More Politics and Pirates (ARGHH!)

In Peter Pan, Captain Hook accuses Peter of "bad form." For Hook, bad form is anything that shows good character. Hook even attempts to train Smee in what constitutes "good" form; Smee tends to get a little confused with a good pirate requiring he be a bad person. But then, look who his boss is...

The election is just around the calendrical corner, and the fervor is intensifying! I am so excited because if McCain wins, half the country will move to another continent leaving a whole lotta country for me to spread out in. On the other hand, if Obama wins, we may make history more than once in the next few years.

There's no doubt about it. This year's election is forcing people to think and act. One word of caution, though, before you put on your PF Flyers and get poised for the starter's pistol: DO NOT VOTE YOUR CONSCIENCE!

Yes, that's a strange thing for a right-wing conservative to say. Here's the thing, though...there are WAYYYYY too many conflicting opinions on what constitutes good and bad form these days, so much so that this is no longer a good reason to pick one candidate over another. I beg of you, think BIG PICTURE.

Think of these United States of America as a corporation. Imagine the ticker symbol on the NYSE is TUSOA, that sounds cool. And you want the stock to remain healthy, yes? Then you gotta run the country/company with a little more intelligence and a little less...soul. Not no soul, just less soul.

I mean, really, who cares if Palin has an illegitimate grandchild? Who cares if Obama is a macdaddy? I certainly don't! It's time for us to re-evaluate what's important to us.

What Fluff Cares About
I care that my children stay healthy in a world full of evolving diseases. I care that my grandchildren have easy access to excellent teachers and continuing education. I care about the skyrocketing price of gasoline.

I want to know that the people running this country are capable of making intelligent decisions intended to keep this country prosperous. I want my country run like a successful business with good health for its stockholders, yes, but more important, good health for its employees so they can do their jobs with success and satisfaction.

I want scientists to have bandwidth to discover more efficient, cost-effective ways to save our environment and heal the sick. I want minority businesses to be able to compete with larger corporations for the opportunity to provide American citizens with services they are uniquely qualified to provide at rates these citizens can afford.

I want our teachers to be paid what they are worth so they will remain inspired to teach.

I have, amongst my children, capable representation of the industries science, education, the arts and the environment. These are the people who will weave the moral fabric of this country. These are the people who will ensure that women in other countries are able to contribute to their own societies with intelligence and wit, with compassion and courage, without fear for their lives. These are the people who will ensure that next year, 330 thousand more children don't die of AIDS. These are the people who will find ways to increase our natural resources and reduce our carbon footprint, and who will inspire the next generation of scientists, teachers and artists to do the same.

This is not the job of the president of TUSOA. His, (or her) job is to ensure that this company is healthy enough economically and internationally so the employees of this company can do their jobs with satisfaction, efficiency and efficacy.

(That being said, I plan to still give my vote to the irish - what the bloody hell do I know?)

If a Tree Falls In The Forest, Will Stu Still Have a Home?

I'm so confused. I was driving to work today and passed a sign by Blockbuster that said, "Please don't feed the landfill." Two weeks ago, I passed a garbage truck with "Waste management landfills provide more than 17,000 acres of protected habitat for wildlife" splashed broadside. So do we feed the landfills or not? Come on, folks, make up my mind.

I've decided to rename the kitty Addy (the feline one, monkeyboy). It would be pronounced Addy but spelled ADHD cuz that's what he is. This cat is seriously attention-deficit to the G(oodbar) degree. He travels nonstop at the speed of light, changing direction midstream to go with his changing thought. He shoots across the room to his food, then back to his cubby, then under the bed, then on top of the bed, then behind the plants, behind the couch, behind the curtains.

Sable, bless her doggy soul, tries to keep up, but loses traction going around corners; she slid halfway across the kitchen floor earlier this week...

Sable loves the kitty and the kitty is slowly learning to love Sable. He laid down next to her this a.m., batted Sable's nose a few times, then dashed from the room. His sudden disappearance startled Sable so much she farted.

Stu-the-banished-chipmunk is much less happy than Sable and beastie-boy. How do I know? Cuz he makes angry little chipmunk sounds when I drive my car. How can I possibly hear him when I am driving my car? Because he is living in the heater vent. How do I know he is living in the heater vent? BECAUSE HE MAKES ANGRY LITTLE CHIPMUNK SOUNDS WHEN I DRIVE MY CAR.

