the pieces of my life

Matt Damon called me yesterday. Oh yes he did! He wanted to drive me around on Tuesday. Come pick me up in his fancy limousine, I suppose, and ply me with champagne as we cruise my suburban town. Of course, one look at my Facebook feed and it turns out–the big slut–he’d called most of my friends as well. I was most intrigued how he would get from L.A. to Boston in time to drive me and apparently most of Massachusetts around, but then I figured we’d end up with some bait and switch. It would be like someone making a movie called “The Bourne Legacy” without actually featuring Jason Bourne or even Matt Damon in any role. We’d end up with some no-name, not exactly re-cast, but just spun off. So how can you trust a guy like that? And how cocky? No, “I’m Matt Damon, star of many movies.” Just, “Hi, I’m Matt Damon, and I assume you know exactly who I am,” and f*ck all, if he wasn’t right. And there was no flattery. He went right to the ask. “Vote for Elizabeth Warren and call if you need a ride to the polls!”

But I will say that a call from Matt Damon did clear the phone lines from the two prior ones I had received. The first one was from Massachusetts Pro-Life, which wanted to make sure I voted against Initiative 2, thus guaranteeing, sight unseen that I will be voting for Initiative 2. (And as it turns out, I do support “Death with Dignity,” so thank you Pro Lifers for making me aware of something I might have just glanced over at the polls!)

And then just a few hours before Matt wanted me, the NRA came a callin’. They wanted to bring out the big guns. Literally. Apparently Scott Brown is in favor of semi-automatic weapons for hunting, target practice, and self-defense.

It feels good to be so popular.

Death, guns, and Matt on an easy Saturday afternoon. How do you like them apples?

You all know that I’m extremely liberal in my political views, and politics isn’t something I like to discuss on this blog. However, I’ve been amused by the mailings I’ve been getting lately, so I thought I’d share.

The national election isn’t getting much play–we are a blue state through and through when it comes to the presidential election. (Conversation: Me: Do you think it’s fair to say that for Massachusetts, it’s obvious it’s going to go to Obama? Adam: Um, sure. Doodles: But Mitt Romney was governor here. Me: Exactly.) Even in our own household, we tend to be more or less in agreement on the presidential election.

The senatorial race, however, is another story. Both in our house and in the state, the election is up for grabs. Now, I’ve committed myself as an Elizabeth Warren supporter. To be honest, at this point, I find her the lesser of two evils, but she’s got my vote. But I need to say, the Republican Scott Brown campaign has done a truly excellent job marketing to me. Yes, me. The registered Democrat.

I have noticed, amongst my almost-solely Democratic friends, that I alone am getting mailings from Scott Brown (addressed to me and me alone) touting him as the independent voter, the one that many Democrats are supporting. After polling folks in the school yard and discovering that only a handful are getting these mailings, we’ve realized that we all have one thing in common: we are all registered Democrats living in a house with a registered Republican or independent. The marketing is genius. Truly. Okay, so it hasn’t swayed me in the least, but I’ve been impressed with the thought behind it.

Until the mailings I received yesterday. I received a very colorful glossy mailing that proclaims, “Scott supports a woman’s right to choose.” “Scott broke with his own party to support funding for Planned Parenthood.” “Scot voted for and supports requiring coverage by healthcare providers.” All excellent points that could possibly make a voter like me consider changing my vote.

And then, in the very same mailbox on the very same day, I received a second postcard. Not quite as glossy, but a bright eye-catching red-and-white print. From the National Right to Life committee. And this mailing, in my box the same day as the pro-choice Scott Brown mailing, is promising me that “Scott Brown opposes using your tax dollars to pay for abortion.” “Scott Brown opposes partial-birth abortion, and supports requiring parental notice before an abortion is performed on a minor daughter.” “Scott Brown…voted to keep groups…from being forced to provide insurance coverage for drugs and procedures that violate their religious or moral convictions.” The same mailing also tells me that Elizabeth Warren supports Obamacare. That she supports the current policy of abortion on demand. That she’s supported by radical “pro-abortion” groups.

