Winner for Worst Mother of the Year

This week I had to travel on a small plane from DC to Cleveland. To give you an idea of the size of this plane… it was 1 seat on the left and 2 seats on the right, for probably 20 rows. It was not a big plane. It was so small that we had to go outside and enter the plane via a ladder on the tarmac. It was maybe 40 degrees when we left DC. It was snowing when we deplaned in Cleveland.

My nominee for worst mother of the year got on with her 3 tweener kids – all with skateboards – none with jackets. The one in the lead was throwing up into a barf-bag. They sent him to the back of the plane (somewhere far enough behind me that I eventually, gratefully, stopped hearing the noises) and then mom and the other kids spread out. As in, they left his poor sick miserable ass alone in the back and sat elsewhere.

Most of the hour plus ride was in horrible turbulence. It was so bad I couldn’t read and I couldn’t put my head on the headrest or against the window. As my own stomach expressed its displeasure, I thought of that poor kid and what he must be going through.

When we deplaned in Cleveland, I was behind the unit as we worked our way down the ladder, into the airport, and through the airport to ground transportation. The mother squawked at her brood that she told them they needed their jackets – they shouldn’t have packed their jackets – they would rue the day they didn’t wear their jackets – and now she was vindicated. It’s always amazing to see a mother talk to her children like she was a 14-year-old babysitter who was trying to one-up her charges. Good for you, letting your kids do whatever they wanted, even though you knew it was going to snow and you knew they would need their jackets but you let them make their own decisions and now you are going to rub their noses in it. Excuse me, either be the adult and make the decisions (you will take your jackets it is snowing at our destination) or tell them they make the decision and live with the consequences – and then leave it alone. Because if you leave it alone, the kids learn the lesson (mom was right, gee who knew that could happen/hey snow is cold, I should bring my jacket next time mom says it is snowing) but if you taunt them the lesson is “my mother is a jackass”.

But I digress…

The mother walked ahead with the healthy kids, wearing one of their skateboard helmets, and chatting them up. Never noticing that her sick kid kept falling farther and farther behind.

She didn’t even notice when her son threw up all over the floor. She didn’t notice because she was getting on the down escalator with her other kids – and two other moms pointed it out to her, and showed her how to get back around and up to her kid. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

At the bottom of the escalator a man was waiting for them. She gave him a big hug. She started chatting him up, sighed and looked over her shoulder for the missing child – who still was apparently at the top of the escalator. She looked annoyed – as did the other children. The man looked confused.

I walked past them, pushing down my temper. She forced this child onto the flight, when he was clearly, visibly ill, and then gave him no comfort. Upon arrival, she acted as if he ceased to exist, and then when his existence was pointed out to her, she became annoyed.

I know it is hard to care for a sick person. I know it because I have been a caretaker and I have been a sick person. I know it is a thankless job. But guess what lady: This. Is. Your. Child. Your kids that are healthy and fine do not need to chat you up about their skateboards or whatever else you were discussing – they don’t need you at the moment – other than to be nearby as a resource. Your sick child needs you.

To be a sick child, alone, uncomforted, is one of the worst feelings in the world. No child should have to endure it. No child should have to feel sick and rejected. No child should have to feel that his mother has chosen his siblings over him and forgotten him. Especially not in so public a setting. Who needs public humiliation added to all of that?

My first thought when they boarded the flight was about how irresponsible it was to bring a sick person onto a flight (especially such a small one) where we would all be exposed to whatever the kid had. Within moments I had forgotten all about that, and realized that this woman was irresponsible in every aspect of her children’s lives, and if she cannot think of the well being of her own children, how can she think beyond them?

Sara’s guide to surviving your tonsillectomy

Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional. This is not medical advice. This is based on personal, patient experience. Whenever you are undergoing, considering, contemplating, or anything more than daydreaming about a surgical procedure, your doctor's advice takes precedent - not a blog post you found. If you didn't already know that, you either aren't old enough or smart enough to care for yourself. Seek medical attention.

Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, here's my advice, now that I've lived through an adult tonsillectomy:

1. Prepare ahead: if you have the ability to prepare ahead of time, and with a tonsillectomy you generally should, you will want to have some items ready for when you get home. Note: you should double-check with your doctor to ensure that you are following his/her instructions


• Drinks: you will want ice cold drinks on hand in mass quantities, no hot drinks, no hot soups


• Ice cream: plain flavors, no add-in (sorry rocky-road fans)


• Jello: if you like it stock up


• Pudding: same as jello.


• Medication: see if your doctor will write the prescriptions ahead of time so you can have them at home when you get home (some may need to be ordered as they are not kept on hand).


2. Hydrate early, often, again, and again. This cannot be said enough. Drink, drink, drink, drink. The better hydrated you are, the quicker you heal. The poorer your hydration, the more pain, and the slower the healing. If you are having problems drinking you probably need a better pain medication.


3. Medicate on time: do not delay on your meds. Do not try to tough it out. If you are in pain you will have a very hard time staying hydrated. Also, watch how long your meds are really lasting – if it says take every 4 hrs, but after 90 minutes you are in pain again, get a better medication.


4. Food: accept that for a week your only foods are ice cream, pudding, and jello. I was able to eat mac without the cheese after about 4 days. It took almost 10 before I was eating truly solid food. I’m still working back towards a full menu.


5. Use a humidifier when you sleep. This will keep your throat from dehydrating while you sleep.


6. Sleep: sleep is actually counter-intuitive post-tonsillectomy. You will want to sleep, but when you sleep, you are dehydrating. So sleep in short bursts (1-2 hrs) and use a humidifier. Drink 8 oz before you sleep (if you are like me this will ensure you wake up within 2 hrs) and another 8 when you get up. You need to combat the dehydration that sleep causes.

The other major thing you need is someone who can take care of you. You need someone who can fill your prescriptions, pick up any drinks or foods you run out of, etc. You especially want someone who can drive you any place you might need to be. Trust me, if you wind up on the meds I was on (hello oxycontin) you cannot drive, I was so doped up I was handing over the keys in my dreams.

Stay hydrated. Stay medicated. You'll be fine.

Respect Ed Hochuli

Last Sunday my favorite NFL referee made a bad call. You've heard about it, everyone is making a big stink over it.

Here's a story you aren't hearing.

Ed Hochuli is, in this fan's opinion, a rare person in this industry. He's hard working, he cares about the details, he cares about getting it right. And he has courage and integrity.

Courage and integrity.

Normally, when a ref makes a questionable call the announcers bitch about it, fans at home bitch about it, it gets written up for awhile (the size of the question directly relating to the length, depth, and duration of the coverage) - but at the moment of the questionable call, the game goes on.

