Byron Edgington's Blog, page 16
November 29, 2012
On the occasion of my sister's wedding
Sister:
I was so happy for you two, and glad to be able to attend your wedding. Just the look on both your faces told me, and everyone present, that you two had indeed found something very special, and that you cherish what you have. What I came away with from the ceremony was joy for you, and a feeling that what I’d just witnessed was in fact the way two people should be together, the way M and as far as I know my siblings and their respective spouses are.
I have to tell you also that I had a profound sense of sadness leaving the proceedings that day, a sense that something about it was not quite right, not how such ceremonies are supposed to be. It was a sense that even though your wedding brought much happiness to you two, as it should, included in it was a message of exclusion. You likely know where this is going, but please hear me out. The ceremony I witnessed was the public act of two people making their vows to protect and care for each other, to be faithful, to think only of each other and by their commitment and fidelity to enhance the institution of civil marriage. So why sadness?
I don’t have to tell you my feelings for the current situation that exists— in Ohio and several other states— that prohibits our LGBT friends and neighbors from partaking in the ceremony you recently enjoyed. Imagine for a moment if you can meeting your spouse, falling in love, having the exultant feelings of joy and gratitude that love brings, only to be told by society that it’s against the law for you to marry. Imagine the hurt you’d feel to be told by our laws, and by people with no investment whatsoever in your life, people you’ll never even meet, that to stand in front of friends and family and have your marriage affirmed is illegal. Imagine having to live with your partner in a state of limbo, a shadow life without benefit of legal, or social or cultural recognition, to be told that the love you have together is less important, less meaningful than others’, to even be told that your ‘lifestyle’ is wrong, and harmful to society. The same society that claims to hold committed relationships in esteem.
Sister, you know I feel very strongly about this. There are many reasons I feel this way, and here is one of them. My wife and I have a marriage that is so deeply gratifying, so wonderful, so fulfilling that we want the same for everyone. As I said, I trust that you and your new husband, and the rest of my siblings as well, have this kind of relationship, this kind of love and commitment to each other. As far as I can see all of my siblings have what she and I enjoy, a real marriage, a trust and bonding with each other that is unshakeable. This kind of relationship is more than half of life. It is almost like breathing, a part of us that we cherish, without which our lives would be diminished. The very thought of denying this kind of relationship and its joy and affirmation to another human being is abhorrent to me. To me the act of denying this joy and fulfillment to another is almost inhumane. I no longer believe in the dubious concept of sin, but if there were such a thing in the world, denying joy and happiness to another is indeed a sin. That’s one reason I work so hard for marriage equality for everyone, regardless of who they are or how they love. After I’m gone I want people to say I was a man who furthered the cause of love and joy in the world, not someone who helped deny that joy to others and diminished their lives.
I’ll share a story with you. We know two men, R and J. They’re two strong, smart, engaging and loving men. They’ve been together as a couple for twenty-seven years. Twenty-seven years! They love each other deeply, care for each other, are committed (obviously) to each other. They have high-paying jobs, work hard every day, pay a lot in taxes, have a wonderful home, and contribute in many ways to society. They’ve been through every triumph and tragedy life has to offer, and it’s only made them stronger as a couple. Yet if R and J were to go to the courthouse and ask for a civil marriage license they’d be told they can’t have one, that for them to marry in Ohio is illegal.
Here’s the contrast, and to me it is senseless. Any young man and woman in this state can meet on-line, date for three weeks, go to the same courthouse and be given a civil marriage license. They can go to a judge and be married that day. Why the difference? Because couple number 2 happened to born heterosexual. That is all.
This issue has nothing to do with biblical proscriptions. Nothing. We’re talking about Civil Marriage, not religious marriage. There’s a reason we don’t take a bible to the courthouse to get a driver’s permit, a building permit, to register to vote or run for office. There are countries where religious documents are required for civil functions, Iran, Saudia Arabia, Yemen come to mind. Our sacred documents are the U.S. Constitution and its amendments, and they must come first, or we are no longer the United States of America. This does not discriminate against religious groups; it is, once again, a civil matter. If a priest or minister claims that marriage equality will force them to marry people they wish not to marry they are simply lying to you. I pull no punches here. If your minister tells you he’ll be forced to marry gays in your church he is lying to you. Period. Churches have always had discretion on who they marry or don’t, and they always will. One other thing. Since this is a civil matter, I make you a promise. If any representative of the state tries to enter your church, demands a certain sermon or forces any state-sponsored activity inside your church I’ll be standing shoulder to shoulder with you in the church door to keep them out. This is a civil matter, not a religious one. If it were religious, why are atheists allowed to marry? If it’s about procreation, why were our father and step-mom allowed to marry at their advanced age? People who wish not to have children marry all the time. If it were, as homophobic people say, about sin and questionable behavior as an obstacle to marriage who among us would be able to marry? No one.
One other thing. Since you and the rest of my family profess Christianity, why are you not promoting civil marriage equality yourself? If your faith brings you comfort and certainty with its foundation of love and forgiveness, its admonition against judgment of our fellow man and woman, why are your churches so ardently opposed to people who want to marry because they love each other? This makes no sense. It isn’t important who we love; it’s important that we love.
Further, if you claim to promote ‘family values’ and the benefit those values confer on society, why do you oppose those LGBT people who work so hard against societies dismissal to preserve and defend their families? Here we have a group of people who are desperate to partake of societies fundamental institution, civil marriage, and we’re turning them away? Why? We shouldn’t be prohibiting this; we should be celebrating it. You say so called same-sex marriage is a threat to traditional marriage? The threat to traditional marriage comes from the serial divorces of straight people. As I think about my own family, I see a history of broken marriages. Of the nine of us who’ve married, there have been eight divorces. Not an enviable record. What are we afraid of, that LGBT people marrying will make us straights look bad?
An equally important reason I work so hard for this issue is all the years I spent wearing a uniform in defense of the idea of this country. I say the idea of it because in America we’re a work in progress. America was founded on the idea that all are created equal, that we’re all entitled to ‘life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.’ At the end of our pledge of allegiance we say “...with liberty and justice for all.” Notice how many times the word all appears in those pronouncements. When we say ALL there’s no wiggle room, no exceptions. We don’t say “...with liberty and justice for all white, heterosexual, Christian males who own a boat.” We say ALL. Period. No exceptions. I didn’t wear a uniform for thirty years defending a country that makes exceptions.
Those who single out groups of people, gays and lesbians, Jews, Muslims, women, anyone, and marginalizes them for whatever reason cause me to put that uniform back on and take a stand. We’re either a nation that makes no exceptions, or we need to change the documents that created this country. We can’t try to do both, that makes us hypocrites.
It hasn’t been too long ago that our own family was subject to ‘exceptions’ and discrimination. Two generations ago, if you walked down the street of any American city you’d see signs in shop windows that said simply NINA. It stood for No Irish Need Apply. If you needed work, and that business was hiring, your Irish heritage was enough to turn you away. Imagine applying for a job and being told, “I’m sorry, you can’t work here, you’re Irish.” We Irish were the Niggers, the Kikes, the Wetbacks, the Homos back then. We Irish were ridiculed, harassed, beaten and killed, just because of who we were. Two generations ago. That’s not very long. Sister, in 1967 you were six years old. That recently, in sixteen states in America, it was against the law for a black person to marry a white. It was illegal. Now such a law would be considered ludicrous. Different, you say? Why? Discrimination is discrimination, period.
Now it’s our gay and lesbian friends who are told, every day, in all kinds of settings, that they’re less than equal, less than full citizens. It matters not that they work hard, pay taxes, obey the law, contribute to society in every way, go to churches, and yes, fall in love just as we do. None of that matters; they’re left outside looking in, denied the fundamental benefits and protections that every American is entitled to. They’re told they aren’t good enough, simply because they happened to be born gay. This is wrong. It must change.
Why not civil unions you say? Let me ask you: would you accept a civil union? I wouldn’t. Besides, since the hateful legislation in 2004 establishing discrimination in the Ohio constitution, marriage is only between ‘one man and one woman.’ The so called Great State of Ohio now has the distinction of a Constitution that discriminates against some of her own citizens. That same legislation prohibits civil unions as well. What are we telling our LGBT brothers and sisters? We’re saying you’re less than equal, go away. Here’s another story. Two more friends, R and T, have been a couple for seventeen years. They have two beautiful daughters they adopted. Rick and Tom flew to South Africa to get married last year. South Africa is ahead of Ohio in terms of civil rights. Doesn’t that make you proud? It shames me.
Why don’t gays and lesbians hire an attorney and petition for the benefits available through marriage? Here’s something most people don’t realize. This is no small matter; civil marriage confers many more protections, benefits and rights that you’d think. There’s an actual number attached to it, a list compiled by the U.S. Congress. That young straight couple who’ve known each other for three weeks and then married? As soon as they said “I do,” they were granted 1,138 separate benefits, rights and legal protections, just by obtaining a civil marriage. R and J together 27 years are prevented from enjoying those 1,138 rights,benefits and protections. This is discrimination pure and simple. It must end. The gay agenda? Nonsense. LGBT people want only one thing; they want—and deserve—what we take for granted every day. That is all.
We have a chance today to change this, to make it better for all Americans. This issue is not going away. As I write this, eight states and the District of Colombia allow LGBT people the rights and benefits of civil marriage. Hopefully in my lifetime it will be the law of the land, and R and J can join in a ceremony like you enjoyed on your wedding day, a civil marriage rite. It’s coming, and it’s time. History and demographics are on the side of fairness and equality when it comes to marriage equality. We can all join in this undertaking and support marriage equality for all, or we can stand on the sidelines and watch it happen. But it is coming. Ask your kids.
Marriage is not a heterosexual privilege; marriage is a human right. The supreme court of these United States has deemed it a human right to marry the person you love. I look forward to a lot of marriage ceremonies, for both my straight and my gay friends. Marriage is such a joyous thing, so filled with the potential to bring happiness and affirmation to so many people it is simply wrong to deny it to someone.
