Very thought-provoking: http://www.austinpost.org/content/sonogram-bills-reveal-political-misogyny
Jeffee Palmer
Lawyer, history buff, writer, mother, grandmother, native Texan, UT grad, and proud Austinite!-
Counting the Ways I [heart] Austin
As much as I enjoy traveling to other cities and towns, Austin is the city of my heart. So, on the occasion of this Valentine’s Day, allow me to wax poetic on the subject – at least for a paragraph or two.
It probably goes without saying, but as a native Austinite, this city has always fit me like a glove, or maybe she has simply molded me to her hand. It’s where I grew up, got an education, worked with interesting folks, raised kids, and made great friends … all who still live here with the exception of a few audacious stragglers. The Capitol and the University of Texas have long been anchors of my personal compass, both geographically and intellectually. And speaking of geography, who can fault Austin’s, nestled at the foothills of the Hill Country, straddling the banks of the Colorado River?
As a lifelong Austin resident (except for an 18-month sojourn in Peru), one of the things I appreciate most is the fact that I never get lost. It’s an easy city to navigate as long as you have an idea where you last saw the UT tower or the Capitol. Of course we have some weirdness such as RR 2222 becoming Koenig Lane and then becoming Hwy. 290 E. And then we have our quaint mispronunciations of streets like Koenig, Guadalupe, or Manchaca, wherein we took foreign names and bent them to our will or simple ignorance.
But I want to applaud our forefathers and mothers (can I hope there were some?) from the late 1800s who decided to cast aside the names of the east-west streets and simply assign numbers to them in ascending order from Town Lake northward. Before that, the east-west streets were named for trees. For logical reasons, First Street was called Water Street, but moving north, the street names were Live Oak (2nd), Cypress (3rd), Cedar (4th), Pine (5th), Pecan(6th); Bois de Arc (7th), Hickory (8th), Ash (9th), and in between UT and the Capitol was Magnolia Ave. (19th), to name just a few.
Imagine how difficult it would be to find your way downtown and beyond if we had to guide ourselves with some unsystematic list of the tree genus. Without numbers, we’d have no idea how far we need to go – or have yet to go – as we journey north-south.
We’d be like Houston, whose downtown streets are a hodgepodge of Texas heroes and various places. Lacking rhyme or reason, the streets are named after Texans — Rusk, Pease, Jefferson, Jackson, and Lamar Streets. But why do they have a Capitol Street when there is no Capitol? Louisiana Street? What’s up with that?
I will admit that Austin’s downtown north-south streets are a bit challenging, but at least they are laid out according to a recognizable theme, assuming you know your Texas river geography. Simply put, the streets from west to east (after West Avenue) are named in order of the rivers beginning with the farthest south (Rio Grande) and ending with Sabine (which for some reason is out of order with Red River). Clear? It may not be perfect but at least it’s a system that can be understood with a bit of map study.
Maybe that’s why my rational mind resists the name changes our more recent leaders have approved, renaming 1st and 19th Streets, Cesar Chavez Street and Martin Luther King Blvd., respectively. As my navigation language prefers numbered streets, I have to mentally translate before I give directions in honored-personage language. Someone once accused me of being politically incorrect by referencing, in a moment of forgetfulness, the old numbered street name instead of the current one. But I felt no remorse – after all, the Mopac highway signage continued to indicate Cesar Chavez as First Street until about a year or so ago (about 2010). It was renamed in the mid 1990s, but apparently it takes a while for these changes to stick.
But even more disturbing is the recent trend of naming just a few blocks of one of the numbered streets. Part of 26th street was renamed Dean Keeton Street, and a couple of blocks of 2nd Street are now Willie Nelson Blvd. Don’t get me wrong – my dad thought Page Keeton was a great dean of UT Law School. And I first met Willie Nelson when I was 16, long before he adopted my hairstyle – not pig tails, but long and flowing – and have loved his music ever since. But why take a perfectly helpful numbered street and confuse citizens and visitors who are already struggling with the order of Texas rivers?
Frankly, why can we honor folks with statues? Stevie Ray Vaughan’s likeness in bronze has worked out well. Tourists and music fans seek it out to take a photograph with it. It’s become a city icon in a way that a name on a street sign could never be.
This phenomenon of naming partial bits of street is beginning to take on shades of South American cities where street names change to a different General, Admiral, or famous date in history, every two blocks or so. I used to think South Americans just had too many folks they needed to honor, but upon further reflection, it may be a practical way of keeping any group who thinks about a coup d’etat or similar rebellion from getting organized. If they can’t find each other, how can they mobilize their forces?
