Tin foil hat time

This has been another week devoted to the health care debate.  It was all over the news channels, both before and after Thursday's political theater. And it is, of course, the first topic up on C-SPAN this morning.

Well, technically they're talking about bipartisanship, but it's all revolving around the health care as an issue and whether or not the Democrats should forge ahead on their own or continue to try to work with the Republicans.

The thing that continues to floor me are the numbers of theoretically ordinary people, folks claiming to be just your average American, who call in to C-SPAN to insist either that our current system is just fine or that we should just let the private sector work it all out, because government is sure to screw things up.  Well, our current system is, for most of us, a totally private system -- and it's not working particularly well.  The private sector has had quite a few decades to get thing right, and failed abysmally.  Premiums keep climbing, what policies actually cover keeps shrinking, people are paying more and getting less. . . so why would anyone with more than two brain cells to rub together think that the government could possibly do worse?  

The groundhog choir

I was happily absorbed in a piece of escapist fiction, Sharon McCrumb's MacPherson's Lament, last night when a frisson of delight swept over me.  McCrumb was describing a local curiousity I knew well.  Her protagonist, fledging attorney Bill MacPherson, was unwrapping his flea market find, an object he had decided was the perfect item to decorate his new law offices, something he said was absolutely unique.  As the object emerges from the plastic bag, his partner stares at it in disbelief. 

"The taxidermist says that he's an authentic Virginia groundhog.  And he wasn't killed for display.  He's a road kill," Bill said happily. "And his little black robe is handmade by the taxidermist's wife. Isn't he marvelous?"

A. P. Hill frowned into the leering face of a large marmot, who was stuffed and mounted in a standing position. Moreover, it was dressed in a black satin gown that might have been judge's robes or graduation attire. 

I know that groundhog.  The fictional Bill MacPherson may have been fallen for the line that it was a one of a kind rodent, a unique piece of the taxidermist's art, but I know better.  I have seen his kinfolk, the groundhog choir, lined up neatly in their choir robes with their miniature hymnals in their paws.  And so, obviously, has the author, Sharon McCrumb.  I can only conclude we've been to the same antiques mall near Fort Chiswell in southwest Virginia.  

It is, after all, a part of the country McCrumb knows well, and is where most (or at least all the ones I've read) of her books are set.  Bimbos of the Death Star, for example, was a spot-on (and hilarious) description of Technicon, the sci-fi convention held annually on the Virginia Tech campus in Blacksburg. When one of her characters in another book ends up going for a "rest" at a local psychiatric facility, it's immediately recognizable to anyone who's spent any time in that part of the world as St. Albans in Christiansburg, the psych ward where VaTech faculty send their kids to deal with their adolescent adjustment syndrome.  As a Hokie myself, one of the pleasures of McCrumb's books is the familiarity of the setting.  The biggest problem she seems to have is being forced to tone the local weirdness down to make it believable--as is so often true, life in the Blue Ridge hills of Virginia can be too strange for fiction.

Which, no doubt, is one reason for one lonely groundhog in a judge's robe instead of a whole herd of them  looking like they're about to burst into a chorus of "Nearer My God to Thee."     

It's that time of year again

Good news?

MSN had a headline this morning announcing "America's 10 Most Miserable Cities."  I linked to the slide show.  Atlanta didn't make the list.  I'm not sure what the criteria were, but Cleveland's number one.  I've been to Cleveland a couple times -- I didn't think it was that bad. 

If I were to think about U.S. cities in terms of the impressions they made on me the first time I saw them and do a list of "places I hope I never see again," it would include, in no particular ranking and with a lot of variation in size, New Orleans (seen long before Katrina hit); Norfolk, Virginia; Port Arthur, Texas; Kenosha, Wisconsin; Houston, Texas; Marshall, Minnesota; Las Vegas, Nevada; Tacoma, Washington; Gary, Indiana; and Phoenix, Arizona.  New Orleans was just seedy and sad, Norfolk is a congested mess, Port Arthur looks like the setting for Dawn of the Dead, the last time I saw Kenosha it also qualified as seedy and sad, Houston is ugly, Marshall . . . well, it's hard to explain the antipathy I felt for Marshall, but having spent a couple days there, I don't want to go back.  Las Vegas shouldn't exist for multiple reasons (the way it wastes water being one of them), Tacoma's depressing, Gary is worse, and Phoenix is too many people in a place where they shouldn't be.       

