There's Nothing Worse than the Former House Majority Leader Pretending to be a Christian

Dear Tom,

I heard what you said to Chris Matthews (re: Sen. Clinton) in an unguarded moment. . . which says as much about him as it does about you..."There's nothing worse than a know-it-all-woman." I'm quite sure you meant that the only thing worse than that might be a stripper who thinks she doesn't deserve to be raped by upstanding members of the Duke University LaCrosse team. Or maybe there's nothing worse than a low-life, lying, power-hungry, hypocritical creep pretending to be a Christian.

You know you're upper middle class when. . .

1. You have to call your massage therapist because you lost your appointment card and you forgot to put the appointment in your calendar.
2. You have a closet for just your winter clothes.
3. Leftovers consist of seared tuna and arugela salad.
4. It bothers you to carry a black purse while wearing tan sandals.
5. Bush's grammar faux pas make your skin crawl.
6. You use phrases like "faux pas."
7. Your hairdresser calls your cell phone when you are late for a cut.
8. You worry that the newly installed copper gutters aren't turning verdi gris fast enough.
9. You know exactly what color "verdi gris" is.

Stormy Kromer

Every once in a while a really perfect thing comes along and its very existence is satisfying. We were visiting the U.P (Upper Peninsula of Michigan) this last winter and went into a small shop that sat almost on Lake Huron. It was 10 degrees and sunny--the town was almost empty save a few pickup trucks and a snowmobile or two. That's where I got my "Stormy Kromer." It's the greatest winter hat $25 can buy. And it has a history--written inside the cap--on the label. I won't spoil it for you. It's made in Michigan--all the better. Sadly, it's probably too warm to wear in the spring--but anything that can make me look forward to next winter is a really blessing. Thanks, Stormy.

Spring in the City

My great grandmother's peonies are sprouting--a sure sign that most of the worst of winter is probably over. I've been sorting through old cards, letters, pictures, etc. and I found the picture that best depicts Detroit to me. When it was taken, I was driving along John R on my way home from work one day a few years ago, and I stopped to photograph this magnificent rose bush. You can see that it is growing up against and through the fence that surrounds an abandoned building. It hasn't been pruned or fed or sprayed, I'm sure. And yet, it is wildly abundant in blooms and has the most magnificent color. What a cliche'--but I love it anyway.

George W Comes Out

There are still people clinging to the illusion that just because one gets elected, one is smart enough to run the country. I think the only way those last few folks would ever turn against GWB is if he came out.

Growing Old Gracefully

Sorting and sifting stuff--reflecting on life and aging--ran across this picture I tore out of a magazine some time ago. Tried to throw it away--not successful. So I scanned it, played with it and here it is. My new logo. Forever young--as Bob Dylan says.

Cleaning out the Closets

In preparation for downsizing (a euphemism for getting into a house you don't have to starve to own), I've been cleaning a closet or a drawer, daily, for the last few months. I've found some interesting things that I know are not mine and I don't have a clue how they got here--a man's black umbrella, an orange beach towel, a tri-pod, a fur-trimmed hood from a blue coat and a CD by David Cross entitled "It's Not Funny." Somehow I can't get the vision of myself wrapped in the orange beach towel, wearing the fur-trimmed hood, standing next to the tri-pod upon which the David Cross CD is balanced. It would make a good album cover.

Psycho Housewife

Just Asking

Am I missing something? Why would anyone think it was a good idea to let someone else run several of our major ports? If it's not a good idea to let a few folks talk on the phone to potential terrorists or surf the net for subversive information, how in the world can this plan be a solid one? What I want to know is who gets rich off of this deal. Let me guess! Could it be the Vice President or some of his buddies? Give me a list! Follow the money. I'm serious. Who does this benefit?

Is There Any Hope for the Irony Impaired?

Recently, Leonard Pitts, a columnist from Miami, referred to those impassioned Islamics who are violently protesting the cartoon in which Muhammad was depicted with a bomb in his turban as "irony impaired." So today, I received an email asking me to join the drive to "stop shoot first in Michigan." After the Vice President's little accident, I find this somewhat ironic. Perhaps, "stop shoot first in Texas" would be more appropriate. Honestly, the VP's hunting accident doesn't tell me anything about his or his cronies' behavior that I didn't already know--reckless and secretive. But there are more important issues to focus on--war, torture, global warming, post-Katrina analysis, and elections that don't seem to go our way. So, I think I'll curl up and watch another rerun of West Wing. It's all that's left.

What if George W. Bush had been born black?