So could it be that our city leaders are slowly but surely dismantling our orderly system and imposing the South American model to divide and conquer the old-time Austinites? Once we start losing our bearings, can our freedom be far behind? Is it a mere coincidence that City Hall is situated between Cesar Chavez and Willie Nelson Blvd? Maybe that’s part of a plot to keep old-time Austinites from meddling in City affairs?
I hate to say this, but once we start getting lost in our own city, folks, that’s the beginning of the end. And when we start hearing GudaluPEH instead of GuadalOOP and ManchaKAH instead of ManCHAK, South American model creep is in the final stretch. We can go ahead and throw in the towel.
To forestall that day, I ask that we unite against any further renaming of our Central Austin streets. After all, there is safety in numbering.
Posted in History, Old/New Austin
Tagged Austin, Stevie Ray Vaughn statue, Texas Hill Country, Willie Nelson Blvd.
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The Court’s Hot Kiss of Death
U.S. Constitution
Looking back on the new year thus far, I thought House members reading the Constitution was a nice touch, albeit political theater. The document itself doesn’t bring tears to the eyes (not even John Boehner’s) like the Declaration of Independence. After all, few documents could match that majestic and dignified expression of principle, signed by 56 men who simultaneously signed their death warrants if independence failed. The Constitution, in contrast, is more like the rules to Monopoly, specifying how the government of this republic will behave and move around the board of federalism.
But the reading reminded me how much words matter and how our justice system hangs on written words in a constitution, a statute, or executive agency rule. The dicey part of that reality is that judges ultimately decide on the meaning of a word or words in a legal writing even when that meaning may seem obvious to the rest of us. The Supreme Court decides when certain words or provisions in statutes enacted by Congress run afoul of a Constitutional provision as it has interpreted it to mean, invalidating those that do. Invalidating laws of the legislative branch is an awesome power, especially considering that the Constitution doesn’t specifically authorize the U.S. Supreme Court to do so (read Marbury v. Madison).
Which reminds me of the Second Amendment and the first big gun tragedy of 2011: the shooting of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords. A few days after she participated in the Constitution reading, a deranged gunman shot her at close range and killed 6 others, including a federal judge. Is this what Sharron Angle meant by Second Amendment “remedies?”
Semi-automatic handgun
Many non-deranged Americans – those other than Ms. Angle, the gunman, and most NRA members – found themselves asking, “What’s wrong with a little gun and ammunition control? Why should a disturbed person be able to walk into Walmart and buy 30-round gun clips, while we push our carts around buying diapers, dinnerware, and toys from China?”
But then, we remember that – NRA problem aside (more below) – the Second Amendment authorizes the possession of a killing machine by any citizen with a credit card (at least in some states). Specifically, it states: A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.
But wait, you ask, how do those words authorize private citizens to own dangerous handguns? Because – back to what I said earlier – the Supreme Court has decided it does. And, another funny thing about words in the Constitution: meanings change over time.
In 1939, for instance, the Supreme Court considered the 1934 National Firearms Act, the first major federal firearms law, in the case of U.S. v. Miller. In a nutshell, the Court looked at the text of the Second Amendment and decided there was no relationship between a shotgun with a barrel of less than eighteen inches and the preservation or efficiency of a well regulated militia. Accordingly, the Second Amendment did not guarantee the right to keep and bear such an instrument.
Justice Antonin Scalia
But in 2008, Justice Scalia gets his hands on the Second Amendment and explains away these pesky words about a militia in District of Columbia v. Heller, thereby invalidating the D.C. ban on all handguns. To paraphrase, he states that the reference to a militia is just a preamble, and then explains away preambles as meaningless unless they happen to provide guidance in understanding an ambiguous main clause. Since, the language about people having the right to keep and bear arms is clear, there’s no need to look at the preamble, he says. Good-bye, militia language!
Justice John Paul Stevens
Hogwash! says Justice Stevens (again I paraphrase). Writing the minority’s dissent, he explains that ignoring the clause as a whole is a complete departure from how the Court ordinarily reads such texts. Courts are required to treat every word of a constitutional provision or statute as having meaning, he says. Even though Americans have not needed militias in the last 200 years, that doesn’t justify ignoring the Framer’s intentions expressed in the full text of the Amendment. The so-called preamble reflects the importance that the founding generation placed on maintaining state militias, underscoring its fear of the dangers posed by standing armies (rather than citizen militias). Accordingly, says Justice Stevens, the introductory words about the militias modify the right of people in keeping and bearing arms, i.e., specify the purpose for keeping these arms.
