Can You Hear Me Now?

My life is ever Seinfeldian.  Let me prove it to you, and for those of you who have never watched an episode of Seinfeld, ever, I think you may still enjoy the following:

ACT I.  The Speed-Dial. Scene opens with Nance answering her cell phone.  On the other end is her mother, St. Patsy, who is visiting her sister Shirley in Gettysburg.

Nance:  Hi, Mom.  I hear you're ready to come home already.
St.  Patsy:  Hi, Nance.  You're number four on my speed-dial.
Nance:  What?  Okay, but what, now? Number four?  How am I all the way down at number four?
St. Patsy:  Well, Voicemail is number one.  Then Bobby (my brother, with whom she lives) is number two. Coley (Bobby's daughter; Coley is a nickname--don't ask.) is number three, and you're number four.
Nance:  What the heck!  How is Coley ahead of me?  When the heck do you ever call her?  For anything? How does she rate the number three spot?  I don't get this at all.
St. Patsy:  Well, you're ahead of Patti. She's number five, and Susan at number six.  So, it's Bobby, Coley, Nance, Patti, Susan.  Maybe it's alphabetical order.  I don't know.  But you're number four.
Nance:  Oh, brother.  Well, maybe the next time you need a ride to the doctor or to Gettysburg, you should call Good Old Number Three, then.  See if Coley can haul your ass all over the place.  How about that? Why did you call in the first place?  Just to taunt me with your Speed Dial Hierarchy?
St. Patsy:  No.  I wanted to tell you that Shirley and Dick are bringing me home, so you don't have to drive to Gettysburg after all.  Isn't that nice?
Nance:  Yes.  For Coley.

End

ACT II. The Squirrel. Scene opens with Nance walking outside to take out the trash and recyclables.  She notices a baby squirrel barely moving on her deck.  Upon closer inspection, she sees it is badly wounded, bloody, and intermittently covered in flies.

Nance:  Oh no!  You poor baby!  Damn it.  Those damn hawks.  First my fish and now you.  I don't know what I can do for you.  Damn it. Damn.  Let me go look and see what I can find to help you.

(Leaves to go and look up a wildlife or metroparks rescue number...or something.  Shortly after, Rick comes home.)

Nance:  (greets Rick in garage)  Oh, Rick.  It's terrible.  I need your help with something.
Rick:  What happened?  What's wrong?
Nance:  Rick, it's this poor baby squirrel.  Something got it and it's all chewed up and mangled.  We have to help it. I feel so bad.
Rick:  Nance.  What are you talking about? Like, take it to the vet? I don't want to be on the hook for a huge vet bill and then have to bring home some wild squirrel.  I just got home. Where is it?

(Nance shows him the squirrel, who is now barely breathing.  Its eyes are glazed, and its body is covered in flies.)

Rick:  Nance.  This thing is dead.  Or practically.  There's nothing anyone can do.  Look at it.  I feel bad, too, but it won't even survive a car ride to a vet.  Or anyplace.  You have to let it go.
Nance:  I called the metropark office number and got a machine.  I left a message.  There's no place else to call.  I feel sick.  Rick, you have to do something. We can't let it suffer. (taps out a message to her friend in Maryland, Leanne, who relays it to her husband, Jim; pause)  Jim says to use a flat-edge shovel and break its neck.  Ugh.  That will behead this poor baby!  Rick.  Do something.  I'm not able to.
Rick:  Nance, what would you like me to do?  I don't want to kill it, either!  We just have to let Nature take its course.  It's sad, but there it is.

(An hour later, Nance goes out and finds the squirrel dead.)

Scene 2.  The next morning, Nance's cell phone rings.

Nance:  Hello?
Caller:  (brightly) Hi, Nance? This is Amy from the county metroparks returning your call.  How is the squirrel?
Nance:  Dead.

End

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Summer has been busy.  I promise to get back to posting more often as soon as I can.  And I owe so many people so many emails and blog comments.  Where is my time going?  Fun places mostly.  Be back soon, and I will try to get back on track!

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Politics: The George Costanza Principle, Men Who Can't Manage Their Testosterone (With A Side Of History), A Favorite Quote, And My Two Favorite Dems

What a very long time it has been since I waxed political! One caveat before you peruse this post: it has also been a very long time since I had a decent session in the ol' rack monster. I'm a wee bit cranky, but you know what they say about politics and bedfellows anyway.

Oh, and by "session," I just mean "sleep." Sigh. What were you thinking!?

(=) Here's the thing about The Surge, The Petraeus Report, The Iraq Study Group, The War In General (No Pun Intended). Basically, we keep doing stuff that The Angel of Death wants to do and it has been sucking. I say we apply the George Costanza Principle as it happened in Seinfeld show #86, season 5 (1992-1993). In this episode, George realizes that in his whole life, nothing he has ever done has ever worked out for him. So, in a stunning display of daring and boldness, he decides to do the opposite of everything his instincts tell him to do. And an incredible series of successes follows: he meets a beautiful woman, he lands a job with the Yankees, and he gets a great apartment. So, here's the new Iraq Strategy: whatever W says to do, the commanders on the ground, the State Department, hell--everyone--should do the opposite. That should get this thing wrapped up by Christmas. Of this year.

(=) Next. I keep meeting up with men who want to talk politics with me and they invariably bring up The Hillary Issue. Nine times out of ten, they say, "Well, I just don't think that she can be/make a good president." Yet, when I press them for concrete reasons, they can't really offer anything other than this: "Well, she's so polarizing." Or, "Well, she can't win." Or, "I just don't like her." Which all boil down to this: "I can't set aside my testosterone and vote for a woman because, well...I just can't." Sigh. (Sometimes, I get really, really nasty and go in for the kill with Caucasian guys and ask them about Barack Obama to see if they will find a way to pillow the race issue. But not always because they can futz around about "experience.") Anyway, back to this one oldtimer I'm thinking of regarding Hillary. The real clincher was this: he says to me, "Ideally, I'd love to see this country really get back on track and get a really good stand-up CHRISTIAN in the White House!" Holy Crap. I said, "That's the kind of bullshit that got us into this mess in the first place." He said, "No a real one this time." Oh. My.
In the final analysis, I just keep telling everyone that it's way too early. Way. Too. Early. But for anyone who is intelligent, and anyone who doesn't mind reading something wonderful and historic and very short germane to the subject of a woman in the White House, you might really enjoy this. It's incredible how history continues to instruct those of us who are thoughtful enough to listen.

(=) This has to be one of my favorite quotes recently regarding The Angel of Death. Everyone knows that average Americans' attention spans are pathetic anyway; our interest in his war is even more limited since we know that we can't have any impact on it one way or another:
"You have an unpopular President going onto prime time television, interrupting Americans' TV programs, to remind them of why they don't like him."-- A "frustrated Capitol Hill Republican strategist with ties to the G.O.P. leadership," quoted by Time magazine, on President Bush's recent address on Iraq.

(=) Finally, I just have to say that two of my favorite Democrats are doing nicely. Al Gore, fresh from his Oscar win, just picked up an Emmy! And my heart of hearts, Bill Clinton, looks very fit and well and is now on a combination book tour/campaign trail. You know how I worry. Sigh. Those were the days, weren't they? Bill...and Al.... Time to check my "Days Left In Office Countdown" again. Because it WILL END.

IT WILL BE OVER.