But not Ed Hochuli. He immediately identified the error - not just to himself - but to the whole world. He didn't try to excuse it or hide it or claim it was a solid call. He said it was a mistake, he said why it was a mistake, and then he got the game moving forward.

For those of you who haven't seen it, there is actually a great documentary about Ed Hochuli and his crew on NFL's Six Days to Sunday - how they spend each week and prep between games. He goes over every minute of film, looking at every call, reviewing it with his crew, with the review board - always trying to get better.

Why work that hard? Well remember that the rules change every year. Every year some rules change; some change a little, some change a lot. This is not an easy job. But Ed Hochuli is clearly dedicated to always being at the top of his game.

I watch football like a fiend. I have the big football package so I don't miss a game. And I can tell you that I am thrilled when I see that Ed Hochuli is refereeing a game - because I know that means that we're going to get a staff that is totally dedicated to the job, and that Ed is going to ensure that every call that needs an explanation gets one. No one at home has to wonder "why this call" or "what does that mean?" because Ed is going to explain it clearly, concisely, and you can trust that the calls are the best you can expect from someone in real time. I will take Ed Hochuli over any ref any day of the week.

I trust Ed Hochuli and so should you. Not because he is infallible, but because he has the courage and integrity to know when he has made a mistake and say so. And you can bet he won't make that same mistake twice.

Hang in there Ed. You're the best.

Sick & Tired of Being Sick & Tired

Summer is usually a time of fun. I got to have some fun at the start of the summer... first on my trip to Finland (for work, but very cool), and then on vacation to Bermuda. Then, I got sick.

It started with a bad ear infection in mid-July that never seemed to go away. I've been back to the ENT several times who keeps telling me that my ears are clear despite my protestations that I am in excruciating pain (to the point where I am taking percocet several times daily) all along the right side of my face - with the fixation point in my ear.

So on Tuesday I had a head/neck CT Scan. Today I got the results.

Apparently part of your tonsils are sub-lingual (under the tongue) and therefore cannot be seen during a normal exam. These are the part of my tonsils that have tonsillitis. It's a gnarly infection and I will be on an uber-antibiotic for 2 weeks (the warning on the pamphlet actually says "Do not take this medication unless you have a serious illness as the side effects can be fatal"). Then he'll drop a scope down my throat and see if the infection is cleared up - now that he knows what to look for - and if so I am good to go. If not, I may be undergoing a tonsillectomy. Ah, the irony that I will have ANOTHER tonsillectomy again in my lifetime is not lost on me - and I hope you find it amusing as well. That's right - for those of you who don't know, I had my tonsils out when I was 3 - apparently they left scar tissue - and apparently tonsils can and will grow back. As Mr. Holly said, "that is the worst superhero power ever!" And I heartily agree.

So tonight I begin the antibiotics, which I am told will be horrifically unpleasant for my stomach... but within a few days I shouldn't feel like an ice pick is being rammed into my ear any more.

So that's the news... still the kid with the bad ears / nose /throat wondering where in the hell I got these defective tonsils from anyway.

Mom & Dad, I would like a refund on my tonsils, my original tonsillectomy, and any other defective ENT gear I came from the factory with.

Ten things I hate about Boston

Since the start of the new year I’ve been coming out to Boston almost weekly to work with a client. They’re not in the city, per se, so it may be a bit unfair to title this “…about Boston” but since we’re in the Boston burbs, and since I fly into Logan airport, Boston must bear my ire.

Item #10: Street Signs, Part 1. The streets here suck on many, many levels. For one, they have no fucking signs. Seriously. By some grand design there are no signs to tell you what street you are on – and not all the cross streets have signs either. So if you are from here, and you know where you are and where you are going (by rote experience I imagine) then I guess it will work fine for you. For anyone else, however, this system is complete ass.

Item #9: Street Signs, Part 2. I’m not talking about names – I’m taking about the signs that tell you about conditions. The one I have noticed on this trip is: “Thickly Settled” – which a quick Google search tells me is used to indicate a highly dense population/neighborhood, and therefore speeds over 30 MPH are very bad. Why not just put the normal speeding signs with warnings for high fines? Because seriously, only someone from here is going to know wtf “Thickly Settled” means.

Item #8: Roundabouts. Let me tell you the joy of having any GPS system try to explain to you which point of the circle you are entering you need to exit. This is exacerbated when the roundabout is followed immediately by another roundabout. One of my most cringe-worthy experiences driving here is hearing the GPS say: “Proceed through the first roundabout, then take the second exit and the second roundabout, and exit the next roundabout immediately.” Were the street planners stoned when they made these streets? These people need to burn in hell. Starting now.

Item #7: Road conditions. I have lived in big and small cities across the land. I have traveled far and wide. These are easily the worst streets I have seen north of the Mexico border. Potholes you could drive a Buick through – lanes and diverge and merge without signs or warnings. No drainage for rain, snow, and other nasty sludge. There is no suspension gentle enough to make you think the roads here are good.

Item #6: The snooty.

I was talking to someone early in my travels here who was telling me how her whole family was from here, and they all went to Harvard, because it was “the local college”. As if. As if it was like some community college and they all waltzed in with no problem. Maybe they did waltz in. Maybe they bought their way in. Maybe they are old money. I don’t really give a fuck. I will tell you that many, many people try to get into Harvard, from MA and other places and don’t get in – and it has nothing to do with it being their “local school”. Put. The. Attitude. Away. Kudos on the Harvard degree sister, but don’t act like everyone just walks in.

Item #5: The accent.

No – I am not about to bash the southie accent. What bothers me is that most of the people here have no accent – as if it is some mythical thing. And then, they slip into it when they are tired or stressed. Or you meet someone who has such a thick accent that you can’t even comprehend them. Where is the charming accent everyone used in The Departed? Some of those people were from here, they used their real accents. Where are those people and their accents? They don’t exist. It’s either these thick, impenetrable accents, or people who you think aren’t even from here, until they tell you how they all went to Harvard because it was the only local school and therefore their only option.

Item #4: The weather.

When I moved to Northern VA I gave up good weather. But coming up here is like going to the god-dammed North Pole. When it is 50 degrees in DC it is 35 here. When it is 35 in DC I am a god-dammed frozen icicle here.

Item #3: The traffic.

I once stayed at a hotel that was 5 miles from the office. It took me 45 minutes to get there. Every. Fucking. Day. Not a fluke – that’s what the traffic was like. You need to find where the weird patterns are and avoid them. This time I am staying 7 miles away and it takes 20 minutes to get there.

