I'm a woman living in 2012 America and I cannot believe what this presidential campaign has wrought. Men are standing up with straight faces pronouncing that rape is open to interpretation, that women possess the ability to "shut down" fertilization, and it's God's intention that rape victims be impregnated. How did these guys pass Biology 101, graduate high school, and why are they legitimate voices in the Republican party? Why are they not being laughed out of the building, indeed, run out of town on a rail? Team Red has surrendered to the extremist right wing; the religious fanatics, the Tea Party and a host of other desperate characters who want to eviscerate women's rights. The Taliban apparently has its share of fans in Todd Akin, Richard Mourdock and the GOP ticket, Romney-Ryan. And that's just to name a few.
It's beyond me how women can support this unholy alliance, a turn-back-the-clock madness which has taken hold of politicians and voters with a vengeance. I respect those who are pro-life, but are reasonable enough to recognize that exceptions exist for cases of rape, incest and the health of the mother. For the life of me, I can't fathom those who seek to overturn Roe V. Wade and return to the ugly, deadly era of back alley abortions. Easy for "severely conservative" men to take such a position, but Republican women? How can mothers advocate a society in which their daughters face the grim, devastating outcomes of unwanted pregnancies without access to safe, legal abortions? These same people think abstinence is the answer to teenage sex, that it's not essential that their children be armed with contraception. They believe equal pay for both genders doing the same job is debatable. And most telling of all, they abandon the precious babies they claim to care so much about the minute those infants enter the world; kids who'll need Head Start, food stamps and affordable health care to stay alive. Make no mistake, this is an all-out war on women.
Sisters, we need to rise up. We need to be doing everything in our power to see that Obama is reelected: phone banking, canvassing, getting out the vote. There are a plethora of reasons why Mitt Romney is not a viable choice for the White House. Leaving aside all the issues he's vacillated on, his archaic stance on women's rights should strike fear and terror into the heart of any female. Yesterday I watched footage of the President casting his early vote in Chicago. He was greeted by roughly a dozen volunteers, all but two of which were women. Everyone with a half a brain knows that both candidates are targeting suburban mothers and "waitress moms." In this critical election we have the chance to be the "deciders." The Supreme Court hangs in the balance. Our futures and our daughters futures are at stake.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Addendum
I posted the previous entry, "Romney's Female Problem," without mentioning the glaring facts of his anti-women policies on reproductive health. I assume my readers are well aware that Mitt flipped his abortion position and would now, supposedly, deign to allow it for the life of the mother, rape and incest. He's been all over the map on this point, like so many others. Women can't trust Romney for a host of reasons, not least of which he wants the government to control women's bodies.
Romney's Female Problem
Mitt Romney's now-infamous remark in Tuesday's debate on seeking "qualified women" for his administration as Governor of Massachusetts, yielding "binders full of women," should come as no surprise. He's a man so far removed from the real world that his personal sphere apparently didn't include women he deemed worthy of top jobs. He had to go out of his way to ask women's groups to elucidate where he might find topnotch female applicants for his camp. It's as if he were talking about some strange new species with which he had no acquaintance. It was a revelatory moment, illuminating just how alien a concept it was to him that such creatures were in abundant supply. He's stuck in the Fifties and early Sixties: Ward Cleaver meets Don Draper.
A vote for Romney is a giant step backward into that unenlightened era, when the best barometer of a woman's worth was how tasty her meatloaf was. His wife Ann only adds to the perception that her husband is out of touch with an entire gender, as she speaks on the stump about how great it is that women are talking about the economy. As if this was a new development. Women have long been the economic backbone of their own households, for starters. They've long been the overseers of finances, the most likely member of a family to keep and balance a checkbook, institute and follow a budget, and apportion the family income. Needless to say, women apply these same skills in the workplace.
