Parental Advisory: some language may not be suitable for young children

So, I'm driving in the car today, and I'm not getting my usual stations in on the radio and I say to myself, "Self, Obama is now president, you listen to conservative talk radio." So I turn to the only station I know and Rush Limburger is on. I rarely listen to him, but I've seen his picture and read interviews (but I've never read his police reports for his drug dealing, I admit), so I know a bit what he's about.

He's ranting about the closing of Gitmo, reading the Dick Morris column about how Obama will turn our nation into a socialist, or at least democratic socialist nation, an editorial from the Daily Mail of London opining that this will be the end of the United Staes, etc. He takes a call from a woman in California who says, "as an American citizen, I am offended that he would close Guantanimo." She wanted to know how he could just free all those terrorists, and why isn't he doing what he promised and giving her health care and paying her mortgage? She admitted sarcasm. Limburger railed about how obama is going to give everyone a "welfare check" of $1,000. He went on and on. I was thinking, "W-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ell, a lot of the people held in Gitmo were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, in the U.S. one is innocent unless proven guilty by a jury of one's peers, I could actually use some healthcare, government welfare to individuals is so much better and more cost effictive to government welfare for corporations (Exxon, Haliburton)...but I wasn't insane with rage yet.

He talked about how the U.S. elected Obama because he was intelligent, and if anyone saw him on TV talking about his signing statement is was abvious what an idiot he is. he doesn't know anything....This from a man who admires G.W. Bush!...but I wasn't filled with rage, yet.

Mr. Limbaugh then began talking about the economic situation in the U.S. and the government bailout of the banks (since when don't these conservatives like government helping big business?) and he says, "next, we'll talk about the banking queen, Barney Frank." That's when I began to turn red, and remembered all those pictures of Limburger with a huge smile and his big cigar posed at his mouth and thought, "Boy it sure looks like he's happy to have that huge phallus-like thing in his mouth." I'll be he'd much rather have a hard cock in his mouth than those dried out leaves. Now I know why Al Franken wrote the book "Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot." I want to know who that fat fuck Limburger thinks he is calling Barney Frank names. Who does ABC radio let him get away with this shit. Why can he say that and stay on the air, when Imus got thrown off for offending African-Americans? Why does Obama get elected president the same day they make marriage for all Californians illegal, and why does Rick Warren, who fought hard to achieve that dubious milestone get to speak at Obama's inaugural ceremony? Who the fuck do these cocksuckers think they are keeping the real cocksuckers from having the same rights that they have? ooooops did I really say that?

Boy Under Wire

I just finished watching the film “Man On Wire,” the documentary about Philippe Petit’s realization of his dream to cross between the towers of the World Trade Center on a tightrope in 1974. It is a wonderfully made film that I thoroughly enjoyed, but it brought back a very personal memory. While I was at Sarah Lawrence College, Petit came to perform. A huge group of us gathered in front of the performing arts center to watch him. One of the features of this building is a large metal column that supports a staircase in front of the main entrance to the theater and dance section of the building. As part of his performance, Petit tied a think rope around this column, about six feet above the ground.

He then chose five or six volunteers to hold the other end of the rope as taught as they possibly could. Petit looked through the rest of us in the audience, spotted me and beckoned me to step out of the crowd. He placed what I remember as a small folded towel on my right shoulder and had me stand so that the rope rested on the towel. He had those standing behind me pull taught again. He tested the rope, went over to the far end of the rope and hopped on. Philippe told me to look at in his eyes. It was quite difficult.

Difficult, because I wanted to watch his body, his feet, his arms as he stepped, hopped, danced, bounced on the rope as he entertained. Difficult because the tension on the rope dug into my shoulder, even through the towel. I kept moving my eyes from his eyes to his amazing feats and each time we re-made eye contact he softy asked, “are you all right? Are you okay?” and I would reply as softly, “yes.” It was an amazing connection for me. He wasn’t high up, but I knew if I slipped, if I faltered, then he would come crashing down on the stone pavers below. I knew I had to stay with him, be where he was to make it possible for him to display his talents. I was concentrating so hard, I was almost in a hypnotic state. If one of the people behind me lost their grip for a second, there were others to maintain the tension, if I screwed up, the rope would turn from a taught cable able to support a human being to a floppy coil on the ground.

I always dreamed of running away with the circus as a boy, perhaps that is why I worked as a magician and clown through my high school years, performing at birthday parties and charity affairs. Those few brief moments “working” with Philippe were as close as I ever got to the big top. When this film came out, I learned he lives near Woodstock, so he is actually not very far from where I live. I’ve met many celebrities in my life, worked with some incredibly talented actors, singers, dancers, chefs, but there was something ineffable about those few moments holding the rope for Philippe Petit, and they will forever remain a special part of my life.

Service with a Smile

So I walk into the post office the other day, the one in Huguenot, not Cuddebackville, (check the map! http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Huguenot%2C%20New%20York%2012746&rls=com.microsoft:*&oe=UTF-8&startIndex=&startPage=1&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&tab=wl (slide the bar on the left down a little to zoom out) my house is under the second f in Godeffroy) and an older gentleman in a cap and plaid shirt/jacket is complaining because he can’t get his hand into his P.O. box. There was all this stuff around the edges of the inside of his box and he couldn’t get his mail. One of the women behind the counter explained that he had said that he kept scraping his hand on the inside edges every time he went to grab his mail, so they fixed it. They cello-taped cotton balls all around the edges! We all had a good laugh!!!! These are the same people who will cover me and still send my mail out if I am short the postage money, because they know I’ll be back and am good for it. Now the women in the Cuddebackville post office are every bit as accommodating, but that office closes from 11:30 to 1:30 every day for lunch, which of course is the time I usually want to mail things, so….I wind up south, not north more often than not. Not long after we moved here, someone sent us a letter addressed to “Seth & David Cuddebackville, NY 12729” and they delivered it to us. They can do it with every address here. Yes there are only a little over a thousand people living in Cuddebackville and Godeffroy (the one post office serves both towns, since the Godeffroy postmistress retired and they couldn’t use her living room for the post office any more –that was against regulations, though someone told me she was happy to rent that part of her living room for the purpose.

Having recently experienced airport hell as we travelled from San Diego to New York through snowstorms Christmas week, with lost baggage, other people’s baggage coming to us, etc. It is good to be reminded that customer service with a smile (and a joke or two) still exist in this country. One wouldn’t know it from the air lines that raise fares, cut services and flights and generally expect you to thank them for treating you badly. Remember the days when air travel seemed like first class even when you flew coach? When flight attendants smiled? When passengers didn’t push and shove on the jetways afraid the planes will take off without them, even though it’s 20 minutes to departure time? When they loved to fly and it showed?

Did I tell you about the two different neighbors who arrived with their snow plows as we were taking our baggage from the cars? They knew we were coming home that day, and since there had been a snowstorm, wanted to make sure we could get in the house. Go ahead you city and suburb folks, ask me again why I live in the country!