In essence, the Scalia coterie invented an entire right that was not contained in the words of the document by cherry-picking words from the text and throwing aside the rest.
Whether or not we agree on the Constitution’s silence about the possession of arms for non-militia use, there will always be folks who believe they need weapons to protect themselves from the random burglary or street mugging. While notable statistics are few involving the use of personal guns to stop burglars or street thugs, the newspaper pages describe plenty of accidental shootings – particularly involving children – and intentional domestic shootings.
But wouldn’t it be nice to try to keep guns from criminals? As NPR pointed out last week, “Nationwide, at least 14 police officers have been killed in the line of duty this month — and many more have survived gunshots.” Sounds like we need a war on guns to go along with our war on drugs. Or how about de-criminalizing drugs and criminalizing guns?
Of course, the NRA would not stand for that. No law could even make its way out of a legislature or Congress to feel the Supreme Court’s hot kiss of death.
And, frankly, that’s the saddest commentary of all. This country was founded by brave men willing to die for great principles. We chose to be governed by an instrument as close to perfection as you can find in the imperfect world of governance. And yet, our nation is now one in which our non-elected judiciary choose to ignore that instrument’s gun language and the elected officials are scared to death to regulate gun ownership in this country, even while they are gunned down by deranged individuals with 30-round gun clips.
We now seem to be governed by a single,well-funded organization with a gun barrel pointed at the heads of our elected officials. I’m at a loss for words. . . it’s time for tears.
Posted in Politics
Tagged automatic weapons, Giffords, gun control, handguns, NRA, right to bear arms, Scalia, Second Amendment
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The Thrill of Body Scans
I’m no fan of the ever-increasing security gauntlet we must endure to board a plane these days, but I’d rather let some stranger leer at my body x-ray (if so inclined), than get blown up in mid-air. Call me crazy, but I suspect these scanners will find my individual body picture pretty ho-hum, not much different from the other 10,000 middle-aged women they’ve seen.
As interested as I am in arriving at my destination with body parts intact, I still complain about having to be at the airport 2 hours before departure, taking off my shoes, and not being able to bring dangerous weapons, like nail files, on board.
But consider that the word for travel comes from the old French word “travail” which means to work. Travail is thought to have come from “tripullare,” which is the three-sectioned whip that Roman soldiers used to encourage productivity out of their workers. Apparently, “tripullare” became “travail,” which became “travel” because the act of moving from one place to another was associated with hellish torture.
Indeed, some airport ordeals fit into the category of hellish torture, but for many of us modern travelers, the rest of the trip is pretty uneventful, assuming, of course, there isn’t a crying baby behind you or a neighbor who pushes into your space as if he were doing isometrics with your arm as the resistance. The truth is, with so many travel resources at our fingertips, we are able to work out a smooth and adventure-free trip. Listen to friends who have traveled lately, and the airport stories are often more compelling than the anecdotes about beautiful beaches, gondola trips, or the Eiffel Tower.
Even before the internet I would research a place through informative guidebooks. My personal favorite is Fodor’s, but sometimes I would pick up a Frommer’s, too, since they often contain different recommendations for hotels, restaurants, walking tours, and interesting tidbits. I have also been known to consult books by Rick Steves, but I have to admit that I’m naturally suspicious of anyone who recommends a 10-day European vacation with only two changes of clothes, laundry detergent, and a clothes line.
But the internet has taken planning for a trip to new heights. We can look up restaurants, pictures and videos of locales, check out the reviews, including Zagat’s without having to buy a book, make reservations, even having a print-out confirmation before we step foot in hell, I mean, the airport. Not only can we order plane tickets and car rentals on Expedia or Orbitz, but we can also google and print out maps that guide every step from hotel to the famous building we plan to visit. In some areas of the planet, we can even see a picture of the street and neighboring buildings, leaving absolutely nothing to surprise or surmise.
So – if you think about it – we can virtually visit almost any place we might want to physically visit . . . the only reason to buy a plane ticket is to smell, eat, drink and get sick in a strange place. After all, it’s hard to get Montezuma’s revenge here in the US.
