Happy 4th!

At the risk of sounding like a total party-pooper, I’m just going to throw it out there that three things freak the hell out of me: crowds, drunks and explosives. Our Independence Day celebration, as it has evolved (at least where I live) now encompasses all three.

Crowds – In my town, we have something awful called Red, White and Boom. In theory, it is a fireworks celebration among the beautiful downtown skyline, the Olentangy River providing a reflective backdrop for the scene. It’s set to music, jaunty Sousa stuff and pseudo patriotic pop music like the Cyrus classic Party in the USA. It’s a place to bring the whole family. Sounds pretty good so far, huh? In reality, it is a white trash bonanza, where clueless parents force their exhausted two year-olds to SAVE THEIR SPOT from 10 in the morning until the show starts around 10 pm. The parents bring neither sunscreen nor water for their rapidly wilting children, but manage to bring the cooler full of soda and secret beer for themselves. (They force their four year old to pull the cooler the entire half mile trek from their car to the spot on the riverfront.) They have made no provisions for rain, boredom, excessive sun or heat, hunger or mosquitoes. Multiply this family by 100,000. That is the clusterfuck that is Red, White and Boom. Now, in addition to the people, there is also a small matter of a downtown that no one normally ever visits, therefore, they have no clue how to navigate. As a result, ingress or egress from up to a mile away from downtown is a nightmare. And that is a total problem because I live less than a mile from downtown, and these stupid Red White and Boom freakshows are IN MY WAY. Columbus, Ohio is almost magical in its number of really obese people, and this event is second only to the wondrous Ohio State Fair in terms of body mass per square foot (but I love the fair. I totally, totally love the fair). After the fireworks have ended, the hoards and masses blink and stare, drunk and crabby, and start fights on the way back to their automobiles, screaming at their poor children who are so hungry at this point, they have eaten their American flags.

Drunks – No matter whether you celebrate our nation’s independence at a flashy fireworks show or a family gathering, one of the requirements to properly acknowledging our freedom seems to be the consumption of staggering amounts of alcohol. This, combined with a day generally spent out in the sun without enough water, leads to gross consequences, including very bossy sounding choruses of, “USA! USA! USA! USA!” and people setting of firecrackers in the middle of the street at midnight, which is SERIOUSLY ANNOYING, GUYS! I feel kind of sad when I think of the patriots who laid down their lives for our freedom – that we pay for the blood that they spilled for us by sucking down Sam Adams like it was the eve of prohibition and then getting in our cars and driving all crazy all over the freeway.

Explosives – If there is one thing that you learn in law school, (I’m totally serious about this), it’s that fireworks are super dangerous. They are up there with, like, swimming pools made out of razor blades and keeping honey badgers as pets. There are laws that use fireworks as their gold standard of things that EVERYONE knows are UNSAFE, because their FUNCTION is to EXPLODE. A quick trip to Google just told me that, in 2010, there were 8600 people treated by emergency rooms for fireworks injuries. 8600 people who said, “What could be the harm in lighting this explosive device on fire? After all, I have absolutely NO TRAINING in how to safely operate this thing, what could be the harm?” I think that fireworks are beautiful. I really do. But I don’t want to be anywhere near them, and I feel really sorry for all my little dog friends who are seriously traumatized by this stuff.

You will note that I haven’t mentioned parades. I actually am okay with parades, but don’t quite understand this recent trend of throwing water at people or hurling candy at them like you are Nolan Ryan and they are…uh…some poor person who is sitting on a curb without a catchers mitt. Also: what the hell ever happened to actual floats? You people on a flatbed with a posterboard are NOT CUTTING THE MUSTARD. At the end of the day, I guess this is the bottom line: I think there are better ways we can show our love of country than yelling at our hungry kids, drinking ourselves silly, and blowing our thumbs off. God bless America.

Can I Get an Amen?

When I was seventeen, I was living in Sweden, and despite the fact that the year was 1989, Sweden, for some reason, only had the finest American television from 1982. Falcon Crest, Dallas, Hill Street Blues…all of the greats. And I, being even more of a television junkie then than now (especially because there were no commercials on Swedish TV – yay socialism!), watched it all.