I wish you and your new husband all the happiness and joy in the world. I mean what I say about marriage and its power to change lives, to stabilize society and to make us all better people. It’s time to remove the exclusionary aspect of it and allow everyone to partake. Everyone. I’d suggest that you make an effort to understand that other people, though you may not agree with their choice of mates, other people deserve the same joy and fulfillment you had the day you said “I do” and felt the affirmation of those around you. It felt good, didn’t it? So why deny that warm, wonderful feeling to anyone? It’s time we allowed everyone access to the joys and protections of civil marriage. Everyone.
I was so happy for you two, and glad to be able to attend your wedding. Just the look on both your faces told me, and everyone present, that you two had indeed found something very special, and that you cherish what you have. What I came away with from the ceremony was joy for you, and a feeling that what I’d just witnessed was in fact the way two people should be together, the way M and as far as I know my siblings and their respective spouses are.
I have to tell you also that I had a profound sense of sadness leaving the proceedings that day, a sense that something about it was not quite right, not how such ceremonies are supposed to be. It was a sense that even though your wedding brought much happiness to you two, as it should, included in it was a message of exclusion. You likely know where this is going, but please hear me out. The ceremony I witnessed was the public act of two people making their vows to protect and care for each other, to be faithful, to think only of each other and by their commitment and fidelity to enhance the institution of civil marriage. So why sadness?
I don’t have to tell you my feelings for the current situation that exists— in Ohio and several other states— that prohibits our LGBT friends and neighbors from partaking in the ceremony you recently enjoyed. Imagine for a moment if you can meeting your spouse, falling in love, having the exultant feelings of joy and gratitude that love brings, only to be told by society that it’s against the law for you to marry. Imagine the hurt you’d feel to be told by our laws, and by people with no investment whatsoever in your life, people you’ll never even meet, that to stand in front of friends and family and have your marriage affirmed is illegal. Imagine having to live with your partner in a state of limbo, a shadow life without benefit of legal, or social or cultural recognition, to be told that the love you have together is less important, less meaningful than others’, to even be told that your ‘lifestyle’ is wrong, and harmful to society. The same society that claims to hold committed relationships in esteem.
Sister, you know I feel very strongly about this. There are many reasons I feel this way, and here is one of them. My wife and I have a marriage that is so deeply gratifying, so wonderful, so fulfilling that we want the same for everyone. As I said, I trust that you and your new husband, and the rest of my siblings as well, have this kind of relationship, this kind of love and commitment to each other. As far as I can see all of my siblings have what she and I enjoy, a real marriage, a trust and bonding with each other that is unshakeable. This kind of relationship is more than half of life. It is almost like breathing, a part of us that we cherish, without which our lives would be diminished. The very thought of denying this kind of relationship and its joy and affirmation to another human being is abhorrent to me. To me the act of denying this joy and fulfillment to another is almost inhumane. I no longer believe in the dubious concept of sin, but if there were such a thing in the world, denying joy and happiness to another is indeed a sin. That’s one reason I work so hard for marriage equality for everyone, regardless of who they are or how they love. After I’m gone I want people to say I was a man who furthered the cause of love and joy in the world, not someone who helped deny that joy to others and diminished their lives.
I’ll share a story with you. We know two men, R and J. They’re two strong, smart, engaging and loving men. They’ve been together as a couple for twenty-seven years. Twenty-seven years! They love each other deeply, care for each other, are committed (obviously) to each other. They have high-paying jobs, work hard every day, pay a lot in taxes, have a wonderful home, and contribute in many ways to society. They’ve been through every triumph and tragedy life has to offer, and it’s only made them stronger as a couple. Yet if R and J were to go to the courthouse and ask for a civil marriage license they’d be told they can’t have one, that for them to marry in Ohio is illegal.
Here’s the contrast, and to me it is senseless. Any young man and woman in this state can meet on-line, date for three weeks, go to the same courthouse and be given a civil marriage license. They can go to a judge and be married that day. Why the difference? Because couple number 2 happened to born heterosexual. That is all.
This issue has nothing to do with biblical proscriptions. Nothing. We’re talking about Civil Marriage, not religious marriage. There’s a reason we don’t take a bible to the courthouse to get a driver’s permit, a building permit, to register to vote or run for office. There are countries where religious documents are required for civil functions, Iran, Saudia Arabia, Yemen come to mind. Our sacred documents are the U.S. Constitution and its amendments, and they must come first, or we are no longer the United States of America. This does not discriminate against religious groups; it is, once again, a civil matter. If a priest or minister claims that marriage equality will force them to marry people they wish not to marry they are simply lying to you. I pull no punches here. If your minister tells you he’ll be forced to marry gays in your church he is lying to you. Period. Churches have always had discretion on who they marry or don’t, and they always will. One other thing. Since this is a civil matter, I make you a promise. If any representative of the state tries to enter your church, demands a certain sermon or forces any state-sponsored activity inside your church I’ll be standing shoulder to shoulder with you in the church door to keep them out. This is a civil matter, not a religious one. If it were religious, why are atheists allowed to marry? If it’s about procreation, why were our father and step-mom allowed to marry at their advanced age? People who wish not to have children marry all the time. If it were, as homophobic people say, about sin and questionable behavior as an obstacle to marriage who among us would be able to marry? No one.
One other thing. Since you and the rest of my family profess Christianity, why are you not promoting civil marriage equality yourself? If your faith brings you comfort and certainty with its foundation of love and forgiveness, its admonition against judgment of our fellow man and woman, why are your churches so ardently opposed to people who want to marry because they love each other? This makes no sense. It isn’t important who we love; it’s important that we love.
Further, if you claim to promote ‘family values’ and the benefit those values confer on society, why do you oppose those LGBT people who work so hard against societies dismissal to preserve and defend their families? Here we have a group of people who are desperate to partake of societies fundamental institution, civil marriage, and we’re turning them away? Why? We shouldn’t be prohibiting this; we should be celebrating it. You say so called same-sex marriage is a threat to traditional marriage? The threat to traditional marriage comes from the serial divorces of straight people. As I think about my own family, I see a history of broken marriages. Of the nine of us who’ve married, there have been eight divorces. Not an enviable record. What are we afraid of, that LGBT people marrying will make us straights look bad?
An equally important reason I work so hard for this issue is all the years I spent wearing a uniform in defense of the idea of this country. I say the idea of it because in America we’re a work in progress. America was founded on the idea that all are created equal, that we’re all entitled to ‘life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.’ At the end of our pledge of allegiance we say “...with liberty and justice for all.” Notice how many times the word all appears in those pronouncements. When we say ALL there’s no wiggle room, no exceptions. We don’t say “...with liberty and justice for all white, heterosexual, Christian males who own a boat.” We say ALL. Period. No exceptions. I didn’t wear a uniform for thirty years defending a country that makes exceptions.
Those who single out groups of people, gays and lesbians, Jews, Muslims, women, anyone, and marginalizes them for whatever reason cause me to put that uniform back on and take a stand. We’re either a nation that makes no exceptions, or we need to change the documents that created this country. We can’t try to do both, that makes us hypocrites.
It hasn’t been too long ago that our own family was subject to ‘exceptions’ and discrimination. Two generations ago, if you walked down the street of any American city you’d see signs in shop windows that said simply NINA. It stood for No Irish Need Apply. If you needed work, and that business was hiring, your Irish heritage was enough to turn you away. Imagine applying for a job and being told, “I’m sorry, you can’t work here, you’re Irish.” We Irish were the Niggers, the Kikes, the Wetbacks, the Homos back then. We Irish were ridiculed, harassed, beaten and killed, just because of who we were. Two generations ago. That’s not very long. Sister, in 1967 you were six years old. That recently, in sixteen states in America, it was against the law for a black person to marry a white. It was illegal. Now such a law would be considered ludicrous. Different, you say? Why? Discrimination is discrimination, period.
Now it’s our gay and lesbian friends who are told, every day, in all kinds of settings, that they’re less than equal, less than full citizens. It matters not that they work hard, pay taxes, obey the law, contribute to society in every way, go to churches, and yes, fall in love just as we do. None of that matters; they’re left outside looking in, denied the fundamental benefits and protections that every American is entitled to. They’re told they aren’t good enough, simply because they happened to be born gay. This is wrong. It must change.
Why not civil unions you say? Let me ask you: would you accept a civil union? I wouldn’t. Besides, since the hateful legislation in 2004 establishing discrimination in the Ohio constitution, marriage is only between ‘one man and one woman.’ The so called Great State of Ohio now has the distinction of a Constitution that discriminates against some of her own citizens. That same legislation prohibits civil unions as well. What are we telling our LGBT brothers and sisters? We’re saying you’re less than equal, go away. Here’s another story. Two more friends, R and T, have been a couple for seventeen years. They have two beautiful daughters they adopted. Rick and Tom flew to South Africa to get married last year. South Africa is ahead of Ohio in terms of civil rights. Doesn’t that make you proud? It shames me.
Why don’t gays and lesbians hire an attorney and petition for the benefits available through marriage? Here’s something most people don’t realize. This is no small matter; civil marriage confers many more protections, benefits and rights that you’d think. There’s an actual number attached to it, a list compiled by the U.S. Congress. That young straight couple who’ve known each other for three weeks and then married? As soon as they said “I do,” they were granted 1,138 separate benefits, rights and legal protections, just by obtaining a civil marriage. R and J together 27 years are prevented from enjoying those 1,138 rights,benefits and protections. This is discrimination pure and simple. It must end. The gay agenda? Nonsense. LGBT people want only one thing; they want—and deserve—what we take for granted every day. That is all.
We have a chance today to change this, to make it better for all Americans. This issue is not going away. As I write this, eight states and the District of Colombia allow LGBT people the rights and benefits of civil marriage. Hopefully in my lifetime it will be the law of the land, and R and J can join in a ceremony like you enjoyed on your wedding day, a civil marriage rite. It’s coming, and it’s time. History and demographics are on the side of fairness and equality when it comes to marriage equality. We can all join in this undertaking and support marriage equality for all, or we can stand on the sidelines and watch it happen. But it is coming. Ask your kids.
