but I can't stop reading online articles about--well, let's face it, I'm really only interested in the Presidential and VP candidates.
Every day I get irritated at the humunguous split between Conservative and Liberal; Republican and Democrat; Redneck and Intellectual Elite, etc., blah blah blah, so on and so forth... Such hatred is spewed, and boy howdy, if the internet isn't just a playground for anonymous name callers and conspiracy theorists.
And I'm part of the problem.
Because man, am I ever judgemental. I consider myself all tolerant and full of concern for my fellow man, and you can read my rant about judgemental Christians below...but I cling as tightly to my stereotypes as anyone out there. Okay, I'm aware (sometimes) of my hypocrisy, so that makes me a little better, but not much. I steam over the haters so much, I start to...hate them.
Duh.
Every once in a while, I'll read a comment or article that says, more or less, "Guys, chill. It's an election. Everyone gets a vote. Someone's gonna be President; someone's not. What are you gonna do about it Nov. 5th?" And I'll calm down for a while and be reasonable. But it's so much more fun to point fingers and prove yourself right, that I'm soon back at it.
One online article I read proposed that, in a society that has become largely ideologically segregated, the only place most people interact with those of differing opinions is at work. I think the author has a point, but many of us in fact don't even work with people much different than ourselves. Wouldn't liberal-minded lawyers be more likely to join liberal-leaning law firms? Don't most intellectual elites end up in academics and most capitalism-supporters end up in business? Of course, I know there are conservative professors and liberal managers out there, but I'm talking tendancies.
I work in an office that does have a mix of liberals and conservatives, and I am impressed that we all manage to talk politics without nasty labels or namecalling; maybe even exchanging an idea here or there. I have a good idea of who's voting for whom, but I respect their decisions regardless of their vote. I get frustrated with their reasons, even some who will be voting with me, because I think they are being brainwashed or focusing on unimportant issues. But at least they're thinking about it.
And through it all, I am often thankful that the nutcase next to me, who thinks we never landed on the moon, is there to remind me that nutcases can still be perfectly enjoyable human beings.
Still, I wish he would vote for MY guy.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Furballs
Sunday, and the living is...dusty. Since I've moved South, I seem to have more motivation for Fall Cleaning than Spring Cleaning. Finally, we can open the windows and air out the stale funk and humidity, and let in the cool breezes and sounds of the neighborhood.
Unfortunately, this probably means my neighbors are treated to the piercing sound of my aging vacuum cleaner. It has--I think--a hyperactive full-bag alarm, so that after the first 3 minutes of happy housewife vacuuming, I am forced to push an earsplitting siren around my living room, trying unsuccessfully to suck up carpet-clinging black dog hair. Grrrrr....I would love to ditch this thing in favor of one of those tornado-action bagless jobbies that are becoming ubiquitous.
I actually spent several minutes today poring over the vacuum page of the Target flyer, wondering what the difference is between the $79 model, the $129 one and the $459 one. Sheesh; are there really that many people who have that much money to spend on a vacuum cleaner?? No wonder everyone bursts into tears when the economy or rising gas prices threaten household budgets. The "typical" American has gotten used to the best of everything.
Of course, this being two weeks before the election, everything in my mind relates back to the candidates. And the same thought occurs to me during many daily chores: When was the last time Senators Obama, McCain or Biden, or Governor Palin pushed the vacuum through their own houses? Do you think they even know where the vacuum cleaner is? Or the bathroom cleaner? Do you think they have a preference of Tilex vs. Lysol with Bleach? What are their stances on environmentally-friendly laundry detergent?
Do you honestly think any of these people can really relate to you and me?
Honestly?
Me neither.
Unfortunately, this probably means my neighbors are treated to the piercing sound of my aging vacuum cleaner. It has--I think--a hyperactive full-bag alarm, so that after the first 3 minutes of happy housewife vacuuming, I am forced to push an earsplitting siren around my living room, trying unsuccessfully to suck up carpet-clinging black dog hair. Grrrrr....I would love to ditch this thing in favor of one of those tornado-action bagless jobbies that are becoming ubiquitous.
I actually spent several minutes today poring over the vacuum page of the Target flyer, wondering what the difference is between the $79 model, the $129 one and the $459 one. Sheesh; are there really that many people who have that much money to spend on a vacuum cleaner?? No wonder everyone bursts into tears when the economy or rising gas prices threaten household budgets. The "typical" American has gotten used to the best of everything.
Of course, this being two weeks before the election, everything in my mind relates back to the candidates. And the same thought occurs to me during many daily chores: When was the last time Senators Obama, McCain or Biden, or Governor Palin pushed the vacuum through their own houses? Do you think they even know where the vacuum cleaner is? Or the bathroom cleaner? Do you think they have a preference of Tilex vs. Lysol with Bleach? What are their stances on environmentally-friendly laundry detergent?
Do you honestly think any of these people can really relate to you and me?
Honestly?
Me neither.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Decisions, decisions...
I've spent the afternoon trying to choose whom to elect to the various offices up for grabs in my precinct. Besides the well-publicized presidential and gubernatorial races, there are 30 other contested seats, and four bond referendums to be decided. That's a lot of homework! After a couple of hours, I still have 20 more decisions to make.
This raises three questions in my mind:
1) Is it asking too much of the "typical" voter to spend 6 hours studying candidate statments and endorsements? This is beyond the 5 hours or so I've already spent watching televised debates (and I didn't even watch the first presidential debate). I only work 40 hours a week and have no children; I can't imagine parents finding that kind of time to surf the net as I've been doing.
2) Why can't we centralize candidate information? The state Board of Elections should set up a web site containing brief statements from all candidates who file to run, including links to their own web sites.
3) How the hell am I supposed to know what qualifications are necessary for the Register of Deeds or the Commissioner of Agriculture? North Carolina judges are also elected positions; there are 13 contests for judgeships that I am to vote for. I'm going to be elitist here: if I, a very well-educated voter with excellent reading skills and an active interest in seeking out information, have a hard time making these choices, what about the rest of the voters? The people who barely finished high school, people who aren't interested or not comfortable reading "between the lines," people who don't care or don't have the time to figure out what important issues will face a District Court Judge--how are they to make informed, intelligent decisions?
I remember the giddyness of our entry into the "Information Age." Now it's the Information Overload Age, and we're not doing a very good job negotiating it. Thank God for Google.
Also, if I am still blogging in April, be prepared for my income tax rant, which will decry the increasing complexity of a task required of all US citizens in the labor force. Should be fun!
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