Item #2: The cost of food.

Hotel food is insanely expensive – so I’m not even going there. But seriously, I go out for dinner because I am on the road and every item that is worth eating is expensive as hell. By that I mean, it isn’t an iceberg lettuce salad or a hamburger. You can’t eat burgers every night after you hit 30 years old – know why? It’s called your metabolism, your heart, your cholesterol, your blood pressure, your doctor’s orders, and the fact that you want to live to 40. So I go out, try to get fish (healthy), or find something light, and you’re looking at $25-30 pre-tax, tip, and drink. Seriously. $30. Insanity.

Item #1: The airport.

I cannot say this enough: Fuck Logan Airport. Fuck it. I. FUCKING. HATE. LOGAN. AIRPORT. 95% of the time I get delayed leaving Logan. But even worse than that are their asinine security lines. The security lines resemble the roads here – no clear delineations, and at one point they merge two into one – without any warning. One occasion I had this misfortune of being in a lane that was forced to merge, then diverge, then remerge. It took me almost an hour to get through security – at 7 AM! I’ve never seen such horribly organized security lanes. The guys who check your IDs are great – by the way – nice guys. Most of the folks are fine. There are two women here that fry my ass though. They walk up and down this tight little area where people are struggling to get their items into the bins to go through the x-ray machine, and they scream: “DO NOT PUT YOUR SHOES IN THE BINS! YOUR SHOES GO ON THE BELT! MAKE SURE YOU PUT YOUR LIQUIDS IN A BIN! IF YOU DO NOT PUT YOUR LIQUIDS IN A BIN AND THEY ARE SPOTTED ON THE X-RAY, THEY WILL BE CONFISCATED! DO NOT PUT YOUR SHOES IN THE BINS!” and then they will run up to specific people and scream “SIR I SAID ‘DO NOT PUT YOUR SHOES IN THE BINS!’ THESE ARE NEW BINS AND YOU ARE MAKING THEM DIRTY!” And almost every time the offender responds with – “I was just trying to move my items along the table – I didn’t put my shoes in the bins…” and then they will scream, “SIR, YOU WERE ABOUT TO PLACE YOUR SHOES IN THE BIN! DO NOT PLACE YOUR SHOES IN THE BIN!” It’s horrific to listen to when you stand in those insane lines. But as bad as I thought it was, I never realized how bad it is for the employees, until last week when the ID checker (who was very nice, jovial, and otherwise cheery) said to me, “Oh my god I wish she would just stop that. Do me a favor, roll your eyes at her and glare at her when you get up there – she hates that.” And then he laughed and shook his head and mumbled something about how many more years he had until retirement.

And really, the shoes in the bins thing is stupid – because other airports make you put them in the bins. So if you are one of the odd airports, don’t expect people to get why you are insane about your bins. No one cares that your bins are new.

And stop yelling. What, are you New Yorkers?

Most Importantly: It isn’t home.

Isn’t that really all that matters?

Who Needs Sleep?

There's so much joy in life,
so many pleasures all around
But the pleasure of insomnia
is one I've never found
With all life has to offer,
There's so much to be enjoyed
But the pleasures of insomnia
are ones I can't avoid

Lids down, I count sheep
I count heartbeatsT
he only thing that counts is
that I won't sleep
I countdown, I look around

Hala Hala Hala...

Who needs sleep?
(well you're never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what's that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you're getting
There's a guy who's been awakesince the Second World War)
--Barenaked Ladies “Who Needs Sleep”

Insomnia… my lifelong foe

I’ve had a lifelong battle with the elusive beast you call a good night’s sleep. I think in the 30+ years I have been on this planet I have never experienced a “good” night’s sleep. I don’t lay down and fall asleep, I lay awake. I don’t awake refreshed in the morning, I fight through the fog.

I toss, I turn, I sweat, I snore, I flail, I even call out, but peace is something I cannot achieve in my sleep. My teen through grad school years capitalized on my insomnia by using the wee hours of the evening for brainstorming. I was a master planner while I laid awake in my bed. The morning would find me groggy on just a few hours of patched together sleep, but in the shower I would reassemble my plans from the night before and write, do my homework, housework, what have you. My plan would push me through the fog.

Ironically, every sleep expert says that all that bedtime thinking intensifies the insomnia. So I started trying to turn it off. Instead of the plans that brought me peace that all my to do would in fact get done, I would lie awake going “don’t think…shh… relax…” I’ve come to the conclusion that telling myself to relax is tantamount to flipping a panic switch deep inside my psyche. Somewhere my skeptical brain hears “relax” and thinks “sabotage!” and all my inner alarms go off – like “Why do I need to relax? What is wrong?” and the next thing I know I’ve given myself a lovely panic-induced asthma attack. Let me tell you how that doesn’t help me relax and fall asleep.

So I changed again, I tried giving myself little daydreams. Substituting myself in for whatever great television or movie character I had recently seen or appreciated, bending the plotline to my will. Unfortunately, my favorite genres are thrillers and action movies, so inserting myself into the lead role where I have Jackie Chan skills, usually means an action sequence is playing out in my head – and that means I tend to wake up more than relax – because really, how do you fall asleep when you are kicking so much ass?

But all the experts say to do this, and do that, and set a routine, and get the right mattress and the right pillow, and the right temperature, and whatever. I’ve tried every fancy pillow. Let me tell you how much my dogs love them. Because the fancy ones eventually (sometimes almost immediately) annoy me and then the dogs claim them for makeshift doggie beds. The beagle is a big fan of tempur-pedic.

And a few years back I even read enough expert material to think I might have sleep apnea, and my doctor agreed. So off I went for a sleep study test. I was hooked up to machines from head to toe (literally) and monitored throughout the night. I don’t have apnea. I do snore. I do get up to go to the bathroom. They said I woke up 63 times from my own damn snoring. I spent 4% of the night in REM sleep (that’s the good stuff folks), and you are supposed to spend 25% in REM. Clearly, I am not getting what I need. So what do the experts tell me? Stop snoring.

So I went to an ENT (ear, nose, throat) doctor who said there was nothing wrong with my nasal passages, change the angle of my head, use snore strips, use a humidifier, and try to stop snoring. There’s a whole fucking industry devoted to stopping snoring and guess what? People still snore.

But somehow I started to work it out. Somehow I found my rhythm. I figured out the temperature I needed for the room. I figured out how to get it dark enough. I changed pillows. I got a new mattress. I got a new humidifier. And I got on a schedule. It took months, but I was on a schedule and probably getting 5-6 hrs of sleep a night. Not consecutively, mind you, I was still getting up a few times, but it was still a huge improvement.