In Ken Follett’s sequel to Pillars of the Earth, called World Without End, it is said, “Pilgrims should not spend too much time planning their journey – for they might learn of so many hazards they would decide not to go.” This was during the 1300s, of course.
Fast forward to 2011, and one could ask, have we planned all the hazards out of our journeys, so that it’s hardly worth going? Are there any adventures that merit the effort of stepping away from our comfortable lazy-boy lives? Isn’t it the unexpected – the escape from the commonplace – that gives us the thrill that we seek by traveling to new places?
As we’ve made travel more and more uneventful in this high-tech age, I wonder if some folks might find it just as satisfying to avoid the airports and rent a travel movie or, for an Italian delight, watch the new Johnny Depp thriller, “The Tourist” to see Venice, which has surely never looked more beautiful.
On the other hand, if you still seek a little hazard and excitement, we still have the airport drama, the thrill of finding your bag is still underweight, the uncertainty of picking the fastest-moving security line, being wrong about your choice, the fear that your new diamond nail file will be confiscated, the rush to your gate, and the fight for the overhead bin space.
Maybe our the Transportation Safety Administration came along with body scanning in the nick of time. Before travel got too boring or predictable, we have something new to experience: the “will they or won’t they” of having your body scanned, enduring humiliation, dehumanization, not to mention, radiation. So let’s thank the TSA for one more travel adventure!
Maybe soon they’ll be giving us prints of our body scans – like baby ultrasound pictures – as souvenirs to put in our travel scrapbooks!
Bon voyage!!!!
Somewhere from the Audiosphere!!
As we put 2010 to rest, I want to thank you for all the time you spent digesting my musings, commiserating with my pet peeves, and simply coming along on this journey of mental meanderings, disappointments, indignities, amusement, and wonderment. I appreciate every tear, every laugh, and every comment I’ve received from you.
In 2011, I plan to make some changes, including a format change. I may also start including photos and other graphics. I will also try the broadcast arena, recording the entries so that you can multi-task more efficiently . . . you will be able to listen while writing out your grocery list. Or if you just like hearing me read along with you, that’s fine, too.
And if I figure out the podcast thing, you will be able to download the broadcast to your Ipod and listen as you walk the dog. In other words, I can be with you ALWAYS! Or, just now and then.
So, to end the year with either a great treat or big laugh, I want to share with you my initial foray as a broadcaster, recorded December 26th. My son, Dax, was visiting from New York and helped me unpack the microphone, which had been sitting patiently in its box on my desk since mid-November. Trying to make it jibe with my computer, he was able to determine that said computer didn’t have enough RAM for the mic’s software. But, ever resourceful, he found a work-around solution (which I believe to be legal), and, in short, launched me into the audiosphere!
So, in the giddy moments following liftoff, we decided to do a radio show to play for you folks. We do not wax eloquently on any particular subject — you will just hear me and Dax and talking about whatever comes to mind and playing music for you, alternating between a few of my choices and a few of his. So, there won’t be much enlightenment or thoughts provoked, but maybe you’ll hear a few songs, our thoughts on some recent movies, and proof that I should prepare a bit before I do another extemporaneous radio show.
To listen, click on this link (or paste it in your browser): http://www.nothingliquid.com/1stbroadcast.mov
HERE’S TO A GREAT NEW YEAR! Clink, clink! (I’m drinking Moet Chandon White Star)
Savoring Life’s Flavors
One of my sons recently noted that I had not written on the major theme I had promised when beginning this blog: words and the way they’ve been used in the past, in writing and literature, and today’s common parlance. Indeed, I have also noticed my tendency to write about whatever interests me at the moment and the idea of going nicheless has its appeal, like this: my blog = I can do what I want. It’s nice being my own boss.
But, as it so happens, today I am going to write about words. The two are thank and you, which together constitute the sentence, “Thank you.”
Preemptively, I will agree that an essay about gratitude would have been more appropriate at Thanksgiving. But I wasn’t quite ready then. The idea was simmering as I absorbed and processed the birthing by my daughter-in-law, Lea Ann, of my now 5-week old grandson, Kyler.