I was watching an episode of Hill Street Blues when my entire world changed. In it, a man was condemned to death for murder, and the show followed his last few days and hours, until he was strapped into an electric chair, and he was executed. I had never really thought one way or another about the death penalty up to that point, but for some reason, that moment of television when I was seventeen solidified the fact that, killer or not, deserving or not, just or not, the death penalty is cold-blooded killing.

If you haven’t had, at this point in your life, the opportunity to read all of the studies that show that the death penalty is doled out in a haphazard and racially disproportionate way, a quick trip to Google will give you the information you need. If you haven’t heard that the United States is the only civilized country that executes its citizens, Google will help you there, too. I’m not interested in having that debate. I’m also not interested in explaining to you why it is far more expensive to execute a citizen than to commit him to prison for life, nor will I argue with you about how the death penalty is not an effective deterrent to murder. I am not going to sit here and cite the hundreds of cases in which a person who was sentenced to death was fully exonerated through the use of DNA testing. Seriously, just Google it.

But this is what I will tell you: I am a Christian, and I don’t understand how any Christian can support the death penalty. Take away your bible verses, because you know as well as I do that the Bible says things that are pro-death penalty and anti-death penalty. And you can translate that “eye for an eye” thing in a multitude of different ways, so don’t throw snippets of bible at me out of context as justification. God hates it when you do that.

I just want you to think about religion and Christianity at its deepest form. What is it about? It’s about love. Loving your neighbors. Forgiveness and forgiving others their sin. Living in the footsteps of Jesus Christ, which means showing kindness and mercy. Even when it’s hard. Even when we want to be selfish and spiteful and we thirst for retribution. Even when our hearts cry because an innocent person has died at the hands of someone evil and hateful. It means having the trust in God’s wisdom to decide who lives and who dies, not ours.

You know that I read comments on USAToday.com like crazy, and I am perpetually amazed that, when there are articles about murders, so many of the comments, before the suspect has been tried or even found guilty, emphatically state, “Bring back the firing squad,” or “Put a needle in his arm!” I don’t understand how you can lust for the death of others, and still say that you love God. I don’t understand what it is about killing someone that makes you feel satisfied. Makes you feel like somehow the world has been restored. I don’t understand how you can say that, and sit your ass in church on Sunday, singing along to the words, “Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers, that you do unto me,” and then run out, seven minutes after church, screaming for the least of your brothers to fry.

I simply don’t think that God would be upset if we allowed those who have sinned to reflect and atone here on earth. I think that God would still be fully capable of making a decision at the gates of St. Peter when the time comes. I think that if we were a society that showed mercy, we might foster mercy in others. I think that bloodlust is a sin against God, and we should work harder on that one. I think it dishonors the victims, by closing the chapter of their murder with a murder of our own. I just don’t think it is what Jesus would do.

If we are really going to try to be Christian – to live in the image of Christ – then we can’t just say we value life when it comes to unborn children. We have to value the life that is here on earth, even when those who stand before us, accused and convicted, do not. If we believe that God judges others, then we must recognize that God judges us as well, and that refusing to show mercy for others, simply because they did not show mercy for their victims, is not going to score us a lot of points with the big guy. If we are Christian, we will not kill.

All I Want

All I want is a working fireplace.

That has been my recurrent refrain for the past twenty-two years. I’ve always lived in places with fireplaces, but they have always been “decorative,” which is French for “giving you one less place where you can put your couch.” But I have always held to my belief that a mere working fireplace would throw me into a world where utter contentment and peace, at last, was mine. Until my friend Angela said to me, “All I want is an automatic garage door opener.” Angela has a working fireplace, which she and her family frequently use – a source of great envy from me. But, if Angela, who has a working fireplace, only wants an automatic garage door opener (which I have, and she clearly covets with the white hot covetousness of an old testament Bible villain,) then I have to be honest: I probably wouldn’t be happy with just the fireplace.

So, to that end, I have decided to make very clear all of the things that I want. I think you’ll find my needs simple, modest, and not at all out of line.