And then something AMAZING happened. I got laid off. I had no job. So I didn’t have to get up at some artificial time. I let my body completely dictate when I went to bed and when I got up. When my body told me it was ready to fall over, I went to bed, and not before. I held out for exhaustion. And then I slept until I was ready to get up. I was probably going to bed at 2 and getting up around 9 and it was working pretty well for me. Probably the best sleep I had in my life.

Then, I had to work again. I forced myself back to my good habits, and it was back to about 5 hrs a night. Sure, I was spending 8 in the bedroom, but only about 5 of those were asleep. But I was making it work.

Last fall it all went to hell.

Last fall I started traveling for work. This has destroyed every good sleep accomplishment I have made. Every success has become undone. There are days I leave for the airport at 5 AM, which means I am up at 3:30 AM to shower, get dressed, and do any last minute packing. Then there are the hotels, with the beds of all qualities, and their pillows. Most are completely mushy, and I have to stack them – completely the opposite of my home pillow.

And of course, I am alone, in a smaller bed. I don’t fight for the covers. I don’t have dogs snuggling (or pushing as the case may be). The whole dynamic changes. Then I come home, and I have to readjust to having a person and horde of dogs in the bed and all the heat they all generate. It is madness.

I wind up throwing off my sleep schedule on a daily basis; it isn’t even fair to call it a schedule anymore. I generally want to be up at 6 for the days that I am in the office. The other day I woke up at 2 AM wide awake, ready to get to work. It took me an hour to get back to sleep. Then I woke again at 4. I finally got up at 5. AM. We weren’t leaving the house till 7:30 AM, but there I was, showered and on the computer, sending work email by 5:30 AM.

One of my clients said to me, “I get email from you at all hours of the day and night. Are you a night owl or a morning person?”

“I guess both, but not really by choice.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“You get used to it,” I lied. You can tell your friends and family, but you can’t tell your clients that the real answer is “always – I am always tired”.

I’m afraid that insomnia is a foe I shall never vanquish.

Who needs sleep?
(well you're never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what's that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you're getting
There's a guy who's been awakesince the Second World War)

Sometimes People Surprise You in a Good Way

So I am sitting at the airport, this fine Easter morning, waiting for yet another international departure to a client site, when I witnessed something that actually reminded me that there are good people out there.

Of course, it started by reminding me that children are ignorant little shits.

I was sitting at the gate and three (pre) teens were sitting just behind me:

Boy 1: …so that bah, um barz, um

Girl: Bar Mitzvah: for boys it is a Bar Mitzvah, for girls it is a Bats Mitzvah

Boy 2: what are you guys talking about?

Girl: At our hotel, this Bar Mitzvah was going on this weekend, and the Jew was telling us about it

Boy 2: The Jew?

Girl: Yeah he told us his name but we decided that we were just going to call him “The Jew” – it really pissed him off when we did it. So we just kept calling him “The Jew” and he would go “My name is…” and we would go “you’re ‘The Jew’”

So right about now I’m about to turn around and give these twits an object lesson in being treated like objects [because seriously "The Jew?" I mean, is Ben Stiller working on a superhero skit I should know about? Is Adam Sandler writing another version of the Hanukkah song? "The Jew" - is this the Jewish version of "The Highlander" (there can be only one)?] when I see a young man walking towards them – he might be around 25 – 30 years old – and since these kids are sans chaperone, I figure he might be theirs.

Man: So hey, are you guys Jewish?

Girl: Noooooooo… we’re Christ-ian

Boy 1: yeah, Christian

Man: Oh cause I heard you talking about Bar Mitzvahs and being Jewish

Girl: No see there was this Jew…

Man: So did you guys go to the Holocaust Museum while you were in DC?

All kids: yeah

Man: what did you think of it?

Boy 1: well, this kid in my class went on and on about all the people in his family who died and he cried and stuff

Boy 2: yeah people were crying

Girl: yeah

Man: Yeah, but what did you think? How did you feel when you went through it?

Girl: It was sad. It made me sad.

Man: What did you think of [name of exhibit – didn’t hear it]

Girl: I was really upset about that. You know, a lot of them were my age.

Man: yeah, they were all ages.

Boy 1: You know, they asked us what nationality we are – our guide did – and when I said I was German they all started calling me a Nazi! And I was like “I am not a Nazi! I wouldn’t do that! It is so unfair that you guys label me just because I am German!”

Girl: Oh my god, me too! I was like “Not my fault I am German, okay, and being German doesn’t mean I am horrible.”

Man: So how did you feel, when they treated you that way, just because you are German…

All kids: it sucked

Girl: It was so unfair. It hurt my feelings. I mean I didn’t *do* anything.

And then they called for my rows to board, and I got up and watched the exchange continue, and I thought to myself, there are people out there who are pretty cool. Sure, anyone could have ripped those kids a new asshole (*cough* me) but that wouldn’t have gotten to them – this guy actually got them to think about what they were saying.

Kudos to you, good sir.
Happy Easter everyone.

The way we tour(ist)

Scott flew down to meet me here for the weekend and we decided to do the touristy things. On Saturday we went to the historic naval dockyards and on Sunday we went to the aquarium.

At the dockyards, we went into the maritime museum, I was pretty fascinated by the outside with all the cannons and the walls and such. Inside I was impressed by the award-winning renovations to the structure. Soon I asked if it was time to go see the dolphins. I just couldn’t handle being inside a museum on a beautiful sunny day in the tropics reading plaques about the history of the island. Yawn.

We sat and watched the dolphins at the ‘dolphin quest’ exhibit – same museum facility – but the dolphin quest offers the chance to swim with the dolphins. The water is really too cold at this time of year to do it, but it was great fun to watch them chase each other and play.

We had some lunch, wandered around the island, and were eager to find the Hagen Daas ice cream shop. Then we had had our fill and we took the ferry back.

On Sunday we spent our time at the aquarium admiring the fish and going through all the zoo exhibits, but we bolted through the geological museum offerings. Again it was a beautiful day outside and neither of us had any interest in reading informative plaques regarding sediment changes over the history of the island when we could watch the seals, peacocks, and wallabies throughout the zoo.

Given what information geeks we both are I found it kind of amusing. I realize that our penchant for technology has made us (me at least) too fidgety to stand inside a museum, reading all the walls upon walls of information, when there are glorious seals just out the door frolicking in their pool (or, in this case, sunning themselves and grunting, but still). It was exactly the same the day before – cannons = cool, museum = dull, dolphins =excellent!

