Filial Hardball: Speaking Truth to Power

My mother was recently named Doctor of the Year by some medical organization and will be in NYC in March to receive the award. I didn't know this when I talked to her this morning, but that was probably a good thing. As it stood, I ended up speaking truth to power.

After exchanging vagaries about an emergency supply of medication until I can get in to see my doctor, Mother announced that she would be visiting me in late April. She had a conference in Chicago, she said, and she couldn't afford a hotel. This from a woman who is having an elevator shaft installed in her McMansion and somehow managed to put both me and my sister through private school with no debt. Mother never had this hotel problem when I lived in a dorm and later in a studio. After a long, stony silence, I told her she really ought to get a hotel. Offended, she asked why. And I launched into my experience the last time my parents came to visit, on my birthday last year. Mom spent a good part of the weekend at a conference and left my dad to repair various things around my apartment and criticize the weatherproofing. I was under orders to scrub the bathroom floor. I'm sorry, but I don't get down on my hands and knees to scrub anything. If a mop on a regular basis isn't enough, it's time for a new floor. I got kicked out of my bed and slept on the daybed, on the same mattress I slept on from fourth grade until after grad school. The real kicker was my chauffeurring my mother around the city and suburbs for those curtains she thought I so desperately needed. When I brought this up today, she said that I had said I wanted those curtains, at which I dropped what was probably a bombshell: I'll say a lot of things to get her out of my hair. What's ironic is that the curtain deal shouldn't have been news. She nagged me for months about did I like the curtains, were the curtains up, why weren't the curtains up. Also in the why I'm not ecstatic with joy at the prospect of a visitation question was the fact that she had taken over my life and bossed me around my own home, the one I paid rent on. I'll work at Kohl's till I'm eligible for Social Security to pay off their loan for the security deposit, but I'll be damned before I let her do that to me again. The bright side of the whole ordeal was watching Raising Arizona together on the DVD player in uncomfortable chairs. That was the highlight. The end of the whole discussion was my mother asking in a sniffly voice if she could spend the weekend at my place and my telling her that I'd have to think about it, which she agreed was fair.

Then we got into an argument about my old car. I thought I had put the title in the glove compartment of the Honda and instead had left it safely in my files at home. So, I was supposed to send it to my parents this week. Part of the reason I had called was because I needed to get the exact name of the high school program I was going to donate to on the title. I was told just to sign it over to them, they'd get more of a tax write-off than I would. I said that it was my car, and I should get the write-off. Mom said that they had sold the car to me for a dollar. I pointed out that I had paid the recent insurance, I paid for the repairs (which I am still paying off, much to the delight of my credit card company), and I drove it. I did not say that if they thought they were getting a raw deal, they should have negotiated the sale better. After all, at the time, they had had something I wanted. We ended up agreeing that in exchange for my emergency prescriptions I would send the title in their name and we'd split the tax write-off.

If all this negotiating makes me a bitch, my only excuse is that I am my mother's daughter. She didn't get to be a leader in children's safety or a doctor, let alone Doctor of the Year by playing nice. As it says on my bumper sticker, well-behaved women rarely make history.

Heads Up! Performance Art Gone Bad

I want to hear about your most painful, embarrassingly bad performance art experiences. Whether you were an observer or a participant is not important. Give me detail and, if possible, the point the artist was trying to make. Use the Comments function or e-mail me directly. Hell, you could even call me. The most spectacular fiasco gets mentioned in a piece of writing I'm working on.

#%!* Juno

I just spent over two hours trying to get back online after I had to re-install Juno on my computer. Dad, bless his heart, tried to help. He was helpful in finding numbers for my modem (yes, I'm one of those luddites who still has dial-up). I have to admit, before I called Dad, I was thinking very angry thoughts about him and his recommendation that I switch to Juno: Juno was supposed to be cheaper and just as reliable as MSN. Well, the monthly rate is cheaper, but it's two bucks a minute if you call tech support. MSN provides tech support for free. However, Microsoft's toolbox for getting you back onto your non-MSN ISP is not all that easy to use. I got to the point where I declared Bill Gates a tool of Satan. Don't cringe, Dilbert. I feel the same way about Carnegie, and he endowed libraries.