Brilliance in marketing. To be fair that second mailing didn’t come from the Scott Brown campaign itself. Adam and I were trying to parse why I’d be on the Right to Life mailing list (in the past year I’ve donated to both NOW and Planned Parenthood) and the only thing I can come up with is we have donated to a Catholic organization that provides housing, work training, and, oh yes, support for people with AIDS.

That one little mailing undid any hesitation that I may have had about supporting Elizabeth Warren. Elizabeth Warren doesn’t need to do a thing; Scott Brown is doing all the work for her!

Adam leaves the light on in our closet all the time. All. The. Time. It annoys me. Adam is a very green person when he feels like it, but that doesn’t include turning off the lights or simply putting on a jacket instead of cranking up the fireplace. But today, we were both getting dressed at the same time, and I pointed out how easy it is to turn out the closet light after I got dressed.

Me: Did you see how I did that? I walked out of the closet AND I turned out the light.

Adam: No, I missed it.

Me: It was simple. I turned out the light as I walked out.

Adam: I didn’t see it. Could you do it again? In fact, could you make me a YouTube video of it so I can watch it over and over at my leisure?

Me [yelling out the bedroom door]: Hey, kids! Do you want a new daddy?

Pie: Why? Is he voting for Mitt Romney?

Tonight there is a $75,000 a person dinner with Mitt Romney at the home of the president of the New England Patriots, Jonathan Kraft. How do I know this? Because my still registered-as-a-Republican husband got an e-mail invite from a former coworker.

Just $75,000? Let check the change in the couch and see what we can come up with. Oh! Only $74,999.99 short! Maybe we should raid the kids’ piggy banks.

I suggested we send my sister, the uber feminist, bleeding heart liberal poli sci professor (she may dispute that description, but I’m letting it stand as poetic license).

Adam one-upped me. He suggested sending the Tweedle Twirp. In a Miami Dolphins jersey.

Brilliant. I called the Tweedle Twirp to let her in on our plan. If I could find $74,999.99 more dollars, would she go? Yes! But the catch is she had a meeting at her school–in New York–until 3:30, so we’d have to hire her a private plane.

Sigh. It was such a good idea.

Of course, Adam pointed out, “I can’t imagine, ever, in life, spending $75k for a dinner.”

I asked, “But 50k would be okay?”

He said, “50k only if it’s a unicorn BBQ. Because those are pretty rare.”

Yet, when I pointed out that the Tweedle Twirp, in a Dolphins jersey, at a Mitt Romney fundraiser was also pretty rare, he hemmed and hawed.

Hey! I just found a quarter! Just $74,999.74 to go!

Every Passover, we celebrate the freedom of the Jews, that Moses led us out of slavery. We remember that we will never be slaves again. It’s a joyous holiday, with storytelling and singing and wonderful food.

Yet, in the midst of this celebration, we recite the plagues that were sent down to Egypt and, for each plague, we dip a finger into the wine and put a drop of wine upon our plate. The idea is that we take some of the wine away, diminish some of our joy, in remembering the suffering of the Egyptians, the despair they went through as they suffered through the plagues, their fear, their death as they drowned in the Red Sea.

I, like everyone else, feels—well, something, relieved, maybe? worried? uncertain?—in the death of Osama bin Laden. I can’t help feeling, someone died. We can feel avenged. We can feel vindicated. But I don’t think we should be rejoicing. Too many on all sides have suffered. And I can’t help but feel like we’ve just cut the head off of the Lernaean Hydra, and I fear what will come in its place.

Last night we lit a candle for Yom Hashoah. Holocaust remembrance. An odd coincidence, no?

I don’t normally blog about serious things here. I like to stay out of politics, unless it’s a matter of mocking my husband for his Republican ways. I like to keep things light and fluffy. But given that one of my very first posts, back in October 2001 when my blog was still searching for a voice, was about a woman who died in 9/11, I feel that it is something I should address. I feel as if things have come full circle. If I were looking for an excuse to end this blog, this would be it, although I still have stories to tell, so I’ll stick around.

Last Friday, I let Pie get up early and watch the royal wedding before school started. Today, I wrestled with the decision, but ultimately let the boy get up early to watch CNN. Both things they’ll most likely remember for a lifetime; the two eliciting such diametrical emotions.