Marriage is not a heterosexual privilege; marriage is a human right. The supreme court of these United States has deemed it a human right to marry the person you love. I look forward to a lot of marriage ceremonies, for both my straight and my gay friends. Marriage is such a joyous thing, so filled with the potential to bring happiness and affirmation to so many people it is simply wrong to deny it to someone.
I wish you and your new husband all the happiness and joy in the world. I mean what I say about marriage and its power to change lives, to stabilize society and to make us all better people. It’s time to remove the exclusionary aspect of it and allow everyone to partake. Everyone. I’d suggest that you make an effort to understand that other people, though you may not agree with their choice of mates, other people deserve the same joy and fulfillment you had the day you said “I do” and felt the affirmation of those around you. It felt good, didn’t it? So why deny that warm, wonderful feeling to anyone? It’s time we allowed everyone access to the joys and protections of civil marriage. Everyone.
September 18, 2012
Excerpt: Ch. 1 & 2 The Sky Behind Me
The Sky Behind Me
1
The Island of Kauai: 12/14/2005
I step out of the cockpit, and the cold, hard ground comes up to meet me. You’ve been there, felt this, the realization in your bones that something is finished, something so important, so fundamental to who you are that you can’t allow yourself to think about it yet, though you know it’s true. You get through the next minute, hang up a phone, watch a train pull away, a face at a window--or close a cockpit door and walk away, and you just know. As much as you ache for it not to be true, it’s done, and you know it. Something in your life is finished forever.
I land, shut off the engine of the helicopter. The rotor blades spin down, slower, slower still. The trade wind catches them. Each blade dances and bends, like a hand waving goodbye. I yank the rotor brake and they creak to a stop overhead. In the cabin with me six passengers peel off headsets, their helicopter tour of Kauai over. With laughter, and even some tears, they chat about the flight, voting on favorite parts.
I listen to their bubbly conversation: “NaPali Coast, stunning, the volcano, unbelievable, Hanalei Valley, waterfalls, gorgeous, how’d you like that double rainbow? Love to go again.”
Typical comments. After flying 2,500 tours of the island I can predict them. I remove my headset, and click open the seatbelt lock. I was forty-five minutes into the tour when the spell washed over me, a sudden dizziness, narrowing vision, creeping loss of consciousness. It scared me to my bones. If I’d passed out...
I’m listening for something else in their voices now. I’m wondering if, during the spell, whatever the hell it was, a customer noticed me trying to stay conscious? I parse their comments, cringing when a woman says ‘turbulence.’ Was that when I shifted in my seat? When I squeezed my gut, and gulped in air to fight it off? When I did that, did I jerk the stick around and she saw it, felt it?
No, she hadn’t. “...wonder if it’s always that bumpy on the NaPali Coast?” she says, and I breathe again. The bumps during my syncopal episode happened just as I shook my head and sucked in slugs of air trying to stay awake. Coincidence. Air pockets on the NaPali are a common occurrence. The spell was out of the blue, immediate, frightening in its intensity. I tune in to comments again, but none of them refer to my efforts to avoid passing out in the cockpit. None of my customers know how close I’d been.
Nor do I. A shiver of shame washes over me; why had I not landed? Another spell may have started, and been worse. I’d continued flying, assuming that whatever the hell it was, it had run its course.
But I knew something was forever changed. I knew my position, my status as a tour pilot on the island of Kauai, the ultimate job in my forty-year career was over. I saw myself asking the boss for time off. Envisioned myself entering the doctor’s office, the same place I went every year for my up slip, the FAA medical clearance without which I couldn’t fly. I heard myself tell the doctor about the spell, describing how close I’d come to passing out with six people in the cabin with me. I hear my urgent questions: why had it happened, what can I do and will it happen again? I see the whole thing, hear the conversation. And I watch myself absorbing his verdict.
I step out of the cockpit, and the hard ground comes up to meet me. I latch the door. Despite the anxiety squeezing my chest, I manage a smile, shake hands, accept tips. People thank me for a ‘wonderful tour.’ They sneer, and slap my back, saying ‘what a tough job you have.’ They produce wallets, peel off tens, twentys, the occasional fifty, fold the bills, sneak them into my hand. I thank them for flying with me, watch them walk to the shuttle. The bus pulls away under swaying palms, and the helipad falls silent. Behind me a colleague hovers in, lands, and his engine winds down. At that moment it hits me. I’m done. My flying career is over.
When I was ten years old I snuck out of the house to play baseball with the neighbor kids. I had to sneak out because mom forbade me to play that day. It was Good Friday, and in my Irish Catholic house it was unthinkable that I’d ignore the sacred day of Christ’s crucifixion to engage in something as crass as a ball game.
Despite the admonition, I grabbed my mitt and the lumber and headed out the back door. Before you could say bless me father I was on the diamond with the lads, in the bright Spring sun, with swish of bat, loft of ball, smack of leather, the thrill of the grass.
I remember swinging hard, connecting, the satisfying thunk, and the silly sizzle in my chest at the pleasure of a solid hit. I see white ball arc into blue sky over pitcher Bill Peckham’s head. It continues climbing. I’m sure beyond doubt that what’s his name, the new kid on the block, the kid wearing a flannel shirt on such a warm day, the kid no one has seen play yet, that he’ll for sure miss it. And he does. The ball tips flannel shirt’s upraised mitt, skips upward, slows a bit, but heads for the outfield. Sure as I am that, on that very day Christ died for my sins, I’ve got second base made standing up. No way that kid’ll field that ball. No way. I punch first with my right foot, dredge dirt with my left, put my head down and dig for second.
Second sack is 90 feet away, seventy, fifty, ten... Then a blur, a swatch of flannel, and a terrible whump. I see stars, but this is a day game, isn’t it? My head throbs. Stars twinkle out. Why are guys standing over me in a circle, staring, a blue hole of sky between them? Blood? What are they talking about, blood? I’m sweaty, and my head aches like I’ve been hammered. I can’t focus my left eye because of...the blood.
I reach the emergency room for stitches ten minutes before the flannel shirt kid. I met him, finally, at second base, when we collided, skull against skull, opening a penitential gash in my forehead, like one of Christ’s wounds. Only mine is well deserved. I’ve had my fun; it’s time for payment. In the car, blood-stained towel at my throbbing head, Mom scolds. "No Good Friday baseball," she says. “You see what happens?”
Eight stitches later I’m released to the loving, forgiving fold of my family. Easter comes and goes that year and many others. But I never forget the lesson. The lesson Catholic school taught me above all others. Balance. For every good there’s a bad. For every bad, a good. I never played baseball on Good Friday again.
Why that long ago incident came to me as I walked away from the helicopter I don’t know. It wasn’t Good Friday; it was December 14th 2005. I’d not been enjoying myself too much, I’d been working. Or had I? This wasn’t some kind of balancing act, was it? My mind raced with possibilities. Divorce? Remarriage? Half the world is divorced these days. Moving so far from family? Leaving Iowa when I told them I’d stay? It was a no brainer for my wife and me. Another winter in Iowa City? Or a move to a mid-Pacific Paradise? Was it work? People threw money at me, a lot of it, for flying them around the island while music played, and I entertained them with anecdotes and local color and what I knew about paradise. Was it just too rewarding, and I loved it too much?
If so I shared the emotions of my passengers. With laughter, and even some tears, I walked away from the flight line for the last time.
2
Balance
Maybe that was it. I was booted out of Eden, just like in the Baltimore Catechism... Balance. I’d lived in Paradise too long, and it was time to leave. Could that be? It made no sense. I’d long ago given up those fairy tales, virgin birth, water to wine, bodily ascension. Useful narratives for a sixth grader, but not for adults, as Orwell said about the incompatibility of faith with maturity. If there was an Eden, I’d come to believe we hadn’t been kicked out of it; we got bored and left.
If it was about balance, what about all those frigid nights flying in wintertime Iowa? The phone rings at midnight, ten below zero, wind chill minus forty. I dress like an Aleut to fly a hundred miles, for a drunk who curses me and my nursing crew for forty minutes, then he vomits on us. Was that work? What about the flights in Indiana with those crude businessmen, listening to their sexist jokes about women their daughters’ age in the Playboy magazines they slobber over, as I fly them to job sites? Where’s the balance there? Never thought I’d be relieved to lose a job, but I was. What about scrapping for my first commercial flying job, those postings at the end of the road nobody else wanted just to scribble hours in my logbook? Where was the payback for that?
What of the dues I’ve paid, the harassment of my first flight instructor in Texas, the Darwinian demands of flight school, an endurance test all the way to graduation? What about the war? That was work just staying alive most days, work a lot of friends failed in. I’d thought living on Kauai was my reward for forty years of paying attention to the flying god, keeping my safety record intact, taking no chances. The After the Fall scenario made no sense. I’d spent forty years as a pilot; my job description was simple: it was to not fall.
I go to the office, tell the boss I need time off. I call my wife, say I’ll be home early but don’t tell her why. I can’t say it to myself yet. The appointment with the flight doc won’t be easy, but I have to make it, and I have to keep it.
I sit in the car a long time scanning the flight line. A colleague climbs into his cockpit, and straps in. The door closes, engine whines, blades turn, faster, faster, disappearing in a blur. A strange feeling comes, achy, tenuous. It makes me feel, what? Invisible. When my colleague takes off I know I’m watching my past.
I see myself board a tiny, two-seat helicopter in Texas almost forty years before. Wayne, my first instructor, starts the engine, engages the blades, and we lift into the searing Texas sky. How easy for him it seems. How hard it is for me in the next few weeks to learn to fly. How frustrating failing over and over. How satisfying, finally, when I do what Wayne says, “...just think about moving the controls, Edgington, and it’ll do what you want.”