I watched Groundhog Day for the first time last night. I kind of liked Bill Murray's character better when he was snarky. After spending hours with Andie MacDowell, I'd be cranky, too. The movie was okay, but it wasn't the laugh riot I had been prepared for. Next up, that gut-buster Schindler's List.

So I'm headed in the direction of Indy this weekend, get your appointment books out. Most of you I've heard from, but if there's anyone left, e-mail me.

I'm doing my best to slog through The Tropic of Cancer, but there's so much other written material clamoring for my attention. Much of it lesser work of course, but easier to digest. That, and I am not titillated by frequent use of the word cunt. It doesn't disgust me either, I'm just not sure what effect Miller was going for. That reminds me, I need to check when that's due. Yes, I should probably buy it, but it was there at the library, for free. Yes, I love libraries, even the ones founded by Carnegie.

I Am...Hormone Girl!

Time to crack out the kettle corn, the chocolate, and the trashy novels, my hormones are on the fritz. Besides, it's the only way to get through the retail day when you don't have a good song stuck in your head. I enjoy being a girl.

Another view of the Mohammed cartoon situation:
www.salon.com/opinion/feature/2006/02/09/culture/

Found 'em!

What have I now found? Peace, Love, Understanding, coins in my couch? Nope, just those pesky cartoons that have everyone all stirred up. Here's the URL:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jyllands-Posten_Muhammad_cartoons_controversy

Unfortunately, these are a little tricky for the average person in America to find and, to quote Sam Goldwyn, "go see for yourself why you shouldn't see it." I understand that newspapers in America don't want us to be in any more trouble with the Muslim world than we already are, but I'm starting to feel as though it can't get any worse and we might as well start acting like the country that gave the world freedom of speech. My personal opinion is that the cartoons are on the whole rather juvenile and take cheap shots. However, most of the western world defends the right of its people to act like idiots. Yes, the cartoons are offensive for any number of reasons, and if similar cartoons came out about Christianity Pat Robertson and the holyheads would be reacting much the same way, but still. I know that this is not a terribly clear-cut issue when you really look at it, especially when you're left of center. The Jyllands-Posten is right wing, and the cartoons were meant to provoke, but I can't get around the fact that we allow all kinds of people to say all kinds of things, regardless of their veracity or sensibility. So a newspaper in Tehran wants to run a contest satirizing the Holocaust. I'm pretty sure you can find some reactionary nutjobs in America to send in material. We allow it, even if we don't condone it.

I guess where I get off is the violence. Don't want to buy Danish products? Fine. I think you're barking up the wrong tree, but you've got the right. Want to blow something up that isn't yours? Sorry, not at all fine. You're violating someone's right to security in their person and posessions. Have your rights to freedom of religion been violated? By an otherwise unremarkable paper in a tiny country where you probably don't live? Is it somehow preventing you from praying? Going to the mosque? Eating halel? No? Then peacefully protest, write to the JP, run all the silly contests you want, but intimidation and violence are out.

While I'm ranting, I'll just point out one more thing. The protests in the Middle East, where most of the violent ones are occurring, take place in police states. If the governments didn't really want their citizens to protest, they could probably keep a pretty good handle on it. Pakistan, for some reason, has had few, small protests. Could it be because Musharraf is an ally of the U.S. and likes his power? I think the rulers of Syria, Iran, et al are taking a page from China's book and letting their people protest to let off steam about other issues that the government isn't so agreeable on. These governments agree in part with the protestors and see political hay to be made by letting the West act as a whipping boy. Okay, Ive had enough, comment away.