I haven’t been around a lot of births, but compared to my own two, Lea Ann had a hard time of it. To my 9 to 10 hours, she labored approximately 15 before it was decided she needed a c-section. They were long hours. During the early part of her labor (pre-2:00 a.m.) which I witnessed, my son and I attended to her, doing some back massaging, for example. But she would often need to call a nurse to come help her move from side to side or accommodate her legs, which she couldn’t feel. She’d be moaning and seemingly lost in pain, finding her voice, however, to tell my son to stop his nervous laughter (even though we all know he can’t help it). But most significantly, she also found that voice to tell the nurse what she needed and when the task was completed, she always said “Thank you,” before she started moaning again.
Thinking back to my own labor, I tried to remember whether I had been so gracious and continually appreciative with the nurses. I remember the birth of my first son and an excellent male nurse, John, who rubbed my back with his strong hands as I suffered hours of back labor. Back then, the saddleblock anesthesia technique was still an anesthesia alternative. Epidurals were available, but they cost significantly more, and we didn’t have health insurance. The main difference between these two techniques is that an epidural can be used at 4 to 5 centimeters, whereas a saddleblock required the mother’s cervix to be dilated around 7 to 8 centimeters. Having had an epidural with my second son, I can say authoritatively that 2 to 3 centimeters is huge! Anyway, I’m pretty sure if I didn’t thank John for his help during the delivery, I must have done so later because I have a picture of us together the next day in my hospital room.
Lea Ann, however, has gratitude going at the moment the service is rendered. Although I wasn’t in the room for the really intense part of her labor, I’d like to believe that she kept it up. But even if she slipped, she made up for it a week later when she went to the hospital for a baby check-up, and afterwards, visited the maternity ward bearing little gifts of hand soaps and body creams for all the nurses, once again, thanking them for all their help.
And I’ve never seen someone so quick to get out thank-you notes. I am still waiting for thank you notes for wedding gifts I sent to others over 2 years ago, but Lea Ann will have them written and in the mail, almost before you get out the door!
Of course, her recognition of gratitude speaks volumes about her parents, so I’d like to take this opportunity to salute them – although her dad is the retired Air Force colonel, I know her mom deserves a salute, too. Needless to say, I’m betting grandson Kyler will be a champion thanker.
Gratitude can be an amazing force in life, as explained by Sarah Ban Breathnach in her recipe book for joy called Simple Abundance. Making it a habit forces us to focus on what we have, and how we have been lucky, if only momentarily, instead of what we don’t have. Breathnach urges us to practice opening “the eyes of your eyes” and giving your life another glance: do you have a home, food on the table, clothes to wear, your health? Can you walk, talk, see the beauty that surrounds you, listen to music that stirs your soul or makes you want to dance? Do you have family and friends whom you love and who love you? If so, she says, let your heart awaken to the transforming power of gratefulness. To assist in this effort, Breathnach suggests we keep journals, writing down five things every day for which we are grateful, be it the wild flowers on the side of the road or witnessing a baby’s first step. As you consider your blessings over time, she writes, you will find yourself feeling contentment and hopefulness, rather than deficiency or disappointment. “It is in the smallest details that the flavor of life is savored.”
Over the years since reading Simple Abundance, I can’t say I’ve been religious about writing in that journal . . . I may start it as one of my New Year’s resolutions, but I rarely follow through very long. As days get busy and sleep beckons me at the end of them, I rationalize that it’s enough to make mental lists of the things for which I’m grateful.
But I can guarantee that on any of my future lists (mental or written), I will include Lea Ann . . . for being a role model of graciousness, a sweet daughter and wife, and the mother of my grandson, who I know she will teach well.
And while I’m thinking about, let me note that I am perpetually grateful whenever my sons take time from their busy lives to read my nicheless and long-winded musings.
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged epidural, grandson, gratitude, labor, Lea Ann, thank yous
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How Terrorist Babies Cost Him a Career
Before this past election cycle has disappeared in history’s rearview mirror, I’d like to note with that oversized Lone Star pride with which some of you can identify, the number of Texans who have served elective national offices and brought honor to our state. Just to mention a few, I salute President Lyndon B. Johnson, President Dwight D. Eisenhower, Speaker Sam Rayburn, Senator Lloyd Bentsen, U.S. Representative Barbara Jordan, and President of the Republic-U.S. Senator-Governor Sam Houston.