All I want is (obviously) a working fireplace
And a new couch that doesn’t make me sink three feet every time I sit on it
And a maid
And a cook, but the cook wouldn’t have to work that hard
And more damn closet space
And someone to empirically prove that people who rail mightily against homosexuals are unequivocally gay
I also want a boyfriend who looks exactly like Goran Visnjic
Or Clint Dempsey
Or, obviously, Denzel
But all I really want is for people who are pro death-penalty to say, “Ooops, I was wrong about that.”
But I want people to stop murdering each other, too
But I might be willing to trade all of those things in for two solid weeks of clothes from Ann Taylor.
Including shoes
And now that I think about it, all I really want is a delicious and cheap sushi place right next door
And for Stanley Steamer to come over and clean my carpets and couch cushions
But now I’m starting to feel guilty, so I guess I should say that I want world peace
And food for hungry people
And loving parents for children
And comfort for those who suffer
But I would settle for a summer cottage in Martha’s Vineyard and a really good moisturizer
And 10,000 cash. You don’t need to know what I want that for.
Lately, I’ve been thinking that all I really want is to be besties with Cat Deeley
And flattering tank tops in every color
Oh crap, I just realized that I haven’t mentioned my only child, and how all I really want or care about is his health and safety! I am such a bad mom!
But since I’m a bad mom, I’ll just say that all I really want is for those birds who sit outside my bedroom window and have a party at 4 am every morning to shut the hell up
And a dishwasher and new dryer with steam feature
And for people to stop saying, “I am blessed,” because that’s awfully presumptuous
So now I guess is where I should be wrapping this up by saying something that shows that I’m secretly grateful for everything I have, and that I would live in a shack with a pool of murky water in exchange for the love of my family and friends, my belief in mankind, and the opportunity to do good for others.
But screw that. All I really want is a tiny giraffe.

Leash

Those who know me are more than a little aware that I recently became the owner of an adorable 3-year-old Shiba Inu named Skye. It is a fact that Shibas are among the most adorable of all dogs. If you don’t believe me, click here. Do it, then come back to this blog. I’ll wait.

Okay, so now that you’ve seen it for yourself, you can see why I immediately fell in love with Skye. And as a good owner, I do what I can to treat my dog well, including taking her on two or three walks daily. It is probably no surprise to you that I run dog walks with the ruthless efficiency of a German prison guard (that’s my polite way of saying Nazi.) We have our target pace, we have a job to do, and we get it done. There is no acting out. No leaving poop on the sidewalk. No indiscriminate barking at housecats. And there is always a leash.

I am not opposed to unleashed dogs. I think they are perfectly reasonable within the confines of a home or an enclosed yard. But they are never okay on a walk on public streets. First of all, there are laws against that. Here’s the law from my community: “No person, being the owner, or having charge of any dog, cat or other domestic animal shall permit it to run at large upon any public property, including sidewalks, rights of way and streets, or upon the premises of another. ‘At large’ means not under the control by leash, cord, chain, tether or other physical control device.” That is the law. It’s not a suggestion, it’s not something to do if you feel like it, it’s the law.

Now here’s what I bet some of you are thinking: “Sure, that law makes sense, but not for my dog. My dog is good.” Here is a fact: your dog may be good, but when your dog is unleashed, he is a complete asshole. Your dog is exactly the kind of dog who runs down the sidewalk like a stupid jerk, not answering to your calls because you are too lazy to train it, and who runs up to my dog, who is appropriately leashed and under control, and tries to eat her. And I resent other dogs trying to eat my dog. Your unleashed dog then forces me to yell, “Come get your dog right now!” even though that should have been your obvious response when your dog took off, instead of what you did do: continued talking on your cell phone in your ugly sweatpants and moccasins. And yelling, “No, she’s all right,” is not an appropriate response. Of course your dog is all right. You let her terrorize other people for fun – she’s great! But then you force me to yell back, “My dog is not all right!” And all of a sudden, I am that lady on the street. The crazy bitchy dog lady.