I see my first solo flight, feel the rush of success knowing I’ve flown, by myself, that I’ve done it. Then advanced flight training at Hunter Field in Savannah, instruments, tactics, navigation, first flight in a Huey. Flight school graduation, then on to Vietnam in February 1970. The company, and missions, and fear, and fire and friends. Some die. Twelve months pass, and I come home.
My colleague takes off low overhead, and the car wobbles. In his rotor wake palm leaves frolic, then settle down. The aroma of burned jet fuel washes over me like incense, and my eyes fill with tears. The helicopter heads for the interior of the island. Part of me is on board.
The places I’ve flown: Southeast Asia, Alaska, South America... The missions I’ve done: spotting tuna, herding bears, dousing fires, rescuing emergency patients. Winter night, 100 miles to Iowa City, 3 in the morning. The dim cast of the instruments, altimeter, rpm, torque, compass glow red like backlit rubies. My hand grips the cyclic, steady, the touch of experience. The ship surges through the frigid night, blades whipping overhead, while Iowa sleeps a thousand feet below.
Another night, newly dark, ominous. I see gauges sag, needles droop, warnings flash like fireworks as my engine fails, and the Huey plummets. I take charge, adjusting, setting, maneuvering. Ground rushing up, I flare the Huey and slide it on smooth and safe, like a thousand practice runs before.
I see my whole career in that one takeoff. And in one landing.
I grab my seat belt and snap it shut. The other tour ship becomes a speck, then disappears. The island shimmers through a mist: all the tours I’ve flown; satisfied customers; the camaraderie of peers, fitting in with an elite group of pilots. I see Wendy with her pungent leis, and read the letter about her weeks later. A little girl admonishes her big sister, and her mother claps in delight. I see the envelope from my Chinese passenger, a five and two ones inside, smallest tip ever, and the best. I hear the questions: “how long you been doing this?” “Ever crash?” “What’s the worst that ever happened..?”
I know that answer. The worst incident ever was stepping from the cockpit minutes ago.
I start the car, and put it in gear. On the phone, my wife wonders what’s wrong? I never leave early; I always stay late on the flight line. She’s used to it. Today something’s different. I know it. I’m looking for the balance, and not finding it. But I will find it.
I leave the airport, and head down the hill.
1
The Island of Kauai: 12/14/2005
I step out of the cockpit, and the cold, hard ground comes up to meet me. You’ve been there, felt this, the realization in your bones that something is finished, something so important, so fundamental to who you are that you can’t allow yourself to think about it yet, though you know it’s true. You get through the next minute, hang up a phone, watch a train pull away, a face at a window--or close a cockpit door and walk away, and you just know. As much as you ache for it not to be true, it’s done, and you know it. Something in your life is finished forever.
I land, shut off the engine of the helicopter. The rotor blades spin down, slower, slower still. The trade wind catches them. Each blade dances and bends, like a hand waving goodbye. I yank the rotor brake and they creak to a stop overhead. In the cabin with me six passengers peel off headsets, their helicopter tour of Kauai over. With laughter, and even some tears, they chat about the flight, voting on favorite parts.
I listen to their bubbly conversation: “NaPali Coast, stunning, the volcano, unbelievable, Hanalei Valley, waterfalls, gorgeous, how’d you like that double rainbow? Love to go again.”
Typical comments. After flying 2,500 tours of the island I can predict them. I remove my headset, and click open the seatbelt lock. I was forty-five minutes into the tour when the spell washed over me, a sudden dizziness, narrowing vision, creeping loss of consciousness. It scared me to my bones. If I’d passed out...
I’m listening for something else in their voices now. I’m wondering if, during the spell, whatever the hell it was, a customer noticed me trying to stay conscious? I parse their comments, cringing when a woman says ‘turbulence.’ Was that when I shifted in my seat? When I squeezed my gut, and gulped in air to fight it off? When I did that, did I jerk the stick around and she saw it, felt it?
No, she hadn’t. “...wonder if it’s always that bumpy on the NaPali Coast?” she says, and I breathe again. The bumps during my syncopal episode happened just as I shook my head and sucked in slugs of air trying to stay awake. Coincidence. Air pockets on the NaPali are a common occurrence. The spell was out of the blue, immediate, frightening in its intensity. I tune in to comments again, but none of them refer to my efforts to avoid passing out in the cockpit. None of my customers know how close I’d been.
Nor do I. A shiver of shame washes over me; why had I not landed? Another spell may have started, and been worse. I’d continued flying, assuming that whatever the hell it was, it had run its course.
But I knew something was forever changed. I knew my position, my status as a tour pilot on the island of Kauai, the ultimate job in my forty-year career was over. I saw myself asking the boss for time off. Envisioned myself entering the doctor’s office, the same place I went every year for my up slip, the FAA medical clearance without which I couldn’t fly. I heard myself tell the doctor about the spell, describing how close I’d come to passing out with six people in the cabin with me. I hear my urgent questions: why had it happened, what can I do and will it happen again? I see the whole thing, hear the conversation. And I watch myself absorbing his verdict.
I step out of the cockpit, and the hard ground comes up to meet me. I latch the door. Despite the anxiety squeezing my chest, I manage a smile, shake hands, accept tips. People thank me for a ‘wonderful tour.’ They sneer, and slap my back, saying ‘what a tough job you have.’ They produce wallets, peel off tens, twentys, the occasional fifty, fold the bills, sneak them into my hand. I thank them for flying with me, watch them walk to the shuttle. The bus pulls away under swaying palms, and the helipad falls silent. Behind me a colleague hovers in, lands, and his engine winds down. At that moment it hits me. I’m done. My flying career is over.
When I was ten years old I snuck out of the house to play baseball with the neighbor kids. I had to sneak out because mom forbade me to play that day. It was Good Friday, and in my Irish Catholic house it was unthinkable that I’d ignore the sacred day of Christ’s crucifixion to engage in something as crass as a ball game.
Despite the admonition, I grabbed my mitt and the lumber and headed out the back door. Before you could say bless me father I was on the diamond with the lads, in the bright Spring sun, with swish of bat, loft of ball, smack of leather, the thrill of the grass.
I remember swinging hard, connecting, the satisfying thunk, and the silly sizzle in my chest at the pleasure of a solid hit. I see white ball arc into blue sky over pitcher Bill Peckham’s head. It continues climbing. I’m sure beyond doubt that what’s his name, the new kid on the block, the kid wearing a flannel shirt on such a warm day, the kid no one has seen play yet, that he’ll for sure miss it. And he does. The ball tips flannel shirt’s upraised mitt, skips upward, slows a bit, but heads for the outfield. Sure as I am that, on that very day Christ died for my sins, I’ve got second base made standing up. No way that kid’ll field that ball. No way. I punch first with my right foot, dredge dirt with my left, put my head down and dig for second.
Second sack is 90 feet away, seventy, fifty, ten... Then a blur, a swatch of flannel, and a terrible whump. I see stars, but this is a day game, isn’t it? My head throbs. Stars twinkle out. Why are guys standing over me in a circle, staring, a blue hole of sky between them? Blood? What are they talking about, blood? I’m sweaty, and my head aches like I’ve been hammered. I can’t focus my left eye because of...the blood.
I reach the emergency room for stitches ten minutes before the flannel shirt kid. I met him, finally, at second base, when we collided, skull against skull, opening a penitential gash in my forehead, like one of Christ’s wounds. Only mine is well deserved. I’ve had my fun; it’s time for payment. In the car, blood-stained towel at my throbbing head, Mom scolds. "No Good Friday baseball," she says. “You see what happens?”
Eight stitches later I’m released to the loving, forgiving fold of my family. Easter comes and goes that year and many others. But I never forget the lesson. The lesson Catholic school taught me above all others. Balance. For every good there’s a bad. For every bad, a good. I never played baseball on Good Friday again.
Why that long ago incident came to me as I walked away from the helicopter I don’t know. It wasn’t Good Friday; it was December 14th 2005. I’d not been enjoying myself too much, I’d been working. Or had I? This wasn’t some kind of balancing act, was it? My mind raced with possibilities. Divorce? Remarriage? Half the world is divorced these days. Moving so far from family? Leaving Iowa when I told them I’d stay? It was a no brainer for my wife and me. Another winter in Iowa City? Or a move to a mid-Pacific Paradise? Was it work? People threw money at me, a lot of it, for flying them around the island while music played, and I entertained them with anecdotes and local color and what I knew about paradise. Was it just too rewarding, and I loved it too much?
If so I shared the emotions of my passengers. With laughter, and even some tears, I walked away from the flight line for the last time.
2
Balance
Maybe that was it. I was booted out of Eden, just like in the Baltimore Catechism... Balance. I’d lived in Paradise too long, and it was time to leave. Could that be? It made no sense. I’d long ago given up those fairy tales, virgin birth, water to wine, bodily ascension. Useful narratives for a sixth grader, but not for adults, as Orwell said about the incompatibility of faith with maturity. If there was an Eden, I’d come to believe we hadn’t been kicked out of it; we got bored and left.
If it was about balance, what about all those frigid nights flying in wintertime Iowa? The phone rings at midnight, ten below zero, wind chill minus forty. I dress like an Aleut to fly a hundred miles, for a drunk who curses me and my nursing crew for forty minutes, then he vomits on us. Was that work? What about the flights in Indiana with those crude businessmen, listening to their sexist jokes about women their daughters’ age in the Playboy magazines they slobber over, as I fly them to job sites? Where’s the balance there? Never thought I’d be relieved to lose a job, but I was. What about scrapping for my first commercial flying job, those postings at the end of the road nobody else wanted just to scribble hours in my logbook? Where was the payback for that?
What of the dues I’ve paid, the harassment of my first flight instructor in Texas, the Darwinian demands of flight school, an endurance test all the way to graduation? What about the war? That was work just staying alive most days, work a lot of friends failed in. I’d thought living on Kauai was my reward for forty years of paying attention to the flying god, keeping my safety record intact, taking no chances. The After the Fall scenario made no sense. I’d spent forty years as a pilot; my job description was simple: it was to not fall.