The overriding impression I got from watching Mitt spar with Obama was how rude, uncooperative and selfish he was. He came across as spoiled and bullying, trying to run the whole show, attempting unsuccessfully to bulldoze Candy Crowley like he did Jim Lehrer. At one particularly revolting moment, he told the president to desist and wait his turn, like a schoolmarm correcting an errant child. I suppose he thinks he can treat other world leaders with the same dismissive, condescending attitude he exudes. It demonstrates another myth the GOP is trying to sell, that with a Republican at the helm and more money for the Defense Department, the rest of the planet will quake in the face of American might. Their candidate has zero foreign policy experience, a deficit that will no doubt be brought into sharp focus next week, when the last of the three debates covers that ground. Mitt is unaccustomed to being challenged, having to adapt and put the greater good ahead of his personal agenda. He's a CEO chauvinist who hogs the ball. That's not what the American people need in a president.
A vote for Romney is a giant step backward into that unenlightened era, when the best barometer of a woman's worth was how tasty her meatloaf was. His wife Ann only adds to the perception that her husband is out of touch with an entire gender, as she speaks on the stump about how great it is that women are talking about the economy. As if this was a new development. Women have long been the economic backbone of their own households, for starters. They've long been the overseers of finances, the most likely member of a family to keep and balance a checkbook, institute and follow a budget, and apportion the family income. Needless to say, women apply these same skills in the workplace.
The overriding impression I got from watching Mitt spar with Obama was how rude, uncooperative and selfish he was. He came across as spoiled and bullying, trying to run the whole show, attempting unsuccessfully to bulldoze Candy Crowley like he did Jim Lehrer. At one particularly revolting moment, he told the president to desist and wait his turn, like a schoolmarm correcting an errant child. I suppose he thinks he can treat other world leaders with the same dismissive, condescending attitude he exudes. It demonstrates another myth the GOP is trying to sell, that with a Republican at the helm and more money for the Defense Department, the rest of the planet will quake in the face of American might. Their candidate has zero foreign policy experience, a deficit that will no doubt be brought into sharp focus next week, when the last of the three debates covers that ground. Mitt is unaccustomed to being challenged, having to adapt and put the greater good ahead of his personal agenda. He's a CEO chauvinist who hogs the ball. That's not what the American people need in a president.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Joltin' Joe
Like legions of other Obama supporters, I watched last week's debate in a state of disbelief and major disappointment. I phoned my oldest son after the show was over and said, "Obama tanked." A former debater himself, Devin wasn't sure the president's performance had been that dismal. The way high school debating goes, you're scored on points and your arguments have to jibe with reality. Romney did a great job of reinventing himself as a moderate who isn't really out to slash Medicare, eliminate Planned Parenthood and let the middle class bear the burden of higher taxes. But we all know that dude doesn't square with the candidate who's been campaigning as a "severe conservative." And speaking of burdens, tonight the task of damage control and rebounding falls to Vice President Joe Biden.
A fighting Irishman, seasoned senator and loquacious pol, Biden has the edge on up and coming Paul Ryan, by virtue of his considerable experience. But if Ryan is as much of a workout nut as he's reputed to be, I've got a feeling he won't pull his punches. He's younger and therefore more ambitious, anxious to keep the GOP ticket's momentum going. Joe, on the other hand, has to undo the disrepair Obama's lackadaisical showing dealt the Democrats. The two men come to the table with established weaknesses, the somewhat gaffe-prone Biden versus the I-don't-have time-to-explain-the-math budget fixer Ryan. If people really believe Sarah Palin won the veep debate four years ago, then the Kentucky Derby, as the pundits have dubbed it, is Biden's chance to shine. Palin didn't win the '08 round, she simply avoided falling on her face. Now it's time for Joltin' Joe to step up to the plate and knock it out of the park.
It's time to hit the Republicans with the 47% remarks, Bain Capital's questionable business tactics and Romney's unwillingness to release his tax returns. It's time to point out the flip-flopper and empty suit isn't fit to be president. Time to highlight the GOP's war on women, their free pass for Wall Street, their indifference to the plight of the poor. Joe has the bonafides to sock it to them and I hope he comes out swinging.