Unfortunately, we are not always blessed by leaders of that caliber. In fact, I want to tell you about someone at the opposite end of the spectrum, Congressman Louie Gohmert, who was sent back to Washington, D.C. to embarrass us further, thanks to the folks in the First Congressional District of Texas (that’s EAST Texas, folks). Representative Gohmert believes that Middle Eastern women are coming to the U.S. to have babies to obtain citizenship for the children in order to return to the Middle East, be inculcated with anti-American fervor, and then sent back to the U.S. as terrorists. He said that there was intelligence to support this claim, but when interviewed by Anderson Cooper, he began shouting with indignation when A.C. began asking him to substantiate that claim and whether it was being shared with the F.B. I. In fact, Tom Fuentes, the former assistant director of FBI’s Office of International Operations from 2004-2008 was also interviewed and described the whole thing “ludicrous.”
But there’s more to this congressman than his membership in the lunatic fringe that seeks to fan the flames of hatred, xenophobia, and intolerance. He’s also a _____________. Fill in the blank after you’ve read the rest of this story.
Christian Cutler is a young man, 35 years of age, who had moved three years ago with his wife and twin daughters to Nacogdoches to take a “dream job,” Director of Art Galleries at Stephen F. Austin State University. In early August of this year, Cutler said he was contacted by a Gohmert aide, requesting that Cutler be a jury member for a high school art show in Tyler hosted by Rep. Gohmert. Cutler expressed interest and asked the aide to send him some additional information regarding the event. No such information ever arrived.
As Cutler was relatively unfamiliar with Congressman Gohmert, he did some research on the internet and discovered the videos of Gohmert speaking about the so-called “terror babies.” So informed, Cutler worried that judging the Congressman’s art contest might lead to others associating him with the man’s political positions. When Gohmert’s aide called again about the art contest jury, Cutler declined, saying that he didn’t want to be associated with the Congressman. When pressed for a reason, he told the aide that he thought the Congressman was a “sensationalist and fear monger.” He reportedly thanked the aide for the invite, but nevertheless declined.
Ten days later, Cutler received a letter from Gohmert himself who wrote that he “disagreed” with Cutler’s view that he is a fear monger, “but will defend to the death your right to be misinformed.”
But more significantly, the high school art show was not quite what the aide had represented to Cutler according to Gohmert himself, who wrote: “I apologize for my misunderstanding that your outstanding institution wished to be included in our efforts at providing students with exposure to different campuses around our east Texas district. We will not bother you in the future, even though I do hope to continue moving the host school from campus to campus in the years to come.”
The coup de grace was Gohmert’s notation showing a copy was sent to the university president, Dr. Baker Pattillo.
Eight days later, on Sept. 28, 2010, Cutler was forced to resign from his position as director of art galleries, despite “outstanding” performance reviews. He asked for reasons, but was simply told that he is an “at will” employee.
Cutler’s situation did not go unnoticed. Keith Olbermann named Rep. Gohmert a “Worst Person in the World” over this incident and Anderson Cooper interviewed Cutler on Anderson Cooper 360. Asking whether Cutler had misunderstood the invitation to judge an art show, Cutler assured him that the event that was described in Gohmert’s letter would have been something above his pay grade to accept or reject. That simply was not the invitation that was communicated to him.
Now, Cutler is one of many men with a family, desperately searching for employment in this bad economy. It is my understanding that he is willing to re-locate. Unfortunately, East Texas desperately needs more men like him.
In discussing the situation with my friend who is a close friend of Christian’s parents, she noted that those of us who regularly work in and around state government are “accustomed to biting our tongues when dealing with politicians or others in control, and it is rare that we speak our minds and hearts to them.” The same holds true with their aides.
But Christian Cutler was not a habitué of government circles and unaware that speaking truth to power (even in the person of an aide) is not a good idea, unless you are, for some reason, bullet-proof. And it is even more unwise when the person with power has shown his colors by trying to shout down – rather than responding with rational answers – a journalist’s reasonable questions during a nationally-televised interview.
The truth is in limited supply these days, and Christian Cutler suffered the consequence of following his conscience and refusing to associate with a person whose positions were “ludicrous” and, undoubtedly, harmful in the national debate on immigration. Had he known that his conversation was going to be a part of that national debate along with an abuse of power discussion, he might have been less blunt. But he had no idea that he was speaking to someone with the power to destroy his livelihood, reputation, and future, and, in fact, would chose to do so.
It’s a sad day in this country when such destruction is leveled by an elected official against a person making an honest statement of his opinion and desire to participate – or not – in a high school art show. Such a representative of the people brings no honor to his office or the voters who elected him.
Hell, Edna! I KNOW words!