I go to the office, tell the boss I need time off. I call my wife, say I’ll be home early but don’t tell her why. I can’t say it to myself yet. The appointment with the flight doc won’t be easy, but I have to make it, and I have to keep it.
I sit in the car a long time scanning the flight line. A colleague climbs into his cockpit, and straps in. The door closes, engine whines, blades turn, faster, faster, disappearing in a blur. A strange feeling comes, achy, tenuous. It makes me feel, what? Invisible. When my colleague takes off I know I’m watching my past.
I see myself board a tiny, two-seat helicopter in Texas almost forty years before. Wayne, my first instructor, starts the engine, engages the blades, and we lift into the searing Texas sky. How easy for him it seems. How hard it is for me in the next few weeks to learn to fly. How frustrating failing over and over. How satisfying, finally, when I do what Wayne says, “...just think about moving the controls, Edgington, and it’ll do what you want.”
I see my first solo flight, feel the rush of success knowing I’ve flown, by myself, that I’ve done it. Then advanced flight training at Hunter Field in Savannah, instruments, tactics, navigation, first flight in a Huey. Flight school graduation, then on to Vietnam in February 1970. The company, and missions, and fear, and fire and friends. Some die. Twelve months pass, and I come home.
My colleague takes off low overhead, and the car wobbles. In his rotor wake palm leaves frolic, then settle down. The aroma of burned jet fuel washes over me like incense, and my eyes fill with tears. The helicopter heads for the interior of the island. Part of me is on board.
The places I’ve flown: Southeast Asia, Alaska, South America... The missions I’ve done: spotting tuna, herding bears, dousing fires, rescuing emergency patients. Winter night, 100 miles to Iowa City, 3 in the morning. The dim cast of the instruments, altimeter, rpm, torque, compass glow red like backlit rubies. My hand grips the cyclic, steady, the touch of experience. The ship surges through the frigid night, blades whipping overhead, while Iowa sleeps a thousand feet below.
Another night, newly dark, ominous. I see gauges sag, needles droop, warnings flash like fireworks as my engine fails, and the Huey plummets. I take charge, adjusting, setting, maneuvering. Ground rushing up, I flare the Huey and slide it on smooth and safe, like a thousand practice runs before.
I see my whole career in that one takeoff. And in one landing.
I grab my seat belt and snap it shut. The other tour ship becomes a speck, then disappears. The island shimmers through a mist: all the tours I’ve flown; satisfied customers; the camaraderie of peers, fitting in with an elite group of pilots. I see Wendy with her pungent leis, and read the letter about her weeks later. A little girl admonishes her big sister, and her mother claps in delight. I see the envelope from my Chinese passenger, a five and two ones inside, smallest tip ever, and the best. I hear the questions: “how long you been doing this?” “Ever crash?” “What’s the worst that ever happened..?”
I know that answer. The worst incident ever was stepping from the cockpit minutes ago.
I start the car, and put it in gear. On the phone, my wife wonders what’s wrong? I never leave early; I always stay late on the flight line. She’s used to it. Today something’s different. I know it. I’m looking for the balance, and not finding it. But I will find it.
I leave the airport, and head down the hill.
August 28, 2012
Countries are not Companies
Countries are people, my friends!
Imagine Mr. Romney saying this. I can’t, though I wish I could. Before we all end up strapped to the top of Mr. Romney’s car on his vacation, let’s woof and snarl a bit about his contention that corporations are people, and why, even if the Supremes have ruled as such, it may be irrelevant to how the Republicans plan to run the show, should they be successful in November.
Here’s my own personal contention, albeit heavily weighted toward real, that is flesh and gore, oops, I mean, flesh and blood people. I don’t believe anyone, Democrat or Republican, can run the United States of America like a company. I don’t believe any country can be run like a company. Despite being a ‘person,’ according to the Citizens United decision, a company has no soul, no living, breathing, bleeding, emoting moving parts. Oh, we may squint and stare and surmise that a company has a soul, the value it brings to the marketplace and people’s lives, the solace it provides in the form of money and stability. But a company is structured to survive, often despite the need to throw real people off its edifice, like a dog shedding pesky fleas. Countries, not so much. A country, at least this one, should strive to keep as many of those people on its books, despite the fact that some of them are rather more pesky and troublesome than others.
Mr. Romney claims that his business expertise is just what America needs, the ability to run things like a corporation, make adjustments, trim the fat, flick those fleas if need be to stabilize things and get us running smoothly again, and even paying dividends. He even said it: “I love to fire people.” But countries aren’t companies, and people are, well, people.
I’ve never heard of a CEO firing himself when the company hits a rough patch. Maybe Mr. Romney’s intent is to include himself in that mix, to terminate his own tenure as CEO if America Inc. doesn’t turn around, but I doubt that. I suspect that the workers far beneath him will feel the firing first and be forced to flee, and those in his inner crowd, the company cadres in his C-suite will cash in regardless of how the stock of America is performing.
You can’t run a country like a company. We’ve tried it; it doesn’t work.
Imagine Mr. Romney saying this. I can’t, though I wish I could. Before we all end up strapped to the top of Mr. Romney’s car on his vacation, let’s woof and snarl a bit about his contention that corporations are people, and why, even if the Supremes have ruled as such, it may be irrelevant to how the Republicans plan to run the show, should they be successful in November.
Here’s my own personal contention, albeit heavily weighted toward real, that is flesh and gore, oops, I mean, flesh and blood people. I don’t believe anyone, Democrat or Republican, can run the United States of America like a company. I don’t believe any country can be run like a company. Despite being a ‘person,’ according to the Citizens United decision, a company has no soul, no living, breathing, bleeding, emoting moving parts. Oh, we may squint and stare and surmise that a company has a soul, the value it brings to the marketplace and people’s lives, the solace it provides in the form of money and stability. But a company is structured to survive, often despite the need to throw real people off its edifice, like a dog shedding pesky fleas. Countries, not so much. A country, at least this one, should strive to keep as many of those people on its books, despite the fact that some of them are rather more pesky and troublesome than others.
Mr. Romney claims that his business expertise is just what America needs, the ability to run things like a corporation, make adjustments, trim the fat, flick those fleas if need be to stabilize things and get us running smoothly again, and even paying dividends. He even said it: “I love to fire people.” But countries aren’t companies, and people are, well, people.
I’ve never heard of a CEO firing himself when the company hits a rough patch. Maybe Mr. Romney’s intent is to include himself in that mix, to terminate his own tenure as CEO if America Inc. doesn’t turn around, but I doubt that. I suspect that the workers far beneath him will feel the firing first and be forced to flee, and those in his inner crowd, the company cadres in his C-suite will cash in regardless of how the stock of America is performing.
You can’t run a country like a company. We’ve tried it; it doesn’t work.
August 17, 2012
Life ring for 8/17/12
A short piece about ways we might all live a bit longer, and perhaps enjoy it more. It’s called a day off from FaceBook, or CrackBook, as a friend refers to it and other social media sites. Are they addicting? I guess we all must answer that for ourselves. Can you resist FaceBook even for a day? LinkedIn? Twitter? Do you feel a dreaded miasma of withdrawal when evening draws nigh, and you know there’s some FB brou-ha-ha you’re not part of? Can you stay away from FB, stop your fingers from cracking it open, for just one peek? Can you? Are you sure? There’s news inside, or an invitation, or the latest Farmville waiting to lure you in. Can you ignore it till tomorrow?
Here’s an idea. When the urge to FB, or LI, or to Tweet seeps into your needy brain, and your fingers yearn toward the websites, their pull dragging your brain along, tempting, please open me, please, for just a second, only a quick, glimmering peek, and I promise I won’t linger, or tap, or join a conversation, it’s only 142 characters, open something else instead. Open up Smilebox and lose yourself in the creation of a hopelessly tacky but phenomenally cute birthday card. Open up e-graph.com and see which of your heroes is prostituting themselves by offering virtual autographs for fifty bucks a pop. Open a news...never mind, too gloomy and infuriating. Here’s one--I know, a radical idea, but people have actually done this and lived to tell about it--flip off the computer and read a book.
Speaking of which, here are three I recommend: Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand--True story of phenomenal courage during WW-2; No Ordinary Time by Doris Kearns Goodwin, FDR & ER during the same war, from the Washington perspective; and After the Workshop, by Tom McNally a funny, delightfully snarky novel of the writerly trade centered around the world renowned Iowa Writers Workshop.
Here’s an idea. When the urge to FB, or LI, or to Tweet seeps into your needy brain, and your fingers yearn toward the websites, their pull dragging your brain along, tempting, please open me, please, for just a second, only a quick, glimmering peek, and I promise I won’t linger, or tap, or join a conversation, it’s only 142 characters, open something else instead. Open up Smilebox and lose yourself in the creation of a hopelessly tacky but phenomenally cute birthday card. Open up e-graph.com and see which of your heroes is prostituting themselves by offering virtual autographs for fifty bucks a pop. Open a news...never mind, too gloomy and infuriating. Here’s one--I know, a radical idea, but people have actually done this and lived to tell about it--flip off the computer and read a book.
Speaking of which, here are three I recommend: Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand--True story of phenomenal courage during WW-2; No Ordinary Time by Doris Kearns Goodwin, FDR & ER during the same war, from the Washington perspective; and After the Workshop, by Tom McNally a funny, delightfully snarky novel of the writerly trade centered around the world renowned Iowa Writers Workshop.
June 29, 2012
ACA--and a bit of farm wisdom
There’s an old, likely apocryphal piece of farm wisdom that says turkeys are so dumb they must be ‘stirred’ when it rains, or they’ll drown. This is probably not true; turkeys are pretty dense, but drowning in the rain? The idea defies evolutionary sense if nothing else. Yesterday’s ruling on the Affordable Care Act has stirred the turkeys, those conservatives who are standing in the rain, watching a torrent of medical bills, (which aren’t a tax increase, of course) a shower of drug costs, and a virtual deluge of uncertainty about health care, and they’re drowning, with no policy to address it. Here’s the typical response to the Roberts Court’s landmark decision.