It may be where I am in my life, or the fact that I am on a business trip taking advantage of the weekend to sight see with my husband, or maybe I just don’t get enough sunshine anymore.

But at least my partner in tourism is okay when I say, “I’m done with the history, let’s go see the dolphins!” because really, shouldn’t you do these things with someone who will enjoy what you enjoy and won’t be horribly disappointed when you tell them you need more sunshine and less time reading about sediment?

Drunk on a Plane

I’m sitting in the last row on my flight. Aisle seat.

Huge guy comes up to me and tells me he has the middle seat. I’m thinking, “Nightmare” but I smile and get up to let him in.

He tells me his brother is coming too, so he’ll take his brother’s window seat and put his brother in the middle.

The brother shows up… and he’s drunk. Really, stinky drunk.

I get up to let him in, and he tells me to go ahead and scoot in. I just started laughing, “Oh no, I paid for this seat, I like this seat, you go ahead and take your seat.” He said, “Oh no I insist.” I laughed again and said, “insist all you want, but that is your seat.” He sat and started grumbling.

So I sat and started reading my book. He’s chatting me up. I’m reading. He’s chatting. He says to me, “How’s your book?” and I reply, “I have no idea, every time I try to read this guy keeps talking to me,” “Really?” he asks – like he doesn’t realize I mean him, “Yeah, I’m not getting anything read,” “Oh okay, I’ll let you read then.”

A minute later he reaches over and starts trying to turn the page in my book, “I already read that page, turn the page.”

“No you didn’t,” I replied, “that page has words, and you don’t know how to read words," and he starts snorting. Then I said, “didn’t you bring anything to amuse yourself with?” and his brother said, “No he was hoping to have someone to snuggle with” at which point the drunk looks at me and smiles and makes his eyebrows bounce. I said, “Well then, you two go ahead and cuddle, it won’t bother me a bit.” The brother starts laughing and the drunk starts sulking.

Just then a member of the ground crew who checked us in came up. He told the drunk to come with him. The drunk was escorted off the plane. The brother inquired as to why, was told it was illegal to fly while intoxicated and that he had been removed, and so the brother exited as well.

Then a woman came and asked if she could have the window seat. I let her in. She told me a story about a drunk guy boarding the airplane next to her that was shoving people and reeked of liquor and was loud and disorderly and how she reported him to the flight attendants. I told her she was in his seat. She thought that was pretty funny.

The flight attendants asked me all kinds of questions and wanted a recap of the experience. They were kind of surprised that I hadn’t complained. I said, “It never occurred to me that I could complain about a drunk guy who talked too much and wanted to snuggle - especially since I could keep him at bay.” Of course, I was thrilled that he was removed – he was stinky and obnoxious, and who knows what would have happened once we hit full altitude – would he have become violent, puked, passed out, or just kept turning the pages in my book? But like I said, where else in the world can a woman summon someone and say “this man is drunk and is paying too much unwanted attention to me – make him go away”? Maybe next time I'll remember that I can say "hey, this guy is drunk, take him away!" but more than likely I'll just keep being me, giving better than I get and being mildly amused at everything other than the smell of it.

Road Warriors

I’m not a real road warrior – I have one international client and I get to go to a topic locale for a week or two at a time about every other month. But still I deal with planes, airports, parking, customs, hotels, dining alone, over-packing, tracking receipts and expenses, and calling home every night.

I work with some real road warriors – the ones who spend more time on the road than at home. And I met a couple while I was stranded at the airport on this trip. She was young, bubbly, and yet once she started talking about the road you could see the fatigue. She spent two years at one locale – living there full time. Then she was home for a few months. Then she was at another locale for a year. Then home for a month. She has no boyfriend/husband/significant other. She doesn’t even have a cat. How can she? She misses these things. She loves her work – she hates living out of hotel rooms and eating alone.

He was older, middle-aged or perhaps a bit older than that. His assignments weren’t long, but they were frequent. He likes his work. He hates hotels. He loves to cook but never does because he never has any food in the fridge – how can you keep food in the fridge when you are always on the road? He’s proud of his company’s rules about international and cross-country travel – always first class. Still, he has the fatigue too.

And I realized something after we parted company. I had talked to strangers. Willingly. And I enjoyed it.

Normally I hate strangers. I hate that people I don’t know start talking to me and interrupt whatever I am doing. I’m a curmudgeon. Now I’m starting the road warrior personality shift – so many nights alone for dinner, and at your hotel. It’s lonely. Strangers wanting to chat you up seems less intrusive and more welcome. The company isn’t horrible.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t complain about the obnoxious drunk guy next to me on the plane – sure he was obnoxious, but I just gave him more verbal grief than he gave me and kept putting him in his place. It was simultaneously mildly amusing and annoying. Then when they booted his drunk ass from the plane I realized I was relieved – I enjoyed having my quiet again.

And then at dinner I didn’t discourage the waiter from chatting me up excessively, even though I had a book. He was amusing. It was more enjoyable than the alternative.

I wonder how many road warriors become the ‘chat-up-a-stranger’ type and how many stay walled off. It almost seems inevitable.

Adventures in Flying

So I’m on another prolonged business trip out of the country and my start was quite an adventure in and of itself. It started with a delayed flight due to a ‘crew change’ – which required the pilot to sit and do paper work, which had to be shuttled to and from the tower before we were cleared for takeoff. This took 30 minutes. I was blown away that a commuter flight to Phili was delayed by the same amount of time it takes to get to Phili.

Then, my flight arrived so late that I had to run to my next gate, hoping I would not miss my connecting flight out of the country. You can imagine how flustered I was, since this locale only gets in like 4 flights a day, and I knew if I missed my flight I was pretty much delayed a whole day.

So I arrived to the gate huffing and puffing to find that flight was delayed 30 minutes. And I was relived. When the 30 minutes were up, however, they told us we were going to have another 3 hour delay because they needed to get us a new plane – which they had to fly in from another state.

At noon (now two hours later) they offered us all $10 meal vouchers – most folks had already wandered off and fed themselves. I had stayed behind talking with other road warriors about our destination and the places they like to eat there. We took our vouchers, got some food, got back for boarding and arrived at our destination only 3 hours late.

I can tell you that I am not looking forward to my flight home… I only hope they don’t screw that one up too. At least that is direct.

Friends don't let friends watch alone

2 movies, 20 years apart, loved by people I love...

and I can't stand 'em.

Worse, I hardly get them.