It's always interesting to me to imagine some absurd thing like what if the president was born black instead of white. If I had a large staff of researchers on a payroll, the first thing I'd do is get actuarial tables and make fruitful comparisions. I'd trace each significant factor in GWB's life and imagine how those factors would play out if he had been born black. More than likely, our black GWB would have ended up in Viet Nam--probably would have been injured and sent home with his pant leg pinned up. A not so bright black kid with an obvious langauge impediment most probably wouldn't have gotten into Yale--even with affirmative action. If he drank alot, like our own GWB, I'll bet no black Laura would have married him--let alone put up with him for so many years. One coke bust and a few DUI's and our man would probably have done a little jail time...instead of Yale time. In fact, that homeless guy on the corner, yeah, the one with one leg--with just a little twist of luck, he could have been president! What a country!

Make Your Parents Proud

I ran across this on one of the many Detroit booster sites that I lurk around and it made me laugh out loud. I'm sure my parents never expected that I would live in Detroit when they moved me to Michigan in 1962--they selected Beverly Hills, a bucolic suburb with the blandness of vanilla pudding. As soon as I was old enough to talk my friends into driving me, we would skip school and venture into the city--to Belle Isle, the Detroit Public Library, the Lafayette Coney Island. We regularly attended the Fox Theater holiday Motown shows--in fact, we were often the only white girls there...utterly devoted to Smoky Robinson, Marvin Gaye, "Little" Stevie Wonder and the rest. One summer, we met the Supremes outside their trailer at the State Fair grounds and got autographs. They were so skinny and small under those huge bouffant hairdos.

That same year, we saw the Beatles at Olympia stadium--not once but twice. We hid in a suite for the time between the 2 p.m. show and the 6 p.m. The tickets looked the same! The Stones came next--but only 300 people were at that first show.

Each time we ventured into the city, we became more and more comfortable, convinced that all the fear other people expressed was just stupid. Now, having lived here over 10 years, I can honestly say we have had fewer brushes with crime than our country living counterparts. My friends who have been burglarized live in the country. Cars that have been broken into were parked in the suburbs. Yet, the fear remains.

This week I hope that SuperBowl XL makes our parents proud--this city has so much to offer--such a creative place with so much talent.

An Economics Lesson

This is just in from my friends at the Michigan Democratic Party. First these creeps steal the election, now they are lying about our governor.

"The DeVos for Governor Campaign and the MI GOP are trying to mislead people about the jobs numbers in Michigan. Why? Because the Bush economic and trade policies that DeVos supports have helped cause the economic problems in Michigan. DeVos himself, while head of Amway, laid off 1,400 Michigan employees and created tens of thousands of jobs in China.

The Republicans have put out three different numbers on Michigan jobs statistics in two days. What they haven't disclosed is the number of Michigan jobs lost due to their outsourcing policies, nor have they mentioned the number of jobs created or retained under Governor Granholm.

Here are the facts:
FACT 1: Republican trade and tax policies encouraging outsourcing devastate Michigan.
Since President Bush took office in 2001, Michigan has lost 203,287 jobs due to outsourcing.
Over: 1826 days
That's: 111 jobs per day
4.62 jobs an hour
1 job every 13 minutes
Source - http://www.techsunite.org/offshore/index.cfm

FACT 2: Republicans are arguing among themselves about the jobs numbers.
In the last couple of days they've put out numbers that don’t add up, and aren’t consistent.

FACT 3: More people are working today than when Governor Granholm took office in 2003
During the first three years of the Granholm Administration, total employment in Michigan increased by 99,000 (with employment increasing by 87,000 in 2005, alone)
Month Employment
2005 (Dec) 4,795,000 2003 (Jan) 4,696,000
Employment growth + 99,000
Source: Michigan Department of Labor & Economic Development http://www.michlmi.org/LMI/lmadata/laus/2005/misa78-05.htm

Fact 4: Governor Granholm has a plan to secure Michigan's Future. The contrasts are very clear. Last night Governor Granholm clearly showed that she has a plan for Michigan's economy and that it is beginning to work. Don't let the Republicans play politics with our jobs. They caused our economic problems and she's working to move Michigan forward."

She's been busy trying to overcome THREE terms of Republican Gov. Engler who all but destroyed the state. Sometimes I wish WE had a Karl Rove--

SuperBowl Countdown

I'll be rooting for the Steelers in SuperBowl XL because Jerome Bettis is our hometown boy. Football is only interesting if you know someone who is playing--I found that out when my son began to play in 9th grade. Before that time, football looked like chaos to me--I could not distinguish between the offense and the defense, couldn't spot an offsides, or a holding on the offense. Now, I sometimes make the call before the officials do.

There are a lot of things in life that people dismiss as boring. On the other hand, I always wonder what is it that makes something interesting to someone else. If someone finds stamp collecting fascinating, I want to know why! How is it that people can watch golf on TV? Why would anyone do crossword puzzles? What are they seeing that I'm not?