George Will, the conservatives’ conservative: “It (the ACA) instead compels individuals to become active in commerce by purchasing a product, on the ground that their failure to do so affects interstate commerce.” Well, we sure don’t want to compel anyone to take responsibility for themselves, George.
Next we hear from Charles Krauthammer, right-wing ideologue masquerading as intellectual: “Mr. Jones is not a purchaser of health insurance. Mr. Jones has therefore manifestly not entered into any commerce. Yet Congress tells him he must buy health insurance...” Ye gods, Congress said that? Holy health care Batman, next they’ll make us buy, I don’t know, broccoli! It’s healthy for us! You gotta eat broccoli!
Next comes Douglas Holtz-Eakin who was on ‘W’s council of economic advisors “...the policy behind the law still fails to meet these goals, creating instead a massive tax increase, burdensome regulatory web and a legacy of debt for future generations.” Medical disasters are not “a legacy of debt for future generations” of course. Thank you Mr. Holtz-Eakin. I see why W liked you so much.
No discussion of pandering, unsupported, ineffectual and clueless conservative responses would be complete without a word from our presumptive Republican nominee for President. Here’s Mint Romney, calling the ACA, (modeled on his very own health care plan for Massachusetts), “a job killer that inserted the government between patients and their doctors.” He finished with this: “What the court did not do on its last day in session, I will do on my first day as president of the United States,” Mr. Romney said all this in a rare appearance on Capitol Hill shortly after the ruling. Let’s hope his appearances on Capitol Hill are even more rare in the future.
What point do all these conservatives conveniently miss? Two or three signs that it might be pouring rain. One is that, we are all, every gobbling one of us, inextricably involved in commerce with the health care industry in America. We can’t escape it, and when we do interact with it, someone must pay the freight. “Don’t get sick” is not a strategy. And we’re not a country that kicks people off the bus when they do get sick, so it ain’t a question of compelling, it’s simply recognition that we’re all involved already, sorry George.
Krauthammer hardly rates a response. Same deal, Charles. Mr. Jones may not be a “...purchaser of health insurance...” as you put it, but he has indeed “...entered into commerce...” by virtue of the fact that he will be a consumer of health care at some point, and again, somebody’s gotta pay the freight. Would you and your fellow conservatives like to pick up the tab for Mr. Jones, Charles? Awfully nice of you. Thanks. I’ll think of you next time I buy broccoli.
Holtz-Eakin--a burden for future generations, hey? And your plan to address the deluge of health care uncertainty is..? Let’s hear it Mr. H-E. Any time. We’re waiting. Don’t get sick? Good plan.
Mint Romney. Gotta love the guy. He reminds me of Mr. Haney on Green Acres who has a slick answer to every new farm problem.
No one is compelling anyone to buy health care insurance, eat broccoli, or anything else unless they figure out how they can take themselves out of the system. No one lacks health care in America; many lack health insurance, and the rest of us pay their premiums. Without the ACA we have what is commonly referred to, by our conservative friends, as socialism. The ACA forces people to take responsibility for themselves and their health. This is a good thing. It’s raining, folks. Pretty hard. Stir things up, or we’ll all drown together.
George Will, the conservatives’ conservative: “It (the ACA) instead compels individuals to become active in commerce by purchasing a product, on the ground that their failure to do so affects interstate commerce.” Well, we sure don’t want to compel anyone to take responsibility for themselves, George.
Next we hear from Charles Krauthammer, right-wing ideologue masquerading as intellectual: “Mr. Jones is not a purchaser of health insurance. Mr. Jones has therefore manifestly not entered into any commerce. Yet Congress tells him he must buy health insurance...” Ye gods, Congress said that? Holy health care Batman, next they’ll make us buy, I don’t know, broccoli! It’s healthy for us! You gotta eat broccoli!
Next comes Douglas Holtz-Eakin who was on ‘W’s council of economic advisors “...the policy behind the law still fails to meet these goals, creating instead a massive tax increase, burdensome regulatory web and a legacy of debt for future generations.” Medical disasters are not “a legacy of debt for future generations” of course. Thank you Mr. Holtz-Eakin. I see why W liked you so much.
No discussion of pandering, unsupported, ineffectual and clueless conservative responses would be complete without a word from our presumptive Republican nominee for President. Here’s Mint Romney, calling the ACA, (modeled on his very own health care plan for Massachusetts), “a job killer that inserted the government between patients and their doctors.” He finished with this: “What the court did not do on its last day in session, I will do on my first day as president of the United States,” Mr. Romney said all this in a rare appearance on Capitol Hill shortly after the ruling. Let’s hope his appearances on Capitol Hill are even more rare in the future.
What point do all these conservatives conveniently miss? Two or three signs that it might be pouring rain. One is that, we are all, every gobbling one of us, inextricably involved in commerce with the health care industry in America. We can’t escape it, and when we do interact with it, someone must pay the freight. “Don’t get sick” is not a strategy. And we’re not a country that kicks people off the bus when they do get sick, so it ain’t a question of compelling, it’s simply recognition that we’re all involved already, sorry George.
Krauthammer hardly rates a response. Same deal, Charles. Mr. Jones may not be a “...purchaser of health insurance...” as you put it, but he has indeed “...entered into commerce...” by virtue of the fact that he will be a consumer of health care at some point, and again, somebody’s gotta pay the freight. Would you and your fellow conservatives like to pick up the tab for Mr. Jones, Charles? Awfully nice of you. Thanks. I’ll think of you next time I buy broccoli.
Holtz-Eakin--a burden for future generations, hey? And your plan to address the deluge of health care uncertainty is..? Let’s hear it Mr. H-E. Any time. We’re waiting. Don’t get sick? Good plan.
Mint Romney. Gotta love the guy. He reminds me of Mr. Haney on Green Acres who has a slick answer to every new farm problem.
No one is compelling anyone to buy health care insurance, eat broccoli, or anything else unless they figure out how they can take themselves out of the system. No one lacks health care in America; many lack health insurance, and the rest of us pay their premiums. Without the ACA we have what is commonly referred to, by our conservative friends, as socialism. The ACA forces people to take responsibility for themselves and their health. This is a good thing. It’s raining, folks. Pretty hard. Stir things up, or we’ll all drown together.
June 27, 2012
Re-Posting for the pending 4th of July 2012.
Independence Day once again here in the United States of America. Here's the latest post on the concept of libery, from a passionate advocate of it. It's about a segment of our society consistently denied that liberty.
“Why are you involved in the struggle for gay rights?” It’s a question I hear often as I attend rallies, gay rights gatherings, HRC meetups, the occasional Stonewall, or Equality Ohio, or PFFLAG event. I suppose as a straight, male, middle-class, white, recovering Catholic, the question is a good one. Why indeed?
It came up again the other day. My wife and I were at a HRC evening in the Short North. I was asked to put in my nickel’s worth, so I did. Afterward, I decided to get serious about the question itself, commit to paper just why it is the gay rights struggle is indeed so important to me. And here’s the result.
I’m not interested in gay rights; I’m interested in human rights. Does the LGBT community need straight allies like my wife and me? I would say yes, though I’m confident the community can speak for itself, so we’re grateful that our LBGT friends seem to accept us, even consider us safe, which is a bit sad when you think about it. Do gays have a legitimate reason to demand their rights? Well, let me see, can I get: fired or not hired/evicted/booted out/beaten up/harassed/forced from a school board/kept from adopting/prevented from running for office/prevented from marrying the person I love/killed for being a straight male middle-class formerly Christian white guy? Probably not. I take all those previously listed ‘rights and benefits’ pretty much for granted.
When I start my day, I assume that I’m going to still have my job, my access to places, my safety, my marriage, my residence, my agency as an adult, and the other myriad facilities and comforts of my position in society (times 1138 if I’m married, which I am). Indeed, I never question any of those things. They’re available to me, just for the taking. Of course I can do all the listed things, come and go as I please, assume that I’m safe holding hands with my beloved walking down High street, or Low Street, even Gay Street, which is beyond ironic. This is twenty-first century America, right? The land of the free, and the home of the brave, right? This is a place where anyone who works hard, obeys the law, pays taxes, pays attention, tries to be a good citizen, avoids jaywalking to excess, doesn’t frighten the horses, and minds her own business should be able to assume everything I do, right? And we all can, of course--unless you happen to be gay. Then all bets are off.
But wait a minute. Here’s where it gets really dense and complicated for me. You see, I’m a really simple man. I tend to see the world in black and white, no frills, no embellishment, just out front and easy, that’s me. Some would say naive,’ and they’re probably right. When I stood up in third grade and put my hand over my heart, stared at the flag in the corner of the classroom, and chanted along with those other bright-eyed, snot-nose kids: “...with liberty and justice for all...” I really believed that, see? That word ‘ALL’ was really comforting to me, somehow. The simplicity of it. ALL. There’s no wiggle room there, no shading, no ambiguity. It doesn’t say “...with liberty and justice for white, middle-class, heterosexual, Christian males who own a yacht.” It doesn’t say that. It says--ALL. Comforting, isn’t it? I think so, but I’m a simple guy.
Except it’s not simple, because we insist on making exceptions to it, slicing and dicing it, and getting ourselves ALL wrapped up in rules, and differences, and nuance that twists things into pretzel shapes, and makes distinctions, and creates divisions, and that makes us look really hypocritical, and just bad. (Third graders would be confused by this, and who could blame them?)
So here’s the deal. When people ask me why I’m involved in the gay rights struggle, I have two responses: the first one is my standard smart-ass response--why are you not? It works only on certain groups, and not so much on others. My second response is this: As a guy who has taken all those rights and protections and benefits for granted all my life, as highfalutin’ and altruistic as it sounds, I really do feel I have a responsibility to see that anyone who is denied those things has at least the opportunity to acquire and enjoy them on an equal basis with me. This, to me, is the essence of being an American. Anecdotally, it happens to be one of the reasons I spent more than 30 years in uniform defending the principles described above. I didn’t spend a year in Vietnam for instance, just for my health.