This is Spinal Tap

The problem:
Since 1984 I have been hearing about 'going to 11' and let me tell you that 20+ years of build-up for one joke will always destroy the joke when you finally hear it in context. It will never live up to the hype.

Also, it's just not funny.

(here comes the hate mail)

I know this movie is beloved by millions, and it has a cast that in comedic circles is drool-worthy - people I otherwise adore.

I fell asleep.

I woke up.

I turned on the computer.

I had it on in the background.

I was glad when it ended.

The funny thing is that if you go onto imdb.com and read the actual quotes from the movie I should have been falling over laughing.

So why wasn't I?

I was watching it by myself.

This is a movie that requires other people around so group heckling ensues. Alcohol, or other substances probably help as well.

Alone, mid-morning, between laundry, is not the time to see Spinal Tap.

Nor it is the time for your first viewing of...

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

And probably for some of the same reasons. Although I know other reasons that annoyed me about Strangelove... Kubrick

Kubrick and I don't get along. We're like oil and a slow acting toxin. The man's work may be considered 'genius' in some circles, but in my mind the man was a loon.

There were things about Strangelove that were damn funny, but it's Kubrick's staging and pacing that ultimately doomed the movie for me.

I spent 10 minutes retelling the funny bits to the hubby last night and had him laughing... and I said, "see - potential - but then Kubrick... and not so much"

And so I can cross these two cultural references off my netflix list, and off my list of, "oh I really should see that" and move on. Next time, I wish someone who likes a movie like this would say to me, "wait till I can watch that with you."

After all, I'd never let anyone watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail or The Rocky Horror Picture Show alone for the first time (or the latter outside of a midnight theatre showing).

Some movies can't handle a solo showing. Don't let your friends hate the movies you love.

Top 10 Ways Job Hunting is Like Dating

10. You are really eager and excited.


9. You get a hair cut, new clothes, new shoes, whatever to look your best.


8. You practice what you will say.


7. The whole time you are together you try to be a good listener but you are thinking about what you are saying, your posture, your breath, and their body language.


6. A really nice environment makes things smoother. A dump makes you want to run away.


5. All your friends and family bug you afterwards about how it went and you have to repeat the story in detail ad infinitum.


4. You always have butterflies in your stomach before and after the meeting.


3. You always think you really connected.


2. You’ll always remember something that you think sounded horrible just before you drift off to sleep – and that will keep you up all night.

And the # 1 thing…

If they call right away they are too eager and clearly a loser
If they never call they were the one you could have had real magic with...sigh... the one that got away.

My little accident

First things first: I am okay.

A not-so-funny thing happened on my way into work this morning.

My camry got into a wrestling match with a large tree, and lost. The camry is no more.

I've just gotten out of the ER, cleared after Xrays and Cat Scans and all manner of lovely poking and prodding to learn that I am severely bruised, but not broken.

What happened?

There's this beautiful windy lane-and-a-half semi-paved road that I take into work (scratch that, used to take into work) and this morning some asshole in a large F150 sized pickup comes around a tight bend barrelling like a bat out of hell, well into my lane. The only spot left for me was the gravel shoulder, and as I came around the corner, I was on all gravel on top of a hill, the car fishtailed, and I wound up across the lane making kissy face with a tree.

To my knowledge, the guy never even looked back. To be fair, by the time my car was off the road he was probably well past the S curve and beyond the ability to see my car.

But, there were good samaritans on the road, so while I was in shock and crying, a woman got out her EMT kit and started working on me, and a nice man took over my 911 call to explain to the operator where I was. The ambulance was there within minutes.

They had to cut the driver's door off, and they have to do all that crazy "strap you to a board and immobilize you" fun stuff because apparently my car was partially in a ditch and it would have been a good 3.5 ft drop for me to get out, and these guys were more stubborn than I was, and there were more of them, so I gave in. It didn't take much to persuade me.

Everyone there was fantastic - the EMTs, the hospital staff, the insurance guys who got me a rental right away.

I'm home, very sore, moderately doped up, and staying put today and tomorrow.

At least this happened after I voted and before the 50k maintenance.

United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

I met Helen Katz at the Holocaust Museum last week. She was the youngest of eight children, Hungarian, 13 years old, and known to friends and family as Potyo, “the dear little one”.

Helen was killed upon her arrival at Auschwitz on May 31, 1944.

Perhaps this seems like a macabre way to start a museum tour – handed a stranger’s ID card with a short life story, and finding out if your kindred spirit lived or died.

My mother’s ID card was for a survivor. All around us I saw people skipping to the end of their ID booklets, “did my person live or die?” So many died.

The Holocaust Memorial Museum is one of the finest museums I have ever visited – it is amazing how well done such a horrible era in history can be captured and presented to people. In most areas facts are presented and you are allowed to draw your own conclusions. In some places, there are really no alternative conclusions.

As a Jew, the Holocaust has always been a nightmare I cannot ignore or escape. My grandmother was at Auschwitz. It is something that I cannot culturally ignore, I cannot personally ignore it, I have seen more documentaries than I care to, and yet there is always more. Always some untold story. Always some new fact you wish was more nightmare than truth. There is little about the Holocaust that you can look upon without feeling disgust, nausea, anger, pain, panic, misery.

And even with all I thought I knew, I still learned more.

I learned that this chosen enemy of the Nazis was less than 1% of the population when Hitler rose to power. The pain of a nation, the economic woes, and all the things that were wrong with society were placed upon less than 1% of the population.

I learned that while most of the world’s governments did little or nothing to help their own Jews (Jews, homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and anyone supporting free speech), Denmark did everything it could to save its Jews. It even chartered boats to Switzerland to try to get her Jews to safety.

I learned about dozens of people who risked everything to help. Among those was an Anti-Semite who hid Jews because she believed that the Holocaust was wrong. Some of these amazing people lost everything. Those that survived all said the same thing, “It was the right thing to do.”

After all the horrors I saw that day, it was the tales of Denmark and the ones who risked everything that made me cry – because they were the ones that chipped away at my cynicism about humanity. These people showed me the goodness and the kindness people are capable of.

We spent over five hours there that day. We left exhausted, emotionally and physically, but it was one of the most important experiences in my life, and I have nothing but admiration for the people who put this incredible museum together.

When you have the chance, please visit. Bring lots of Kleenex, and be prepared for a hard day. Go with someone you love, and then go somewhere and talk about everything you saw.

And then, do Helen Katz, my grandmother, and all Holocaust victims a service, and look to fight injustice in your lifetime, because you know that someone has to stand up and fight back.