A fighting Irishman, seasoned senator and loquacious pol, Biden has the edge on up and coming Paul Ryan, by virtue of his considerable experience. But if Ryan is as much of a workout nut as he's reputed to be, I've got a feeling he won't pull his punches. He's younger and therefore more ambitious, anxious to keep the GOP ticket's momentum going. Joe, on the other hand, has to undo the disrepair Obama's lackadaisical showing dealt the Democrats. The two men come to the table with established weaknesses, the somewhat gaffe-prone Biden versus the I-don't-have time-to-explain-the-math budget fixer Ryan. If people really believe Sarah Palin won the veep debate four years ago, then the Kentucky Derby, as the pundits have dubbed it, is Biden's chance to shine. Palin didn't win the '08 round, she simply avoided falling on her face. Now it's time for Joltin' Joe to step up to the plate and knock it out of the park.
It's time to hit the Republicans with the 47% remarks, Bain Capital's questionable business tactics and Romney's unwillingness to release his tax returns. It's time to point out the flip-flopper and empty suit isn't fit to be president. Time to highlight the GOP's war on women, their free pass for Wall Street, their indifference to the plight of the poor. Joe has the bonafides to sock it to them and I hope he comes out swinging.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Losing Letters
I recently joined a Facebook group called Save the U. S. Postal Service by Writing More Letters. It may seem a quaint notion to some, who've already ceded the technological takeover without protest, but I find it dismaying. While I enjoy the wizardry of instantaneous communication, nothing can replace handwritten missives that date back decades, tied with ribbon and stored for posterity. I have virtually every letter anyone ever wrote to me: my parents', best friends from high school, fellow artists, and of course, lovers. Remember the pen pal? I had scads of them.
Generations of readers have pored over the collections of letters of our most renowned authors, painters, composers, military heroes and film stars. What record will live on in the absence of thoughtful reflections rendered in ink and sealed with a kiss? When was the last time, if ever, you printed out an email? That's what passes for a rough equivalent. Many people can't type a decent electronic message; lots of books cover the business of tapping out one's thoughts and clicking send. If we need help crafting an effective email, then God knows the touch screen generation needs lessons in the snail variety.
Emails get deleted, while letters are time capsules. I get a kick out of looking at the worn envelopes from years past, with six cent stamps and goofy graffiti in vibrant colors etched on the back. I can read the letters I sent home from college that my mother saved, a window into being eighteen again. How juvenile I sounded when I thought I knew everything. Then there are the dispatches from my life in New York City, in my early twenties, drinking in all the glory and grit of Manhattan. I've even kept ancient correspondence from elementary school days, including notes passed between desks in sixth grade.
Yes, it's true, the boxes take up a fair amount of space in my closet and I rarely revisit them. But I'd like to think one day after I'm gone, one of my sons or grandchildren may discover clues about me at different life stages, the times I lived in, the people I loved. Besides, admit it, it's a big deal when you open your mailbox and find a handwritten note. In cursive. The real thing.
Generations of readers have pored over the collections of letters of our most renowned authors, painters, composers, military heroes and film stars. What record will live on in the absence of thoughtful reflections rendered in ink and sealed with a kiss? When was the last time, if ever, you printed out an email? That's what passes for a rough equivalent. Many people can't type a decent electronic message; lots of books cover the business of tapping out one's thoughts and clicking send. If we need help crafting an effective email, then God knows the touch screen generation needs lessons in the snail variety.
Emails get deleted, while letters are time capsules. I get a kick out of looking at the worn envelopes from years past, with six cent stamps and goofy graffiti in vibrant colors etched on the back. I can read the letters I sent home from college that my mother saved, a window into being eighteen again. How juvenile I sounded when I thought I knew everything. Then there are the dispatches from my life in New York City, in my early twenties, drinking in all the glory and grit of Manhattan. I've even kept ancient correspondence from elementary school days, including notes passed between desks in sixth grade.