I am reminded of a quotation that my favorite Humanities teacher put on the board one day: "A book is like a mirror; if an ass peers in, don't expect an angel to peer out." Perhaps this could be applied to a lot of things. If I'm bored by something, maybe I just don't know enough about it yet. On the other hand, maybe it's really just mind-numbingly boring.

Camille Claudel and Rodin

A little affirmative action back in Rodin's day might have kept his protege, Camille Claudel, out of the asylum where she spent the last 30 years of her life. Frustrated by her own creativity and "demons" (according to the narrative on the audio tour of the exhibition), she became paranoid and increasingly unable to function. Demons! What a quaint way to describe rampant and unrelenting sexism in 19th century French society.

Anyone who sees the current exhibition at the Detroit Institute of Arts cannot help but notice that her sculptures are as powerful and evocative as his. But Rodin was considered a genius and praised and courted by French society, while Camille worked behind the scenes mostly unnoticed. Women were not considered creative, nor artistic and certainly not capable of genius.

I'll bet that asylum was filled with some of the most intelligent, talented women French society had ever produced. We'll never know.

Scraping by on a $20 Lunch

What will it take to wake up the sleeping masses of sheep? Perhaps Trent Lott's comment yesterday will incite a few people to riot or even better--to vote the bums out of office. He was complaining about the possible lobbying restrictions in an interview and commented that a$20 limit was ridiculous--"Where ya gonna go? McDonalds?"

I wonder how many families have to live on $20 a day in groceries. The federal government budget for school lunches also comes to mind as a fruitful (pun intended) comparison--remember Ronald Regan's "ketchup as a vegetable" pronouncement?

Pat Robertson expressed sympathy for these poor members of congress who have to maintain two houses--no wonder they have to eat lunch with lobbyists!

I have a better solution! Put them all in Public Housing! Let them travel coach! Let them pay for their own health insurance, prescription drugs, lunches and vacations! They might start seeing the wisdom of rethinking an economic system that is totally market driven and look to any other progressive country for solutions to social problems.

There are too many hands in the pockets of the military/industrial/evangelical complex. This unholy alliance has a stranglehold on our country and has all but killed the American dream. We elect these people to make thoughtful, reflective, informed and critical decisions about what kind of country we will be. But they are for sale--and their decisions are tainted by corruption. What's it going to take to make us fight back?

In Praise of Rit Dye

I'm sure the housewives of the 1950's could tell a better tale than this, but I just have to share. It's messy, but I have spent the last few days dying old white and dingy grey towels and a few old throw rugs to use in our cabin up north. Rather than toss them or tear them into rags, I bought several boxes (and it now comes in bottles, too) of Rit dye and followed the directions. Ever the artist, I mixed a denim blue and forest green dye and threw in a dozen or so towels. A few hours later, the most lovely shade of dusty teal had replaced dingy. Positively energized and feeling self-righteous about the sheer thriftiness of such activity, I began to hunt for other things I could dye--Today two ugly tan throw rugs will succumb to the hot Rit bath and emerge newly teal. There should be some kind of metaphor here, but I'll leave that to the English teachers of the world.

Brown Sticks and Mud

This is the time of year I wonder how anyone can live here--it's cold, gray and there is only a dusting of dirty snow to cover the trash that has blown up against the fences and bushes. My daughter lives in the perpetual sunshine of L.A., near the ocean--but as she points out--since it is always there, you rarely decide to go swimming--you can always go another day.

I think this is how being young felt...there was always another day--another month--another year. The sense of urgency just wasn't there. We'll go to Greece one day--I'll get an MFA. We'll build our own house--visit Singapore, rent a small farm in Italy for the summer.

So, Detroit winters are a great time to get out the world atlas, the travel brochures, collect house plans from the Internet, read the seed catalogs. Forced indoors, we are also forced a bit inside ourselves. This isn't the worst thing that can happen--The worst thing is have no plans ready for when those brown sticks start to bud and that mud begins to sprout green.

Where the rain never falls, and the sun never shines...

I wonder how the mine owners and the industry insiders that Bush appointed to "oversee" mine safety sleep at night. What do you do if you suddenly realize that your whole career is built on a carefully constructed house of cards, one that has recently destroyed a dozen or so families? Accidents don't just happen--they are usually the result of cutting corners. It takes a lot of corner cutting to pay for all those golf outings, second homes, first-class tickets, and courtside seats.

Happy New Year

Things better get better or else I'm leaving!

Political Correctness

It took me a while, but I finally realized why the term politically correct offends me so much. As an unreconstructed idealist and patriot who still maintains faith in the positive growth of human beings and our American society (silly me), I find this term to be most insidiously cynical and damaging phrase spun out of the conservative camp in the last two decades. When anyone uses the term, what they are really saying is..."I know it's morally wrong to be sexist, racist, greedy, vulgar, etc..., but I don't f*in care!" These same folks are currently upset about Happy Holidays vs. Merry Christmas. They believe torture is okay, spying on American citizens is necessary to "protect" them, and democracy can be forced down the throats of any country that has enough oil.