In my opinion, the act of denying another citizen the rights, benefits, legal protections, and assurances of this society, that act is itself UN-American. For those who insist that our LGBT brothers and sisters be denied the rights heterosexual Americans enjoy every day, I say to you, your actions are un-American. There’s no shading, enabling or ambiguity in that phrase. That denial is against what this country stands for, and thereby, in my simple mind, Un-American. In particular, for those who deny any citizen of this country access to civil marriage because of who they are, that, my friend, is un-American. And don’t drag out your Bible, your Koran, or any other religious tome to justify this denial. I’m not talking about holy matrimony, or church weddings, or America’s brides and grooms industry. I’m talking about civil marriage. If someone visits a government office for a building permit, a tax matter, a driver’s permit, or to register to vote, they need not bring along their Bible. I can cite a few countries that use religious texts to back up their legal adjudications: Iran, Iraq, Saudi-Arabia come to mind. In Afghanistan the Taliban check to see if everyone has their Koran handy, and if not... Well, it’s not pretty.
Speaking of Civil Marriage Equality, this is the signature issue by which we Americans truly demonstrate who we are, either a nation of religious bigots, or a nation of laws. Civil marriage equality will only strengthen marriage, not threaten it. The threat to marriage in society today is heterosexual divorce. Good Lord, if only people who were sin free could marry we’d be a nation of singles. It sure as hell leaves me out.
It’s a no brainer for me. LGBT rights are human rights. I’m no Tea Party Patriot, no jingoistic, flag-waving, street-corner renegade, despite what my Republican friends might say, either one of the two. I love this country, and the idea behind it. When we Americans fail in our efforts to address the inequities around us, I get involved. I speak up. Why do I do that? You tell me.
(And tune in tomorrow when I list yet another reason--it's personal, bring a hankie.
“Why are you involved in the struggle for gay rights?” It’s a question I hear often as I attend rallies, gay rights gatherings, HRC meetups, the occasional Stonewall, or Equality Ohio, or PFFLAG event. I suppose as a straight, male, middle-class, white, recovering Catholic, the question is a good one. Why indeed?
It came up again the other day. My wife and I were at a HRC evening in the Short North. I was asked to put in my nickel’s worth, so I did. Afterward, I decided to get serious about the question itself, commit to paper just why it is the gay rights struggle is indeed so important to me. And here’s the result.
I’m not interested in gay rights; I’m interested in human rights. Does the LGBT community need straight allies like my wife and me? I would say yes, though I’m confident the community can speak for itself, so we’re grateful that our LBGT friends seem to accept us, even consider us safe, which is a bit sad when you think about it. Do gays have a legitimate reason to demand their rights? Well, let me see, can I get: fired or not hired/evicted/booted out/beaten up/harassed/forced from a school board/kept from adopting/prevented from running for office/prevented from marrying the person I love/killed for being a straight male middle-class formerly Christian white guy? Probably not. I take all those previously listed ‘rights and benefits’ pretty much for granted.
When I start my day, I assume that I’m going to still have my job, my access to places, my safety, my marriage, my residence, my agency as an adult, and the other myriad facilities and comforts of my position in society (times 1138 if I’m married, which I am). Indeed, I never question any of those things. They’re available to me, just for the taking. Of course I can do all the listed things, come and go as I please, assume that I’m safe holding hands with my beloved walking down High street, or Low Street, even Gay Street, which is beyond ironic. This is twenty-first century America, right? The land of the free, and the home of the brave, right? This is a place where anyone who works hard, obeys the law, pays taxes, pays attention, tries to be a good citizen, avoids jaywalking to excess, doesn’t frighten the horses, and minds her own business should be able to assume everything I do, right? And we all can, of course--unless you happen to be gay. Then all bets are off.
But wait a minute. Here’s where it gets really dense and complicated for me. You see, I’m a really simple man. I tend to see the world in black and white, no frills, no embellishment, just out front and easy, that’s me. Some would say naive,’ and they’re probably right. When I stood up in third grade and put my hand over my heart, stared at the flag in the corner of the classroom, and chanted along with those other bright-eyed, snot-nose kids: “...with liberty and justice for all...” I really believed that, see? That word ‘ALL’ was really comforting to me, somehow. The simplicity of it. ALL. There’s no wiggle room there, no shading, no ambiguity. It doesn’t say “...with liberty and justice for white, middle-class, heterosexual, Christian males who own a yacht.” It doesn’t say that. It says--ALL. Comforting, isn’t it? I think so, but I’m a simple guy.
Except it’s not simple, because we insist on making exceptions to it, slicing and dicing it, and getting ourselves ALL wrapped up in rules, and differences, and nuance that twists things into pretzel shapes, and makes distinctions, and creates divisions, and that makes us look really hypocritical, and just bad. (Third graders would be confused by this, and who could blame them?)
So here’s the deal. When people ask me why I’m involved in the gay rights struggle, I have two responses: the first one is my standard smart-ass response--why are you not? It works only on certain groups, and not so much on others. My second response is this: As a guy who has taken all those rights and protections and benefits for granted all my life, as highfalutin’ and altruistic as it sounds, I really do feel I have a responsibility to see that anyone who is denied those things has at least the opportunity to acquire and enjoy them on an equal basis with me. This, to me, is the essence of being an American. Anecdotally, it happens to be one of the reasons I spent more than 30 years in uniform defending the principles described above. I didn’t spend a year in Vietnam for instance, just for my health.
In my opinion, the act of denying another citizen the rights, benefits, legal protections, and assurances of this society, that act is itself UN-American. For those who insist that our LGBT brothers and sisters be denied the rights heterosexual Americans enjoy every day, I say to you, your actions are un-American. There’s no shading, enabling or ambiguity in that phrase. That denial is against what this country stands for, and thereby, in my simple mind, Un-American. In particular, for those who deny any citizen of this country access to civil marriage because of who they are, that, my friend, is un-American. And don’t drag out your Bible, your Koran, or any other religious tome to justify this denial. I’m not talking about holy matrimony, or church weddings, or America’s brides and grooms industry. I’m talking about civil marriage. If someone visits a government office for a building permit, a tax matter, a driver’s permit, or to register to vote, they need not bring along their Bible. I can cite a few countries that use religious texts to back up their legal adjudications: Iran, Iraq, Saudi-Arabia come to mind. In Afghanistan the Taliban check to see if everyone has their Koran handy, and if not... Well, it’s not pretty.
Speaking of Civil Marriage Equality, this is the signature issue by which we Americans truly demonstrate who we are, either a nation of religious bigots, or a nation of laws. Civil marriage equality will only strengthen marriage, not threaten it. The threat to marriage in society today is heterosexual divorce. Good Lord, if only people who were sin free could marry we’d be a nation of singles. It sure as hell leaves me out.
It’s a no brainer for me. LGBT rights are human rights. I’m no Tea Party Patriot, no jingoistic, flag-waving, street-corner renegade, despite what my Republican friends might say, either one of the two. I love this country, and the idea behind it. When we Americans fail in our efforts to address the inequities around us, I get involved. I speak up. Why do I do that? You tell me.
(And tune in tomorrow when I list yet another reason--it's personal, bring a hankie.
June 25, 2012
Password Insanity
Is there no relief for password insanity? No way to create and remember passwords without distributing them to friends for safe keeping? Pasting them in public places so we can use them? Have we come to the point where only hackers have access to our on-line accounts? Is it remotely possible that administrators of our commercial websites, on-line venues, bill-pay screens and the like may possibly, someday, somehow, by any stretch of the imagination get together and standardize their (our) password creation efforts? Do we all have to create such different passwords that the only sane end result is that we post them with sticky notes to the face of our computers so we not only remember them, but avoid looking like total boobs when we can't open our own computers?
Passwords don't have to be easy, that's not the point. They need to be hard, so the imbeciles who insist on trying to steal our stuff at least have a difficult time of it. But when a site requires one cap and one lowercase, (but not two of either) one special character (except *,%, &, #, or the letter H) plus at least one number, but nothing between 6 and 11, plus a reference to some geographic location no more than four degrees east of the international dateline, we've reached a point in our interaction with technology where no one truly understands it--except IT nerds and the criminal element, hard to tell the difference at times--and the machines that were designed to make our lives easier are indeed complicating them beyond any sane measure.
For those who can remember passwords using mnemonics, recall tools, or simple brain power, we're in awe of you, and happy that you can. For the rest of us, those of us who, because of the hopelessly arcane and complicated password creation requirements carry around our entree info in our notebooks or scribbled on our foreheads with a sharpie, please put your pointy heads together and devise some kind of standard, straightforward, consistent password creation protocol that makes sense, produces strong passwords and has built-in protection elements we can use over and over again.
And what's this requirement to change passwords every two or three or six months? Let's give Darwin his due. If we don't notice being hacked within two months, I'd say it's our own damned fault. Let it stand and let the chips fall. Can you get on this right away please? All my passwords expire next week. &&7+LL18^ (Thank you)
Passwords don't have to be easy, that's not the point. They need to be hard, so the imbeciles who insist on trying to steal our stuff at least have a difficult time of it. But when a site requires one cap and one lowercase, (but not two of either) one special character (except *,%, &, #, or the letter H) plus at least one number, but nothing between 6 and 11, plus a reference to some geographic location no more than four degrees east of the international dateline, we've reached a point in our interaction with technology where no one truly understands it--except IT nerds and the criminal element, hard to tell the difference at times--and the machines that were designed to make our lives easier are indeed complicating them beyond any sane measure.
For those who can remember passwords using mnemonics, recall tools, or simple brain power, we're in awe of you, and happy that you can. For the rest of us, those of us who, because of the hopelessly arcane and complicated password creation requirements carry around our entree info in our notebooks or scribbled on our foreheads with a sharpie, please put your pointy heads together and devise some kind of standard, straightforward, consistent password creation protocol that makes sense, produces strong passwords and has built-in protection elements we can use over and over again.