I am tired of having to put my body between my dog (appropriately leashed) and your dog (not leashed, not trained, and very very bad.) I have owned Skye for about 6 months, and I’ve had to put my body between her and another dog five times. Not because the dog accidentally escaped from a home or a yard, but because the dog’s stupid owners could not bother to put the dog on a leash. One owner, after his dog harassed Skye for a good five minutes, succeeded in calling his dog away – just in time for the poor dog to run out into the street into oncoming traffic. Thankfully the car was able to stop, but Skye and I are still traumatized (she is in therapy!) I had to punch one dog, some kind of pitbull mix, who was running the streets a full half block from his master, right in the face. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t know what else to do.

Ultimately, leashing your dog is a community issue. Just as you expect me to keep my teenage son from driving his car willy-nilly through your front yard while your children play there, I expect you to keep your dog from recklessly running amok while my dog is trying to enjoy the sights and smells of the neighborhood. So just leash your dog.

Congraduation!

Dear Beloved Son,

Now that you have graduated from high school, and are about to go away to college, I just wanted to provide you with a few tips and hints, gained through my years of life experience. You can take them or leave them, but I guarantee you, if you don’t listen to me, one day, you will find yourself uttering these words: “Oh yes, my mother did mention that would happen.” Don’t say I never told you so.

Tip #1: When you go to college, assume every girl you have sex with has 17 different kinds of STDs and an uncontrollable wish to get pregnant with your baby. Seriously, I don’t care what she says. She has diseases, and she wants to give them to YOU so that you can compare herpes sores or whatever. When a girl says, “It’s taken care of,” in the birth control department, she really means, “I am ovulating right now.” So, if you’re wise, you will use a condom every time you have sex. But don’t have sex.

Tip #2: If you are participating in underage drinking at a party, you will be the one who’s caught. You are taller than everyone else, you stand out in a crowd, and the police have a little rule: if there’s a room full of white kids, arrest the blackest one possible. And that is you, my son. So be smart and don’t bother drinking until you’re 21.

Tip #3: Your friends who tell you how they can skip class and still get all A’s? They are not you. Just go to class.

Tip #4: Remember how you did sports all year round in high school? Keep doing that. There is no need to quit exercising just because you are not doing it in an organized sport. Exercise is good for the soul, and good for the spirit, and it can be a great big benefit to you in college, so keep it up. Also: if you get fat, I will love you less.

Tip #5: When you go away to college and start living on your own and thinking for yourself and whatnot, you may be tempted to think that you are now the smartest person in the world. That is actually not correct. So when you want to tell everyone back home what’s what with migrant workers and the plight of women in the Sudan and organic beet farming, because that’s what you’re learning about at school…..don’t. We all went to college too.

Tip #6: You will be tempted to get a tattoo/pierce your septum/shave your head and have the other half in dreadlocks. Do not give in to that temptation. If you want to show everyone how cool and awesome and radical and alternative you are, do something radical and alternative, like helping the poor. Nobody goes crazy with respect for a pampered kid from the suburbs with a mohawk.

Tip #7: Your friends will say stuff to you like, “Hey, let’s go run naked across campus and jump in the lake!” And you will think that’s a good idea at the time. Okay, fine. But don’t be the guy who gets caught. And see #2 above, about how you will be the guy who gets caught.

Tip #8: Maybe this isn’t as much of a tip as a threat. One day in your first semester, you will meet some 28 year old waitress with a barbed wire tattoo and a navel ring. Her name will be something like Ambre or Misty or Destiny. You will love her and want to marry her. Do not. Destiny is bad news, son. She is always bad news. And you will meet many girls like Destiny in your life. See #1 above re: the diseases that are festering in Destiny as we speak, and see #5 re: how you may not be as smart as you think. I do not want grandchildren who look like they would be at home in a documentary about children of the Ozarks.

Tip #9: If the local news or ESPN come to your school, do not show what a fine, fine education you are getting by ripping off your shirt and standing in front of them making devil’s horns and yelling, “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” Do something smart, like quadratic equations.

Tip #10: At the end of the day, I’d much rather you complete your college education with a degree in disco dancing than choose a path that you think is a good strategic move and then drop out because it’s killing your soul. Study what you want in college, and everything else will work out. Unless you want to be a doctor. In that case, you should probably study biology. Or chemistry.

Love,
Mom