Here's the thing - I get that he is feeling a bit displaced. Stu thought he had a sweet gig behind the microwave. He was so happy, munchin' on skittles and cheesebread. But, I had to evict him, I had to! If something is gonna get tangled in my hair, I would prefer it be Guy, NOT a flea-bitten kissing-cousin-to-a-squirrel. Stu had to go.

And now he has taken up residence in my car. Oh, this is soooooooo much better. Instead of my being able to jump up and run screaming through my 1900 sq. ft house when he pops out of nowhere, I'm going to be trapped in a 50 sq ft moving metal box when he decides to pop his little rodent head out from under the dashboard and rest it on my knee. Cool.

One of life's little ironies, no? I mean, here I am conscientiously doing my part to feed the landfill so Waste Management can continue to provide homes to all the chipmunks and seagulls in the Pacific Northwest, and Stu wants to live in a Lexus! That is sooooooo...not green.

Dead Men Tell No Tales

What has eight legs and eight eyes? Here are some clues:

It is not a spider.
It is not four people.

I'M SO EXCITED!!!!!! TODAY is INTERNATIONAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY!!!!!!! All throughout the office, I am hearing "Ahoy!" and "Avast me mateys!" spoken with German, Middle Eastern, Texas and ADHD accents. We are a diverse company, no doubt of that.

Pirates, of course, have always been popular amongst the womenfolk, but their popularity rose sharply in recent years, thanks to Johnny Depp (of mayonnaise fame). They continue to hold their position as one of the most inviable job oppys, I think because there are no flourescent lights on a pirate ship.

It could also be because we visualize pirates as strong, virile (if not exactly hygenic) representations of the male species. In fact, this is the only profession where men can wear blouses with billowing sleeves and still have the girls (and some guys) swoon at their feet. Never mind that they have no teeth and likely are missing either an ear or eye or maybe even one of each. Sometimes they are even missing a tongue which, of course, decreases their popularity with the softer sex.

We take our pirates seriously here in Seattle - in my opinion, they are the only reason to put up with the crowds that flock to Seattle for the PorchLight Parade (:D My beautiful bubble gave that moniker to a Seattle tradition. The SeaFair Pirates, by the way, date back to 1949 and have been helping promote the TorchLight parade since its inception in 1950). It's actually quite fun to watch these swarthy men scrape their swords on the asphalt and scare the shit out of stuffy's kids...I mean, other people's kids.

Pirates even have their own cool songs, at least two that I know of:
1. Yo ho, Yo ho, A pirates life for me
2. 99 bottles of beer on the wall (this one is also a theme song at work; ask any admin)

Yeah, ok, pirate songs suck. If I was the doodlebug, I would whip out my Ipod and come up with a more suitable buccaneering playlist. But, I'm not so I won't. Instead, I will list some cool things about pirates.

Cool Things About Pirates:
They get to live on boats.
They get to wear as much jewelry as they want without looking gay (men) or old (women).
They get their own "Speak Like A" day.
They get to say poop (deck) all day long!

(Now, for those of you who still haven't guessed the answer to my riddle, read this next section carefully.)

Pirates actually had a pretty sweet life if they could survive disease, starvation, capture and other hazards of the job. For one thing, they got to keep what they "found." For another, they got workman's comp. Really they did!

Pirates got 100 pieces of eight (equivalent to $96) for the loss of a finger or an eye. Today, you'd get $126. They got 400 P8 for the loss of their left leg, 500 P8 for loss of their right (go figure). Losing an arm was worth 500 P8 (left) and 600 P8 (right). So, if you were one of eight pirates, say, and you lost your left leg (like the other seven pirates in your crew) AND your right arm, you'd make close to a grand and still be able to counter-balance yourself as long as you didn't have to do much walking. If you and your fellow buccaneers lost one eye each, your quartermaster would have to shell out 800 P8. Total it up and that's a lot to pay for a crew that only has eight legs and eight eyes amongst the lot o' them.

(If you still haven't figured out the answer to the riddle, you sooooooo don't deserve to be pillaged by a handsome, Orlando Bloom-like pirate who still has all his legs and eyes...)

Here's the thing...we soooooooo want to believe in the Jack Sparrow version of a pirate even with the rotting teeth. Take, for instance, the buried treasure. If you've ever been on the Pirates ride at Disneyland, then you know the BEST part of the ride (besides the bayou) is when you enter the pirates cave and there is all that totally realistic-looking gold, jewelry and silverware.