Yes, it's true, the boxes take up a fair amount of space in my closet and I rarely revisit them. But I'd like to think one day after I'm gone, one of my sons or grandchildren may discover clues about me at different life stages, the times I lived in, the people I loved. Besides, admit it, it's a big deal when you open your mailbox and find a handwritten note. In cursive. The real thing.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
The Hollow Man
Say what you will about disappointment over Obama's first term, the ticket Republicans are offering as an alternative is absent any sense of purpose and devoid of substance. Mitt Romney feels he is somehow entitled to the White House by virtue of his repeated attempts to get there and his supposed savvy over all things economic. His wife Ann even declared in an interview, "It's our turn," as if the presidency was some sort of take-a-number deli line. Commentators and politicos have served up phrases to fit Romney like "out of touch," "rich guy-itis," and "unable to connect." People are waiting for his speech at the GOP convention Thursday night to highlight who he is personally. The fact is Mitt is a privileged Ken doll of a candidate who has no acquaintance with what average Americans face every day. There is no there there. He's a man who has mastered appearances and little else.
Romney is vying for an office which requires tremendous finesse with the spoken word, as the whole world hangs on every sound bite from the commander in chief. Yet he says inexplicable things like "The trees are the right height," when he stumped in his home state of Michigan. On the same visit he proclaimed his love of automobiles, even though he thought it was okay to let General Motors fail. He goes on an overseas jaunt for what should have been a cakewalk and ends up insulting the Brits, our greatest allies. The dude thought it was a good idea to strap his dog to the top of his car for a family road trip. On another campaign stop, sitting at a picnic table surrounded by doting women, he had an issue with the quality of the cookies they served. This man continuously demonstrates a deep detachment from real life, from ordinary affairs, yet he wants us to make him the leader of the free world?
To make matters worse, he chose Congressman Paul Ryan as his running mate, Mr. Gut the Social Safety Net budget fixer. Notwithstanding his gym rat status as a workout devotee, Ryan sports a haircut my boys outgrew at age twelve. He may look like an innocuous boy scout, but he co-sponsored two bills to redefine rape with the Right Wing's albatross Todd Akin, the cretin who thinks women are equipped with spermicidal secretions which shut down pregnancy in cases of "legitimate" rape. Akin has Republicans pleading for his withdrawal from the Missouri race for the Senate, and Ryan revamping his stance on the topic, now saying, "Rape is rape." He also claims to have fallen in line with Romney's slightly less Neanderthal views on abortion. That's one thing R & R have in common: change your position on issues when warranted and evade questions on your brazen inconsistencies. Meanwhile, when in doubt, crack a bad joke about the president's birth certificate.
As I write this post Ann Romney is gearing up to give a speech at the convention that will reassure female voters that her man is a flesh and blood sweetheart. I'll bet she trots out some cutesy anecdotes about how Mitt helped her raise their male clan.Women are the engines behind voting in most households and they won't be fooled. The choice this November is simple: You can vote for a real human being or a wind-up toy.
Romney is vying for an office which requires tremendous finesse with the spoken word, as the whole world hangs on every sound bite from the commander in chief. Yet he says inexplicable things like "The trees are the right height," when he stumped in his home state of Michigan. On the same visit he proclaimed his love of automobiles, even though he thought it was okay to let General Motors fail. He goes on an overseas jaunt for what should have been a cakewalk and ends up insulting the Brits, our greatest allies. The dude thought it was a good idea to strap his dog to the top of his car for a family road trip. On another campaign stop, sitting at a picnic table surrounded by doting women, he had an issue with the quality of the cookies they served. This man continuously demonstrates a deep detachment from real life, from ordinary affairs, yet he wants us to make him the leader of the free world?
To make matters worse, he chose Congressman Paul Ryan as his running mate, Mr. Gut the Social Safety Net budget fixer. Notwithstanding his gym rat status as a workout devotee, Ryan sports a haircut my boys outgrew at age twelve. He may look like an innocuous boy scout, but he co-sponsored two bills to redefine rape with the Right Wing's albatross Todd Akin, the cretin who thinks women are equipped with spermicidal secretions which shut down pregnancy in cases of "legitimate" rape. Akin has Republicans pleading for his withdrawal from the Missouri race for the Senate, and Ryan revamping his stance on the topic, now saying, "Rape is rape." He also claims to have fallen in line with Romney's slightly less Neanderthal views on abortion. That's one thing R & R have in common: change your position on issues when warranted and evade questions on your brazen inconsistencies. Meanwhile, when in doubt, crack a bad joke about the president's birth certificate.