On the way to school, I asked if the boy if had any questions. He didn’t, but he told me much of what he learned. At one point, he said to me, with a twinge of concern in his voice, “I guess I should be careful. They said Americans should be on their guard.” For the first time in a long time, he held my hand as we walked to school.

I nodded. And I said to him, “I’ll tell you what. You don’t have to be on your guard. I’ll be on guard for you.”

With that he gave me a smooch (a block away from school, where we won’t be seen) and ran off to school.

I don’t have an end to this blog post, no nice and neat wrap up. Because we can only wait and see what happens next.

I went to Starbucks this morning. So I made myself a cup of coffee. To bring with me. Because Starbucks isn’t serving coffee. Duh.

It’s teacher appreciation week. And, somehow, I ended up co-chairing it with Beetle. I seem to recall the previous chair saying things like, “Oh it’s practically nothing.” “You seem like a hero for very little work.” “It’s soooo easy!” I’ve decided last year’s chair is my new nemesis.

(Please take a moment to here to channel Dr. Doofenshmirtz:

“I used to sit alone doing evil all day,
But now I think that someone’s gonna get in my way, yeah,
The someone in my life that doesn’t want me to exist,
My neme, neme, oooo… my neme, neme, neme
And I feel fine cause I’ve got a nemesis.”

Okay, all done with Heinz.)

Teacher appreciation week requires two travel boxes of coffee in the teachers’ lounge every morning. Except, as you may know, we have no water. Nor does Lexington. Nor Boston. Nor Brookline. Nor… Well, you get the idea. And apparently all the Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts (please note, I still detest DD, but when you’re desperate, you’re desperate. And the majority of Bostonians seem to prefer it, anyway. Which just goes to show you what kind of taste Bostonians have) have their coffee machines wired to get the water straight from the plumbing. So they can’t make coffee. So I made my own coffee to go down to Starbucks in a desperate attempt to find caffeine for our teachers (see! we appreciate you!). Starbucks was selling only bottled drinks, pastries, and Via. So I bought a bunch of instant coffee, figuring teachers could microwave water for the requisite one minute of boiling. But lo and behold another parent found that Cambridge does indeed have coffee. The day is saved!

Meanwhile, our house is a mess, as I refuse to try and wash dishes using boiled water as it’s a pain in the ass. Dishes are just scattered about the counters and tables. I have run the dishwasher once on the sanitize cycle, but I’d prefer to just embrace the mess and avoid that. It’s a good excuse to not cook.

But that’s okay because there’s apparently still tea available. At least that’s what I think I understand. All I know is that a voicemail came today inviting me to a post-Tea Party summit where I can learn how to take back our country this November and I can learn how to organize for a free America. Free from E. coli and boiled water? That sounds nice. I had to boil water to keep in my tea kettle, as my tea kettle shuts off when it reaches a boil and I generally want my tea now so I don’t have the patience to make it on the stove top. I hope they boil their water for at least a full minute before steeping the tea. Although, perhaps this call was for my Republican husband? In which case, I suppose, he’s busy and I won’t mind if the rest of them get E. coli.

Water water, every where
nor any drop to drink.

L’chaim!

One of the most annoying things about having a mixed marriage is that in a hotly contested election, like say the Martha Coakley vs. Scott Brown for the Massachusetts Senate seat, we get twice the phone calls. As a registered Democrat, I’ve received calls from Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, and of course, Martha Coakley. As a registered Republican, Adam’s heard from a different crowd. I love checking the messages and being able to say, “Sweetie, it’s for you. It’s the pro-lifers.” He’s heard from the pro-lifers, Scott Brown, and the Catholics.

Adam ran out early this morning to cast his vote. Since the voting is at Doodles’s school, I offered that I could go early so Doodles and Pie could come with me to “cancel out Daddy’s vote.” Which led to a discussion of what is a Democrat and what is a Republican.