(Can I just say, if I was a pirate, I would steal the gold, I would steal the emeralds and rubies and sapphires and pearls, but I would not steal the silverware. Silverware is a pain in the royal toochus to polish...)

Wikipedia, on the other hand, wants to make sure that we do not fall for this common misconception of piracy. Wiki says pirates didn't really bury their booty. They claim that "treasure" stolen was food, water, alcohol, weapons, or clothing, and that burying such items did not prove to be such an effective way of storing up for their long-term future. Hmph!

Strangely, there were not very many women pirates in the day. One is of notable mention. Some Norwegian chick became a pirate to avoid marriage. (I wonder if her fellow buccaneers let her be or did she end up performing her wifely duties instead to something that sported eight legs and eight eyes?)

Merriam-Webster defines buccaneer as (second def.) "an unscrupulous adventurer especially in politics or business."

Now there's a thought...Captain Jack Sparrow, President of these United States...

I continue to study politics via...

http://entertainment.msn.com/video/playern/?G=a961b1f8-a2ac-4953-bead-dfe466fe9a9e

Ooh La La How How How

Two separate conversations this week have collided in my wiggly brain. If you'll excuse me now, I must go dance a bit...

Oh, The Places You'll Go!

Once upon a time, I was born. Then I grew up, got married, had kids, got divorced, fell in love, got married, and got divorced again. And then I fell down a hole and came out in China.

No, really, it's true! I was an extremely shy child preferring the plants in the backyard to the kids in the front. I spent a great deal of time in the backyard where it was inevitable that I would eventually try to see if one could really dig all the way to China. I'm the kind of person that will test a claim or theory - for instance, if something says slow burning, don't be surprised if I light a match to it...

In any case, I kept the deepest hole with me for years, digging a little more in my spare time. Eventually, I recruited a couple husbands and some kids to help with the digging. My best work was done, though, after the second divorce when I had plenty of time to spare and some cool new tools with which to dig. Work progressed at a surprising rate, and one day when I wasn't watching where I was walking, I fell into the hole.

And just like a scene from Alice in Wonderland, the walls of the hole got narrow, then wide, and they had stripey, swirling colors, and at one point stars were shooting past me at an alarming rate, and I started to cry cuz there was dirt in my mouth and nose and twigs were pulling at my hair and something was clutching the back of my shirt and then I fell out in China.

And there sitting on the grass next to me with a fistful of my shirt clutched in her capable hands was my beautiful daughter Jody. And she was laughing and crying and asking me why I dug a hole to China if I was afraid of going there and then she punched me in the arm.

Sheesh!

When the girls were little, I took them to a Chinese restaurant. The second oldest looked down at the two skinny sticks in front of her and burst into tears. "But I'm so huuungry!" she cried. She was convinced that she would not be able to master the use of these strange, new tools before she perished from starvation.

It's fairly normal to panic when time collides with the unfamiliar, especially when it's a drastic, life-changing event. It becomes harder to embrace the many twists and turns in life when we're so aware of how much time has passed and how little of it may be left.

In his last book written, Oh, The Places You'll Go!, Dr. Suess proposes we have an optimistic view towards these unexpected zigs and zags in life. "Congratulations! Today is your day. You’re off to Great Places! You’re off and away!” Life is apt, he illustrates, to sweep you from vista to vale with little or no notice, and it won't always be pleasant, we won't always have confidence, we might even be alone for part of the journey, but it will more than likely turn out fine.

To be honest, I would have preferred traveling to this new place in a less painful way. I don't like cold, dark holes any more than anyone else. But I dug the thing and I fell into it, so I won't bemoan having made the trip in such an uncomfortable fashion. And truth be told, what I've found in this strange new place, the scenery, the food, the people, is far too valuable to regret the manner in which I arrived.

Of course, that doesn't help anyone who is falling at the moment. All I can offer is this - it's normal and natural to feel lost and lonely and scared when you are falling. It's normal to wonder about, possibly even fear, the outcome. If you should fall out the other end, will you be able to survive? Will you be able to communicate with the local inhabitants? Will you be able to eat with just two skinny sticks?

According to Dr. Suess, the answer is "Ninety-eight and three-quarters percent guaranteed." Those seem like excellent odds to me.