Well, Happy Holidays--Seasons Greetings--and Peace on Earth. If that's not politically correct enough, then f* you!

Twenty-seven in a Million

I was invited party last night to celebrate a former student's admittance into law school. This student is one I refer to endlessly when lecturing my current students about commitment and hard work. J was not the smartest kid in the class, but she didn't know that and no one could out work this young woman. She had a baby while still in the 8th grade--no one knew--not her friends, her mother, nor her teachers. ("I had sex once," she said. "Never again!") By the 10th grade, she was in my Honors American Literature class, and I had no idea that she had a baby until she came to me to get a week's worth of homework--in advance. When I asked why, she said her daughter had to have heart surgery. I almost didn't believe her.

J was never happy with any grade lower than an A, and she stayed after school as long as I would allow her in order to make corrections on her work. She rewrote papers endlessly, struggling with grammar and punctuation as many students do. Her limited vocabulary frustrated her as she tried to read Thomas Paine, Emerson, and Thoreau.

By her senior year, she elected to take AP English (despite mediocre test scores) and she gave up basketball (an outstanding player, she was being recruited by Division II teams) to concentrate on her grades. "I don't want to be the stereotype single mother," she declared. She wanted to be valdictorian--and to go to a top school.

AP Literature did not come easy to her. Much more comfortable with mathematics, she had problems with abstractions and nuance and was often frustrated when I could not give her a formula for some thematic or symbolic element in a text.

She missed valdictorin by three-tenths of a point, but got into the top school...despite unremarkable standardized test scores. She started college majoring in computer engineering, but very soon realized this was not her passion--despite a definite proclivity for math and science. She changed her major to English--much to my surprise.

After graduating with a 3.6, she was turned down by several top law schools due to average standardized test scores. Undaunted, she went to work for the NAACP, and began a Masters program in Public Administration which she completed with a 4.0. Still, her test scores did not tell the whole story, and she was denied admission to several law schools. Finally, she participated in a special week-long program designed to allow the school in question to meet her and evalute her ability to work in groups on practice cases and briefs. Of course, J emerged as a superstar and was accepted to the school.

Last night, I hugged J, her mother, and the baby--now 9 years old--and heard about other students in the class of 2000 (there were 27 of them)-one in medical school, another in graduate school, and others who have completed college in various places all over the country. I also heard about the ones with babies, but no daddies, and no degrees. You'll see their stories in the newspaper and on television; meanwhile J will march ahead, defying the sterotype with sheer will and determination.

From SDS to AARP

Feeling a bit down during the holidays (whoops! I mean Christmas!--after all there's a war goin' on.) ? Just visit a few old folks and enjoy what remains of the the spring in your step and the hearing you still have, even after too many nights in front of the speakers at too many concerts. Attend a Christmas sing-along with people who don't care if they are off-key or that they have forgotten the words. Delight in decorations made of recycled toilet paper rolls and tin foil.

About this so-called "war" on Christmas...The only war I recognize is the one the conservative Christians are waging against working people, gay people, single parents, students, young parents, old folks and the poor. These people claim to represent Christ--but they have no interest in the "least of these..." They seem to side with folks who already have more than enough. As Joni Mitchell once wrote..."some get the gravy, some get the gristle, some get the marrow bone, and some get nothing...though there's plenty to spare."

The Dog Ate My Homework

As a teacher, one expects excuses, but this week has been the king dog daddy of a week for weird excuses.

"Dear Professor *, I cannot continue to attend your class due to my unfortunate situation. I had to go to court this week and it looks like I might have to go back to jail. I would like to meet with you one-on-one about my grade." Hmmmmm.

"Dear Professor *, I ran out of medication for my ADD and cannot finish my final paper. I was too embarrassed to tell you."

"Dear Professor *, I am having too much mental stress with trying to do all YOUR work (my work?--no I am quite finished with my degree--this is YOUR work!), so please extend, to me, kindly, an incomplete." Oh for the simple bygone days of misbehaving pets. . .

Cleaning House

When nothing else works, I always fall back on cleaning closets. Today, I ran across four vintage purses (not really, just old) and found all kinds of loose change and a lot of those moist towlettes, that are no longer moist, I'm sure.

Finding a home for things I no longer want makes me really happy--I gave away several bolts of vintage fabric to a decorator who could not believe I didn't want money for them. I told her that I'd call her for advice some time and she could talk to me for free.

I think people should barter more--it avoids the whole payroll tax routine--not to mention the whole "money" thing. Bake me some bread and I'll edit your next history paper. Paint my bathroom and I'll tell you how to get through writer's block. Bring me a load of firewood and I'll tutor your kids in grammar. C'mon, it could really work!