A while back, a good friend informed me that I was not really a blogger. Bloggers, she explained, write short and pithy commentary. You, she explained to me, are an essayist. She also suggested (or maybe I inferred) that I was in danger of exhausting my readers by being so long-winded and unpithy.
She’s right. I suffer from a severe case of op-ed columnist envy. I want to do what they do. But I know better. I took a writing class in which I learned that the average length of a blog entry should be between 400 to 600 words. Mine averages about 1,000, and, that’s only because I force myself to cut out about 200.
The truth is that I’ve been trying to write shorter pieces. No matter what you call my writings, I realize that in our busy lives, short and pithy would be preferable. But, no matter my intention, I sit down at the computer, start writing, and by the time I’m done, all of my pieces are about the same length: long!
So, I wonder, is my brain simply hard-wired to spend a certain number of words on any subject that happens to interest me enough to write about it? Or am I just naturally promiscuous with words? I am reminded of my friend Liz and how she teased me about my wordiness. I often asked her to edit my legal document and every time I brought her a brief to review, she would adopt a little smirk as she unsheathed her red pen with an exaggerated flourish. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” was written all over her face.
The irony is, that as much as I love writing, words and playing with them to get my idea across, I am word-challenged when it comes to puzzles and games. Put me under a clock, and my heart starts beating fast and I draw blanks. The same aforementioned Liz would often come into my office after lunch and propose a 5-minute session of Word Challenge wherein you see how many words you can make from the letters of another word. I would groan, “But, Liz, you always win!” She told me I just needed practice. So I’d try and after 5 minutes, she would have 20 or more words, to my 5 or 6. She’d be cool as a cucumber, and I would be sweating and agitated.
My inadequacies as a wordsmith have been most poignantly revealed by a game I play with friends which we call “Hell Edna.” The game was a family favorite of the Webster’s (who call it “Only Eddie”) and passed on by one of the family members – our friend, Pam. The game begins with two columns of, let’s say, eight letters in each column, thereby making eight rows with two letters in each row. The goal is to make a well-known two-word phrase, geographical location, or name of a celebrity wherein each word begins with one of the letters. Accordingly, with an “e” and an “o,” you might answer with Eugene, Oregon. With a “m” and a “j,” you could respond “Michael Jackson.” Or with an “h” and an “e,” you could try to get away with “Hell Edna.”
After providing answers for each row, players go around the circle revealing their answers for the first row while the other players decide whether the answers are appropriate ones. You have the opportunity to argue in favor of your response if the players initially believe that your well-known phrase is, in fact, unknown – pure fabrication. As you might imagine if you’ve ever argued over a word in Scrabble, some contentions are advanced more strenuously than others. (And in case you figured out that the name of the game references a really ridiculous argument in favor of “Hell Edna” as an answer, you are right.)
And did I mention that it is a timed contest? Two or three minutes to think up matches for the eight combinations??
Oh, how I remember the first time we played this game, after a couple of hours in the company of our never-empty wine glasses! It may surprise you to know that while wine may loosen the tongue (making the arguments more interestng), it doesn’t cause names, phrases, and geographical locations to leap to mind. In fact, I think the magic grape shelters them from discovery as they play hide and seek in a brain already stressed by the seconds ticking by (both chronological and current).
Anyway, that first time, I was struggling. I keep thinking, I’m smart, I’m a lawyer, I’m a writer, why can’t I do this??? I even won a blue ribbon in the 1971 Interscholastic League spelling competition. I should NOT be agonizing like this. Why am I putting myself through this torture? Finally, my frustration just welled up inside and I cried out tearfully, “I KNOW words, I REALLY do!!!!!”
And, of course, it was such a ludicrous statement, and we were so under the influence, that everyone cracked up and that line became one of those infamous ones that is oft-repeated when someone, particularly me, says something particularly intelligent, or well-worded. The gals exchange a meaningful look, nod and smile, with someone, usually Jill (not to name names) saying, “She KNOWS words!”
So maybe the trick to writing shorter entries is to adopt the competition approach. Keep a timer nearby and allow myself only so much time. No more luxuriating in finding the right word, no more thesaurus.com, no more long breaks to let it all simmer a bit. Just sit down and write like a woman with her hair on fire!
But let me just say this about that: I ain’t writing this blog to torture myself. You, poor readers, will just have to bear with me if you can. Hell, Edna! I KNOW words and I’m going to use each and every one of them!!
(Copyright 2010 by Jeffee Palmer)
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Now and Thenadays 