Related Stuff:
Cookie's essay on the museum experience: Artistic Veritas: There but for the Grace of God go I

SaveDarfur.org has a post called "Lobby Congress" that's worth checking out...

You can help pressure Congress to do more to help the people of Darfur by meeting with your congressional representative or members of his or her staff. We are asking our activists to meet with their Representative and Senators before the upcoming November elections.

I'm not dead - I'm just on holiday

Due to my mother's pending arrival (3 hrs and counting), my brother's visit (2 days and counting), and Chris' most excellent birthday, I've declared it a holiday.

I'll be back.

While I'm gone, why not check out some of my highly recommended sites?

Ask Sarcastica: Travel Edition

I've just spent a week on a business trip and I was shocked at how many questions I faced throughout the airport, so I've compiled them for this week's column.

Q: Why can we only bring 3 ounces of lotions, gels, and other personal liquids in our carry-on items?

A: Honey, there is no bathtub on the plane, you don't need more than 3 ounces of anything except scotch, and you have to buy that on board.

Q: Is the 3 ounces thing really strict?

A: Apparently so. Strangely, these containers have their content ounces WRITTEN ON THE FRONT so the security personnel really can't overlook it. I mean, if your can of Aqua Net is 24 ounces, the can itself is going to rat you out. Yes you, sister with the 24 ounces of Aqua Net, the 12 ounces of mousse, and the economy sized lotion that all got confiscated. If you carry on your suitcase, it's still a carry-on item.

Q: First there's no bottled water allowed, now we can buy water past security. What is this, some kind of conspiracy to make us buy overpriced items in the airport?

A: Yes, and if you're really gullible, you'll also wind up with the latest gossip rag.

Q: I have such a hard time deciding whether or not to take my suitcase on the plane or check it. What should I do?

A: If your suitcase is on wheels it automatically comes with a magical sizing device that allows it to fit perfectly into the overhead compartment of any airplane, regardless of how big it was when you packed it. Similarly, it will glide perfectly through any narrow aisle, never bumping into passengers, crew, or anyone else's belongings. I say, go for it, no one will ever be annoyed - they'll think you are smart as a whip and will likely rush to help you put your bag into one of those overhead compartments, not that you need the help. Of course, you will then be subject to the tyrannical 3 ounce rule that a poor woman at SFO will likely have nightmares about for the rest of her life.

Q: What is appropriate entertainment while in flight?

A: Reading, writing, crossword puzzles, using your laptop, listening to music. Generally, these all involve not speaking. Speaking is strictly prohibited on airplanes, except by authorized personnel. Certainly, you can say please and thank you and answer direct questions, but you should never try to strike up a conversation. This is generally considered suspicious behavior, and if you do that and pee on the floor or play with your cell phone, you will be arrested.

Museum Review: Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum - Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center

So now that I am living just outside of Washington, D.C., I feel obligated, nay, privileged, to partake of the various offerings available to me.

Today we embarked on our first museum visit – the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum - Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center. There are 2 Air and Space Museums in the area, because they can’t fit everything into one place. This is the smaller one of the two.

It’s got lots of cool stuff, and you can do it in under a day.

Here’s a Pros and Cons list if you’ve got limited time and are considering this as one of your stops:

PROS:

• You can do the whole thing in half a day
• Admission is $12 per car. Nice if you’ve got a mini-van full of family and a tight budget.
• Some pretty cool displays (Concorde, Blackbird, and a SPACE SHUTTLE)
• The IMAX movie about going to Mars was pretty cool – just for the science – nothing really special in terms of IMAX

CONS:

• IMAX showings and Simulations are extra costs (and the IMAX video starts with 5 minutes of IMAX pimping)
• If you want to eat, your choices are McDonalds, and the McDonalds Café, which serves… McDonalds and Boston Market.
• The simulator was super cheesy and didn’t deliver the experience it advertised. Seriously guys – go to Vegas, go to the Star Trek Museum, check theirs out, and then hire their people.

I have to say the coolest part of the day hands down was when we went into the space area and were checking out the Enterprise shuttle. At first I couldn’t believe it was a real shuttle, because it seriously looks like a bunch of large lego blocks. The cool part, though, was that there were NASA guys there working on it. There was a sign that read:

WHAT WE’RE DOING TODAY:
Today we are reassembling part of the Enterprise shuttle that was used as part of the recreation to help determine the cause of the shuttle Columbia crash.

That’s when the whole thing seemed real. And suddenly, I wished every plane, engine, and computer part on display was actually doing something – either having someone operate it, paint it, tweak it, turn it, I don’t know, anything – with a sign that says, we’re doing something significant here – watch us do something important. Be inspired.

[Side rant: This is why I struggle with museums – they have lots of cool stuff but you can’t touch it, feel it, smell it, play with it. It has no life force. There’s no one standing next to it showing you how it was used throughout that time. I’m not talking about those super cheesy automatons in colonial garb churning butter – I’m talking about NASA guys reassembling the Enterprise shuttle because when things went bad for another shuttle, they used this one to help them learn. That is wicked cool. ]

To sum up: base cost and time spent make for a good half-day with the family. Skip the simulators.

It’s a lot of walking, which it good exercise, but may be hard on littler kids or older folks, but there are lots of seats built into the railings for each exhibit barrier, so it’s doable for all.

Next month I’m off to the most depressing museum with my mom - The Holocaust Museum.

Ask Sarcastica: The Sarcastica Interview You've All Been Waiting For!

Snarky Reporter: Sarcastica, what made you start writing an advice column?

Sarcastica: Well, you know, it really came from a desire to help people. I mean, look at the shit Dear Abby and Ann Landers tell people to do? Hell, I can do better than that - and maybe, just maybe, people will be smarter and get the hell out of my way faster.

Snarky Reporter: You are so right on. I mean, seriously, bin Laden needs to get off my planet and out of the 15 items or less line! Ha ha!

Sarcastica: Stop kissing my ass and ask me something.

Snarky Reporter: Right. So our readers really want to know: Are you really happily married? And if so, what is your secret?

Sarcastica: (laughing) Yes. It's not a secret. I met someone I am compatible with. We communicate well. We don't lie to each other. We're willing to be vulnerable and say the things we think would make us seem stupid to other people, because we know this is the one person who accepts that this is the crazy person we are married to. That's it. Talk about everything. Every hope, every fear, every frustration.

Snarky Reporter: Ok, fine, don't give me a straight answer.

Sarcastica: Whatever.

Snarky Reporter: Next question: Let's say you're at dinner with Shakespeare, Einstein, Galileo, Da Vinci, and Newton - what do you ask them?

Sarcastica: I'm assuming in your scenario these people aren't dead.