The ultimate voyeuristic experience...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4689692.stm

A Few Rules for Retail Customers

This is the first of what may become a recurring post. Now that I've been in retail for a collective (at least) two years, I have something to say about the behavior of the customers I serve. This is prompted partly by an article in the Sun-Times yesterday about overcharges at local stores and partly by comments on other blogs about bad service, inane cashiers, and other customer complaints. My own pet peeves also play a part.

First, please don't lick your fingers to better your grip on bills, credit cards, etc. It's gross to look at, and no one wants to come in contact with your saliva in their monetary transactions. Besides, your money is hardly clean. Do you know everywhere it's been? No? Then don't give yourself or anyone else a disease, especially at this time of year.

Second, don't get excited with the cashier if the price doesn't come out right at the register. It may be a huge conspiracy to get more of your money, but trust me, we cashiers are not part of it. We're hourly employees, and our pay is not predicated on how much money we pry out of your greasy little hands. It is predicated on how little money the company can pay us without being in violation of state and federal laws. Anyway, the price the register rings up is the correct one. Some overworked schlub probably forgot to take down the sale sign or put it up too early. This is not to say you shouldn't get the price you expect, but please consider. If the price is dramatically (say, 40% or more) different, please entertain the idea that you you may have the wrong brand or product and/or the item has been misplaced on the rack. Either way, a tantrum is not going to help. Finding the sale sign and bringing it to the register or waiting for a floor associate to check the price will work much better.

This brings me to my next rule. Generally, the cashier cannot leave the register. We cannot go with you to inspect the sale sign in question, get an item off of a high rack, or carry your packages out to your car, especially if there is a line behind you. We are under orders not to leave our registers, and get reprimanded for doing so. We will, whenever possible, call an associate designated to float thoughout a department to assist you in these tasks. It may take a few minutes to locate one and if you think it takes too long, you should probably ask the management on why they can't staff more abundantly.

Read the fine print. When it says "final price given at register," that's what it means. The price listed in large print is probably the lowest possible price on the least valuable item. It borders on crooked, but that's the fault of the advertising and sign departments at the corporate level, not cashiers or other low-level employees. Pease don't take it out on us, for reasons listed above in my rule on tantrums about prices at the register. Fine print may be written by lawyers for lawyers, but you can avoid needing a lawyer if you read some of it before going off on us wage slaves. Usually, the dates of a sale and the brand of an item are printed large enough for you to read with your reading glasses. Many problems in the modern world, from traffic accidents to IRS audits, can be avoided if people only pay attention.

Do not become agitated if an advertised item is out of stock. In a world of just-in-time inventories (whose boneheaded idea was that?), often an item is sold out before many people get there, often before it goes on sale. Since many chain stores do national flyers, there is no guarantee that a particular piece of merchandise is at a selected store. Also, the executives get sneaky and don't send stores nearly enough stock to meet demand, just to get you in the store and maximize their profits. It's not ethical, but it's not the fault of the floor staff or the cashiers. I'm not sure it's even the fault of store-level management, and I blame them for a lot. The thing you have to remember is that generally the stupider and more rapacious you are, combined with however much education you are able to buy determines how high up the corporate ladder you climb. I can speak to this, as I interned at a library that catered in part to students of a prestigious graduate business program. Dumb as rocks, most of them, spoiled, and filled with an all-consuming passion for the dollar. Yup, the captains of industry, and increasingly our goverment.

That about covers it for the moment. Remember, there is an idiot in every argument. Don't be that idiot.

Update and Correction on Previous Post

If I seemed lacking in my knowledge about Coretta Scott King's involvement in causes other than the U.S. civil rights movement, it's because I was. I have since learned that she was also involved in Betty Friedan's women's rights movement, antiapartheid measures, and other efforts at enhancing human dignity that I can't remember because I didn't write them down as I was in the car when I heard about them. She also was socially conscious before she met MLK, and was active at his side throughout their marriage. My sincere apologies for my ignorance.

Betty Friedan and Coretta Scott King, Requiesat in Pace

It's been a sad week for us progressives, not even counting Alito's confirmation. We've lost leading lights of the movement, and are not looking to see their like in the forseable future.