Have you ever tried to explain a topic like that and remain unbiased and neutral? I don’t think it can be done. I started out with some reasonable basics. “Well, the Republicans believe that government should be smaller, with people taking more responsibility for things. The Democrats believe the government should do more for people.” Which of course is just generic enough to not explain anything. Adam came home from voting as I was trying to explain. “You know how we have a nice home and–even if you don’t like the food I offer you, we have plenty of food to eat? Well, if we couldn’t afford food, we could get something called food stamps, which are given to people by the government so no one has to go hungry. Food stamps are like coupons that people without enough money can exchange for food. But someone has to pay for that. So we pay taxes. We pay on taxes on our house, on the money we make, on the things we buy. And those taxes pay for things like food stamps. The Democrats believe we should pay more taxes to help more people. And the Republicans…” And this is where I flounder. Do I say, “let people starve” or “think only rich people should eat”?

I start again. “So, the Democrats like to help people…” Adam bursts out laughing. This isn’t really the unbiased explanation I’m going for. I laugh, too, and tell Adam, “Screw this!”

So as we’re getting on our winter clothes to head for the school to vote, I simply say to Doodles, “If Harry Potter were an American citizen, he’d be a Democrat.”

End of conversation. Take that Scott Brown.

We subscribe to The Week magazine, and this week’s came today, with a picture of Obama and Karzai on the cover, emblazoned with the headline “Shotgun wedding.”

With nary a stumble, the boy took a look at it. “What’s a shotgun wedding?”

I started up with a brilliant move. “Um…. Um…. Um…. What?”

Doodles: “What’s a shotgun wedding?”

Me: “Um. It’s… Well… Um…”

Doodles: “Yes?”

Me: “You know how today all sorts of people have babies? Women by themselves, two women, two men?”

Doodles: “Yeah.”

Me: “Well, it was different in the old days. In the old days, there was this idea that if a woman got pregnant without being married, that it was a bad thing. So if a woman got pregnant and she wasn’t married, the idea goes, the woman’s dad would make the man who got the woman pregnant marry her. It was like he took a shotgun and pointed it to the guy and said, ‘Marry my daughter or I’ll shoot you.’ That’s a shotgun wedding.”

Doodles: “Well, what if there wasn’t a guy? What if she had just gone to the sperm bank?”

Me: “Um, that’s a good point.”

Doodles: “And I don’t understand what that has to do with Obama! Why is Obama going to have a shotgun wedding to that guy?”

Me: “Well, it means that he’s being forced into a relationship he may not want with that guy, Karzai, the president of Afghanistan.”

Doodles, thinks a moment. “So why is Obama having a wedding?”

To which I give the age-old response: “Who wants dinner?” And I hid the magazine.

Me: Dude! I win! You lose!
Adam: What did you win?
Me, making a toking motion.
Adam: Good for you.
Me: Decriminalization of small amounts of pot won, there’s still an income tax, and no more dog racing.
Adam: Not surprising.
Me: Oh, and Kerry won again.
Adam: There’s a shocker.
Me: I assume you voted against him?
Adam: [making a phish noise]: Duh.
Me: Do you know who the other guy is?
Adam: Nope. Not a clue.
Me: Why do you hate him so much?
Adam: Every time I think I could be a Democrat–you know, one of those Reagen Democrats–John Kerry and Barney Frank remind me of everything I hate about the Democratic party.

But he voted for Obama. Pie and Doodles were there and saw it. Either that or the chocolate chip cookie Adam bought for them at the PTO bake sale worked as a bribe to keep their mouths shut.

Me, pulling out “The Official Massachusetts Information for Voters” guide: I have no idea what else I’m voting for.
[Note, for those of you not on Facebook, Adam and I have moved our dispute over there, and he wrote: “actually, I’ll just come out and say it- I’m voting for Obama. Reluctantly, but he’s the better of the two choices.”]
Adam: What else is there?
Me: Well, I know I’m voting no on question 1, which eliminates personal income tax.
Adam: Isn’t prop 2 about marijuana?
Me: Um [flipping pages]. Yeah, it is.
Adam: How are you voting on it.
Me, scanning the copy: I’m voting yes. [“A Yes vote would replace the criminal penalties for possession of one ounce or less of marijuana with a new system of civil penalties.”]
Adam: I’m absolutely voting no.
Me: Really?
Adam: Yes! That’s like an invitation to drug dealers. “Go ahead! Sell an ounce of pot to anyone you like!”
Me: So when they come to cart me away, you’ll just be like, “Tough shit?”
Adam: Pretty much.

Just when I thought we’d finally come to terms politically in this household….