Two in a row on The Stupid, It Burns

A few months ago a Facebook friend persuaded me to sign up for something called Circle of Moms, despite the fact my kids are (thank Maude) adults now and I really don't get too excited about discussions about arranging playdates or coping with housebreaking toilet training.  Long story short:  once a week I get an e-mail reminding me there are discussions going on in that particular forum.  Generally I just hit the delete key.

The latest one, though, made me do a double take.  What was the topic?  "My son sees spirits in his bedroom."  Holy crap.  Could not resist linking to that one.

Turns out the writer is a young mom trying to figure out how to deal with the fact that her 3-year-old says he sees a person in his bedroom when he's trying to go to sleep (or has been told to go to sleep).  He's afraid to be in the room alone.  My reaction?  First, seeing a person is nothing compared to the floor snakes I told my kids about in an attempt to keep them trapped in their bunks from dusk to dawn (idea stolen from Bill Cosby, of course).  Second, the kid's a typical 3-year-old, has an imagination and is starting to use it.  Just follow all the usual time-tested tips (e.g., engage in mellowing out exercises right before bedtime, like reading a favorite story, stick to a routine, and stop letting the kid watch "Ghost Whisperer") and don't stress about it.

So what does Circle of Moms provide in the way of advice?  Lots of OMG, we used to live in a haunted house, too.  Spirits are real, spirits are evil, quick, call an exorcist. 

Jesus wept.

Jobs Americans won't do?

There was a lot of bloviating over the weekend on various news programs about jobs creation and the economy.  The levels of stupid being displayed by the assorted talking heads ran astoundingly deep.  The tinfoil hat types calling in to C-SPAN weren't any better, of course.

Once again I got treated to such nonsensical gems as "there are some jobs Americans just won't do" as an explanation of why there are illegal immigrants washing dishes in restaurants, working in meatpacking plants, and hanging drywall.  What never gets mentioned is why Americans won't do those jobs, which is that most Americans (even the tinfoil hat types) aren't willing to work for less than a legal minimum wage, tolerate unpaid overtime, or take a chance on doing a dangerous job without the assurance that if the worst happens, at least there's worker's compensation insurance as a safety net. 

The truth is that there have always been people quite willing to do the work that gets described as being so beyond the pale for the average American.  Someone with a comfortably white collar middle to upper middle class background might not be able to imagine anyone who's a native English speaker being willing to get his or her hands dirty in exchange for a paycheck, but people do it all the time.  This country is full of people who work as mechanics, waitresses, carpenters, truck drivers, . . . you name it.  Still, there was some ass on C-SPAN, someone who was ostensibly on the liberal side of the political spectrum, who went on at great length about jobs like hotel maid and waitress and bus driver all needing to be done, but Americans being unwilling to do them.  What he actually meant, of course, that he personally would never consider taking a job that required him to actually sweat, so why would anyone else?  His idea, based on his tacit assumption that every other US citizen is exactly like him in wants, desires, and opportunities, was to liberalize immigration policy to ensure a steady supply of dishwashers. 

I've got a better idea.  How about cracking down on the employers who hire undocumented workers, violate labor law by paying subminimum wages, and commit tax fraud when they pay cash under the table instead of actual wages?  We've got some pretty high unemployment rates in this country -- if people are willing to humiliate themselves by donning blue vests and welcoming customers to Walmart, they're also more than willing to clean hotel rooms, empty trash, wash dishes, or hang dry wall if they are paid a legal wage.

Happy birthday, Val

My youngest sister, Valerie Jean, age 6.  I'll be nice and not mention just what year that was.