Coretta Scott King
It's said that the definition of a martyr is one who lives with a saint. And MLK was an American saint. Caucasians should thank God every night that we had MLK, on the most cynical level because he prevented a race war. Americans of African descent post WWII could have very easily risen up against their oppressors violently and caused a great deal of damage, both physically and to the psychic fabric of the nation. As it is, Martin Luther King Jr. showed us a better way of social change and style of life. Now, he had his personal failings, which Ms. King had to live with, in public no less. She was a martyr in this sense, as her husband was in the literal sense. But CSK continued her late husband's work, however foolish it may have seemed at the time, using her status as the widow of an American martyr and saint.

Betty Friedan
Betty Friedan, on the other hand, fought that no woman would ever have to trade on her husband's name again. I'm not saying that this is the better fight, but in some ways, the two women seem to be from different eras, one that gave birth to the other. If the civil rights movement hadn't trained women in social activism (and, inadvertently, the inconsistencies between the theory and practice of "liberal" men), the women's liberation movement would have been radically different, if it happened at all.

I don't know how many other people read The Feminine Mystique after say, 1976, but I did. I had to choose a "book that made a difference" for a graduate school class. If you've never read it, be forewarned: it is not light reading. About a quarter of the book is footnotes; it is painstakingly researched. It is also very much of its time, the post-war period. That said, it is clear, and it is galvanizing. The case Friedan makes is damning: of societal expectations in the twentieth century, of the educational system, of the media, and of corporate America. Many feminists of the second wave, famous and not, credit reading The Feminine Mystique as the original raising of their consciousness. I think the sexual revolution also had a role to play, but that's for another post. Anyway, I wrote an analysis of the book and its effects for my class which I really should convert to HTML at some point. I was affected by this book. I knew that things were bad before second wave feminism got rolling, but I didn't know they were that bad. The Feminine Mystique brought it all home, in excrutiating detail.

One of the things that I touched on was how the book affected the women I knew. The most fascinating person was my mother. She never read The Feminine Mystique, reacted to my utterance of the word "feminism" in relation to her life as if I had announced that she had roaches under her stove, and yet she has lived a very feminist life. She went to a prestigious medical school in the '60s, completed the rigorous training for her specialty, continued to work while her children were still small, became a nationally known expert and advocate on issues relating to children, and became an endowed chair at her teaching hospital. I sometimes remark that instead of Kinder, Kirche, Kuche (Children, Church, Kitchen) my mother has lived by Kids, Career, Crusades. Not always in that order, but that's another post. Anyway, with that background, it's no surprise that my sister and I were raised to be independent, educated, career-minded critical thinkers. My mother sometimes seems surprised that we're so apathetic towards to the domestic arts ("You don't cook? Really?"), but the other thing we learned is that there is only so much time in the day and you have to prioritize. Yup, before I could read, The Feminine Mystique touched my life.

Conclusion
Wow. That's a lot more than I intended to write. So much on Betty, and one measly paragraph on poor old Coretta. Well, I know more about Friedan, how she held that men were not enemy, got a little freaked out about the "Lavender Menace," and a lot freaked out by her perceived excesses of the feminist movement. What do I know about King? That she raised four fairly sane kids in the spotlight and that she and her husband saved America's collective ass. Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all.

Uh-oh...

I left my headlights on and ran down my battery today and had to get my car jumped. I feel dumb. Don't tell my parents.

Henry and June Post

Well, I just viewed my first movie from Netflix: Henry and June. I need a cigarette. I know I don't smoke, I know it is bad for me, but I need one. That scene under the bridge...somebody find me a literary man! Maria de Madieros reminds me of Audrey Tatou, except human. Of course, I probably should be halfway familiar with the worksof Henry Miller and Anais Nin (that's ah-nye-EES for us peasants) before seeing the film, but there you are. I've been trying to keep up with popular reading tastes, or maybe I'd have gotten around to them. I will now.