And what's this requirement to change passwords every two or three or six months? Let's give Darwin his due. If we don't notice being hacked within two months, I'd say it's our own damned fault. Let it stand and let the chips fall. Can you get on this right away please? All my passwords expire next week. &&7+LL18^ (Thank you)
April 23, 2012
Election funding reform & Citizens United
Citizens United, how it fails us and how it might be undercut. Plus, an idea whose time has come: shorter election seasons. Way shorter.
The New York State legislature is about to consider a proposed piece of legal business that holds the promise of election funding reform. Since the ill-considered Supreme Court ‘Citizens United’ decision: (“corporations are people, my friends,” so sayeth candidate Mint Romney) the nation has tilted toward Oligarchy. Corporations may now give as much moolah as they like to campaigns across the country, without disclosure or accountability, except perhaps for their boards. Perhaps. New York Governor Cuomo seems to have a better idea. Matching funds, with strings attached. Here’s the way it works, encapsulated by E.J Dionne in the 4/23 Washington Post. Mister Dionne writes:
“The government gives participating candidates $6 in matching funds for every dollar raised from individuals who live in the city, up to the first $175. At a maximum, this means a $175 contribution is augmented by $1,050 in public funds. That’s a mighty incentive for politicians to involve more citizens in paying for campaigns.”
So if I live in NYC, and I happen to like the cut of a certain candidates jib, and wish to see him/her elected, I may donate $175 to that candidate. The city will then pony up six times that amount, $1,050 in additional in matching funds. This strategy has many positive potential outcomes. It could release candidates from sniveling around deep pocketed donors, (read corporations), assure a level field in raising campaign cash, and sort out the viable candidates from the wannabes. Something else it would do. It would force candidates to shmooze with real people, folks on the street, in pubs, in small stores, gas stations, the post office, doormen, in other words real people, the heartbeat of democracy. No longer would it necessarily be true that the average citizen when asked who their representative is returns a blank stare, and a squinty eye, demanding a simpler question like how do I get to Carnegie Hall? The practice of pestering rich folks for election money, with subsequent taints and influences, could go the way of corded phone. Could. With the added benefit that people could get to know their elected officials, look them in the eye, and ask them real questions.
The other idea, no less revolutionary though perhaps less enforceable is shorter seasons. In Great Britain candidates are allowed three months to campaign. No more. It’s a traditional thing, cultural, so that a candidate for an MP seat, mayoralty or other position treads on perilous ground when poking his/her nose into the political winds prior to the opening bell. So how about this? Here in Ye Colonies, why not demand primaries opening only after New Years and ending April fool’s day, no electioneering between, then party conventions after the Fourth of July, and election day right after Halloween as it already is? This satisfies a number of political prerequisites: it forces candidates to visit Iowa in January, a test of mettle the electorate must see; it establishes a definite timeline before and after which the telly isn’t plastered with negative aspects of every candidates’ opponent including the time in third grade when he middle-fingered the principal, the scoundrel!
These ideas could work against Citizens United, but only if united citizens demand them.
The New York State legislature is about to consider a proposed piece of legal business that holds the promise of election funding reform. Since the ill-considered Supreme Court ‘Citizens United’ decision: (“corporations are people, my friends,” so sayeth candidate Mint Romney) the nation has tilted toward Oligarchy. Corporations may now give as much moolah as they like to campaigns across the country, without disclosure or accountability, except perhaps for their boards. Perhaps. New York Governor Cuomo seems to have a better idea. Matching funds, with strings attached. Here’s the way it works, encapsulated by E.J Dionne in the 4/23 Washington Post. Mister Dionne writes:
“The government gives participating candidates $6 in matching funds for every dollar raised from individuals who live in the city, up to the first $175. At a maximum, this means a $175 contribution is augmented by $1,050 in public funds. That’s a mighty incentive for politicians to involve more citizens in paying for campaigns.”
So if I live in NYC, and I happen to like the cut of a certain candidates jib, and wish to see him/her elected, I may donate $175 to that candidate. The city will then pony up six times that amount, $1,050 in additional in matching funds. This strategy has many positive potential outcomes. It could release candidates from sniveling around deep pocketed donors, (read corporations), assure a level field in raising campaign cash, and sort out the viable candidates from the wannabes. Something else it would do. It would force candidates to shmooze with real people, folks on the street, in pubs, in small stores, gas stations, the post office, doormen, in other words real people, the heartbeat of democracy. No longer would it necessarily be true that the average citizen when asked who their representative is returns a blank stare, and a squinty eye, demanding a simpler question like how do I get to Carnegie Hall? The practice of pestering rich folks for election money, with subsequent taints and influences, could go the way of corded phone. Could. With the added benefit that people could get to know their elected officials, look them in the eye, and ask them real questions.
The other idea, no less revolutionary though perhaps less enforceable is shorter seasons. In Great Britain candidates are allowed three months to campaign. No more. It’s a traditional thing, cultural, so that a candidate for an MP seat, mayoralty or other position treads on perilous ground when poking his/her nose into the political winds prior to the opening bell. So how about this? Here in Ye Colonies, why not demand primaries opening only after New Years and ending April fool’s day, no electioneering between, then party conventions after the Fourth of July, and election day right after Halloween as it already is? This satisfies a number of political prerequisites: it forces candidates to visit Iowa in January, a test of mettle the electorate must see; it establishes a definite timeline before and after which the telly isn’t plastered with negative aspects of every candidates’ opponent including the time in third grade when he middle-fingered the principal, the scoundrel!
These ideas could work against Citizens United, but only if united citizens demand them.
April 14, 2012
Female Republicans?
An open letter to my friends with two of the same chromosomes, that is my female associates far and wide. As singer-songwriter Roy Zimmerman (no relation to George) says, “...Republicans will look out for your health care...you’re getting sleepy.” and Roy goes on: “...Republicans support your right to choose...their candidate...you’re getting sleepy” So here goes, gloves off, punches pulled, no crapola--If a woman votes for a Republican candidate this year she ought to have her head examined. It would be like a chicken voting for Colonel Sanders. It doesn’t take much research to figure out that the Grand Old Patriarchy dislikes women. They believe in small government, then poke around in our bedrooms, they want less regulation of business, and more regulation of personal business. They believe in the pursuit of happiness, unless sex makes you happy. They believe in the Constitution, unless sex makes you happy. They have a candidate for president saying he’s a job creator who wants to make life easier for those who don’t work. He wants to hire more people, but he loves firing them.
The biggest red flag of all to women voters is this: Republican candidates looked on Mr. Issa’s health care panel as it examined laws affecting contraception and they saw nothing amiss in the absence of women on that panel. Imagine a group of women determining which male constituent is eligible for a vasectomy, or which Playboy Bunny is named Miss 2012. If any woman thinks about that long enough to whisper Grand Old Pricks and still votes Republican...she gets what she deserves.
The biggest red flag of all to women voters is this: Republican candidates looked on Mr. Issa’s health care panel as it examined laws affecting contraception and they saw nothing amiss in the absence of women on that panel. Imagine a group of women determining which male constituent is eligible for a vasectomy, or which Playboy Bunny is named Miss 2012. If any woman thinks about that long enough to whisper Grand Old Pricks and still votes Republican...she gets what she deserves.
April 10, 2012
Life Ring #5 A way forward for Civil Marriage Equality
Life ring #5--A way forward for Civil Marriage Equality. Those who seek a referendum to alter Ohio’s Constitution are asking for: “...a thoughtful dialogue with Ohioans to determine the level of support for the concept of allowing two consenting adults the right to marry and provide religious institutions the freedom to refuse to perform and/or recognize a marriage.”
The revised Constitutional language is as follows:
Be it Resolved by the People of the State of Ohio that Article XV, Section 11 of the Ohio Constitution be adopted and read as follows: Section 11. In the State of Ohio and its political subdivisions, marriage shall be a union of two consenting adults not nearer of kin than second cousins, and not having a husband or wife living, and no religious institution shall be required to perform or recognize a marriage.
Reasonable people can agree to disagree on this, of course, but this is called a win-win. Enough of the emotional, fear and dogma-driven diatribes against civil marriage equality. Enough denial that marriage is a human right. Enough claiming that denying civil marriage to those who demand it is somehow protecting the institution of marriage. Let all reasonable Ohioans parse this language, take from it what they want and need and go on. It is time to decide that adults who want to marry in the civil courts of this state must be allowed to do so. Those who desire to partake in the institution that stabilizes and strengthens society should be encouraged to do so. Those who seek to celebrate marriage by drawing attention to its benefits and protections must be celebrated for doing so.
Yes, civil marriage is in need of protection. It is time to recognize those who wish to enter into it to assist with that protection. It is time.
The revised Constitutional language is as follows:
Be it Resolved by the People of the State of Ohio that Article XV, Section 11 of the Ohio Constitution be adopted and read as follows: Section 11. In the State of Ohio and its political subdivisions, marriage shall be a union of two consenting adults not nearer of kin than second cousins, and not having a husband or wife living, and no religious institution shall be required to perform or recognize a marriage.
Reasonable people can agree to disagree on this, of course, but this is called a win-win. Enough of the emotional, fear and dogma-driven diatribes against civil marriage equality. Enough denial that marriage is a human right. Enough claiming that denying civil marriage to those who demand it is somehow protecting the institution of marriage. Let all reasonable Ohioans parse this language, take from it what they want and need and go on. It is time to decide that adults who want to marry in the civil courts of this state must be allowed to do so. Those who desire to partake in the institution that stabilizes and strengthens society should be encouraged to do so. Those who seek to celebrate marriage by drawing attention to its benefits and protections must be celebrated for doing so.
Yes, civil marriage is in need of protection. It is time to recognize those who wish to enter into it to assist with that protection. It is time.