As I write this post Ann Romney is gearing up to give a speech at the convention that will reassure female voters that her man is a flesh and blood sweetheart. I'll bet she trots out some cutesy anecdotes about how Mitt helped her raise their male clan.Women are the engines behind voting in most households and they won't be fooled. The choice this November is simple: You can vote for a real human being or a wind-up toy.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Compilation CD
I have a friend who makes theme-based CDs for her closest pals. Let's call this post a mixed bag of what's been on my mind for the past month...
The summer before kids start college rivals the Terrible Twos. My youngest son has been moody, sullen and smug. He wants me to get lost. He's not real chummy with his dad either. Experience in this area tells me that about six weeks from now, he'll be singing a different tune.
We know a lot about Mitt Romney's father, but what to make of his mother? It's usually the mother who educates children about proper etiquette and good manners. Clearly, she failed in this regard. His remarks about London's supposed lack of preparedness for the Olympics, and his slight, to put it mildly, of the Palestinians in Israel, are just the latest examples of his utter lack of tact and diplomacy. Didn't Mom teach him that you don't insult your host or alienate people you someday hope to influence? Memo to Mitt: you're using the wrong fork.
I returned from Wildacres Writing Workshop earlier this month, after a blissful week of immersion in the craft of writing, reunion with old friends and meeting new ones. The annual conference is hands-down, one of the best in the country, as its 45% returnee rate confirms. In addition to seven days of the written word, we make music, have theme parties and put on The Gong Show, a collection of freshly-penned skits. At times like these I'm reminded why I'm happy to be an artist instead of a venture capitalist.
I'm prepping for an upcoming audition, working two new monologues and a song. We actors put in unseen amounts of toil for five minutes of a directors' time, usually resulting in the occupational hazard of rejection. Writers also routinely endure this. Sometimes I wonder why I keep doing it, setting myself up for almost inevitable failure. Answer: because once in awhile, I get the job or the publishing credit. That exhilaration is worth the price of repeated, seemingly futile attempts to get noticed. As Samuel Beckett said, "All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."
The summer before kids start college rivals the Terrible Twos. My youngest son has been moody, sullen and smug. He wants me to get lost. He's not real chummy with his dad either. Experience in this area tells me that about six weeks from now, he'll be singing a different tune.
We know a lot about Mitt Romney's father, but what to make of his mother? It's usually the mother who educates children about proper etiquette and good manners. Clearly, she failed in this regard. His remarks about London's supposed lack of preparedness for the Olympics, and his slight, to put it mildly, of the Palestinians in Israel, are just the latest examples of his utter lack of tact and diplomacy. Didn't Mom teach him that you don't insult your host or alienate people you someday hope to influence? Memo to Mitt: you're using the wrong fork.
I returned from Wildacres Writing Workshop earlier this month, after a blissful week of immersion in the craft of writing, reunion with old friends and meeting new ones. The annual conference is hands-down, one of the best in the country, as its 45% returnee rate confirms. In addition to seven days of the written word, we make music, have theme parties and put on The Gong Show, a collection of freshly-penned skits. At times like these I'm reminded why I'm happy to be an artist instead of a venture capitalist.
I'm prepping for an upcoming audition, working two new monologues and a song. We actors put in unseen amounts of toil for five minutes of a directors' time, usually resulting in the occupational hazard of rejection. Writers also routinely endure this. Sometimes I wonder why I keep doing it, setting myself up for almost inevitable failure. Answer: because once in awhile, I get the job or the publishing credit. That exhilaration is worth the price of repeated, seemingly futile attempts to get noticed. As Samuel Beckett said, "All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."
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