Oh, and more misogyny with Sarah Palin as the target has been out this weekend, especially a YouTube video. I refuse to give it any more play, but it featured a former NFL football player knocking Gov. Palin to the ground and rendering her unconscious. Again - the attacks on her are attacks on women, pure and simple. There is no other way to paint it. They aren't attacking her POLICIES, they are attacking her GENDER, same as they did to Senator Clinton. Why women would still support a party that treats them so shamefully is beyond me, but that's just me. There us an excellent post at No Quarter entitled, "Dear Sarah, Dear Sister" on this topic that is WELL worth reading.
Okay - now for a light moment. My mother read this to me from the Charlotte Observer, her local paper. My mother had five children, a pertinent piece of information for this article, which is entitled, Are We Really Sure Deep Throat Wasn't A Woman With Kids?
They say talk is cheap, but not when it comes to talking on the phone when kids are around. It's author is Tracy Curtis, who apparently knows whereof she speaks when she writes:
If they hadn't revealed who Deep Throat was back in 2005, I would swear it was a woman. A woman with children.
That would have explained everything. Why she couldn't talk on the phone with the Washington Post. And why she had to secretly meet the reporter in a parking garage.
And it wouldn't have been because she was afraid her kids would hear her spilling secrets about the Nixon administration. It'd be that Bob Woodward couldn't hear a word she was saying because of all the kids screaming in the background.
I think my mom could agree with that. In my family, there are three boys and two girls, all about two years apart. Oh, we could get into some trouble, I'll tell ya.
Why is it that every time a mom gets on the telephone, the world around her crumbles? And I can speak for all moms, because when I talk to another mom and I've got my kids all around me, I can hear her kids all around her. In fact, every conversation I've had this week has ended with a blood-curdling scream in the background and then “I gotta call ya back.”
I know THIS is true. When Mom would get on the phone, we'd stand there going, "Momma, Momma, Momma, Momma..." What am I saying - we STILL do that!
Any normal person would call the police. But if you're a mom, you just hang up and finish making dinner. No biggie.
My initial theory was that I call too much attention to myself when I get on the phone. I'm too obvious. I'm too happy and excited to just be having conversation beyond which Power Ranger is the strongest. And my kids can't handle it. They have to be right under foot with my full attention.
I'm imagining that a lot of you moms out there are nodding your head up and down at this point. I reckon it must be true, because I know WE did that, too. I bet we could have been out in the yard, up in a tree or something, and as soon as Mom got on the phone, there we'd be! "Momma, Momma..."
So I started sneaking off to make calls. Bathrooms and broom closets became my regular haunts. Dial quickly and quietly and speak in low, robotic tones that won't be picked up by ears conditioned to “Sesame Street.”
And it worked. For a while. Until somebody had to go really bad and I had no choice but to let him in. And turn on the lights.
Ms. Curtis is lucky. She has the benefit of CELL phones!!! Mothers of people my generation (and older) weren't so lucky. About all our moms could do was say, "I gotta go kill one of my kids now," and hang up the phone attached to the wall.
There are lessons to be learned from Watergate. Particularly if you're like me and you desperately need to have a conversation. They knew it back then and I know it now. You gotta have a plan.
When Bob Woodward wanted to talk to Deep Throat, he'd move a flower pot with a red flag on the balcony of his apartment. And Deep Throat scheduled meetings by inking a clock face with the time on page 20 of Woodward's copy of the New York Times.
So now, when I want a call from a girlfriend? I stick my husband's Clemson (Clemson? Ugh. Not even UNC?? Sorry - longstanding NC v. SC university rivalry!) flag in our azaleas. Then my girlfriend confirms the meeting with a smiley face on page 20 of my Parent Magazine. And then we meet at the farmers market, in the shadows, by the cantaloupes.
We don't share government secrets and we don't rat anybody out. But for the lengths that we go to, to have a complete conversation, 10 minutes of uninterrupted gabbing is plenty exciting. tracyobserver@yahoo.com
No doubt - I think my mom's best opportunity to get some peace and quiet was when we all went to school. That was about it, until we went to college. It didn't stop us from being bratty whenever we came home, though. I guess some things never change...
Therein lies the comic relief from me for the time being. I hope it gave you a smile as you ponder why the Obama people are giddy that Gen. Colin Powell, he of the "white powder" before the UN to get us into the Iraq War in the FIRST damn place (and another excellent article which I recommend to you, "Powell Endorses Obama, and Supporters Pee Their Pants in Glee."). Or how many of these multiple-times registered people will be voting in this election, and how often. Or has the NY Times officially become a paper on the lines of the National Enquirer after their smear piece on Cindy McCain? Inquiring minds want to know! Ahem. But for now, I hope you can have a smile for a moment, anyway...
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