Snarky Reporter: Right, assume they are alive and you are having dinner with them, and you can talk to them about anything.

Sarcastica: Well, first of all, who got this motley crew together? I mean, first of all, there are no contemporaries, and I would certainly be interested to see Hawking dialog with his predecessors. The next problem is that, as the only woman at the table, these guys aren't listening to a word I am saying - they are all staring at my breasts, because I have an amazing rack. So this is a problem. So we need other women, attractive enough to keep focus off my chest, and intelligent enough to keep the conversation lively - and women who are smart enough to see other intelligent attractive women as interesting and not threatening. I've got some suggestions there - let's get Jane Austen, Katharine Hepburn, Florence Nightingale, and Marie Curie.

Snarky Reporter: That's, quite a list... still what will you talk about?

Sarcastica: Are you kidding? What won't we talk about? Intelligent people find fascinating things to talk about. I have no fear of a lack of conversation with that group. Quite the contrary - we may talk until we are all hoarse - about anything and everything - history, politics, math, science, literature, art, philosophy, the future - everything is fair game with a group like that.

Snarky Reporter: Ok, sounds like a bit much for me. So, let's say your doctor told you that you had 6 months to live if you made no changes to your diet, or you could give up chocolate and live for 7 months. What would you do?

Sarcastica: Seriously? 1 extra month? Just chocolate or all sweets?

Snarky Reporter: Um, all sweets, I guess.

Sarcastica: Fruit too, because fruit has natural sugar?

Snarky Reporter: Um, sure, fruit too.

Sarcastica: So what is it I can eat?

Snarky Reporter: (Sigh) Okay, you can eat only rice cakes - and you'll live an extra month.

Sarcastica: Is the month February?

Snarky Reporter: What??

Sarcastica: Well, which month is it? Because February is a short month, and, you know, I'd feel gypped.

Snarky Reporter: It isn't a specific month. It's a time frame - like 30 days.

Sarcastica: Ah. Okay. So the scenario is - live 180 days eating whatever you want or live 210 days eating only rice cakes?

Snarky Reporter: Yes.

Sarcastica: That is perhaps the stupidest scenario I have ever heard in my entire life.

Snarky Reporter: WILL YOU JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION?

Sarcastica: No.

Snarky Reporter: NO? You won't answer the question?

Sarcastica: No, the answer is no. Who the hell wants to eat nothing but rice cakes?

Snarky Reporter: I'm done here.

Sarcastica: Sweet, when can I pick up a copy of the interview? Hello? Hello?

Where Were You?

There are few life experiences that can rip you to shreds years later, just at the mere thought of them. Fewer still that involve things you were only a witness to.

My morning started out like any other, dawdling while getting ready for work. The phone rang. It is unusual for the phone to ring in my house in the morning.

It was Sally. She was hysterical.

We're under attack. DC is under attack. Hannah is in DC.

Slow down, Sally, tell me what is happening.

There was a plane crash...

Was Hannah on the plane?

No...but

Sally, take a deep breath, plane crashes are tragic but they happen.

Sara, it's all over the news.

Okay, Sally, I'm going to turn the news on and see what's happening. I'll see you at work in a bit.

I wandered out to the living room, sat down on our large cement coffee table in my shirt and panties and switched on the tv. Scott wandered out and wondered aloud what I was doing - we needed to get ready for work.

Sally is in hysterics about some plane crash. I promised to turn on the... OH MY GOD.

And there it was, tower 1 had already been hit by the time I had turned on the tv. Sitting in my living room in Tucson, dawdling before work, I stared in complete confusion at the tv - twisting my head like a dog who hears a disturbing noise. What the hell happened?

We started chattering. I said something about this happening in New York so why was Sally worried about DC and that was when I saw it. The second plane. The second tower.

It was easily the most surreal moment of my life - watching a tv camera - poised somehow almost evenly with the plane - watching it head towards the tower. Hearing my own voice choke out the words Oh my god, they have to pull up, they have to pull up they are going to crash, oh my god they are going to crash. OH MY GOD!

I was completely shocked. How could such a horrific accident occur? How could two planes be compromised in such a way that neither of them could escape crashing into buildings.

That was the moment I lost my innocence. That was the moment I realized that whatever snark I am capable of, I always believed that people would do the right thing - that people were not inherently or intentionally evil - and that these things just didn't happen because people just weren't that bad at the core.

Over the next 30 days I couldn't get enough news - every 9/11 story, human interest, lost family member, lost pet, lost hero, flag raising, search for survivors, search for terrorists, you name it - I absorbed it. It was the worst month of my life. I cried the whole month through. Every story ripped my heart apart, every crying survivor who lost anyone.

Recently two movies came out about 9/11. I didn't see either of them. I realized I'm not ready yet - it's still too raw, it's still too real.

I did watch the airing of On Native Soil - by mid-program I was wailing. I was furious at all the incompetence.

Today, I realized something, most weren't incompetent, they were unprepared - because the truth was so incomprehensible. I was unprepared for Sally's call - just as they were unprepared to scramble fighters to shoot down commercial aircraft. How could you be prepared for something like that?

I have no advice or moral of the story. I don't know what real justice would be for the people who fund, organize and commit these crimes, because I think whatever we come up with would be too kind, too naive. It is the first time in my life that I have ever actively hoped that Hell exists, just so there's a fitting place for those assholes.

Where were you on 9/11? Where are you today, 5 years later?

By the way, Hannah was, and is, just fine.

News Kills The Story

http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/wireStory?id=2400167

Summary: WASHINGTON Sep 6, 2006 (AP)— Scientists say abnormal "intersex" fish, with both male and female characteristics, have been discovered in the Potomac River and its tributaries across the Capitol Region, raising questions about how contaminants are affecting millions of people who drink tap water there.

Sara: This story is laughable. I mean, humans are so different than fish (as they even said, fish live in the water and are therefore exposed to these toxins more) and it would take thousands of years for that kind of mutation attributable to that source to happen.

Scott: Yeah

Sara: So while the fish aspect is fascinating, the humans will mutate hook is stupid.

Scott: Yeah

Sara: I'm more interested in why the scientists think the pollution is causing this type of mutation... or is there another cause? I mean, are there more female than male fish because males are more susceptible to the toxins, and therefore the fish have become multi-gendered to continue the propagation of the species? A kind of toxic Darwinism?

Scott: Yeah I was kinda wondering if it was more of a natural evolution since asexual reproduction would be more efficient than sexual reproduction.

Sara: Totally. Or is it something about fish physiology, like their gender isn't as clearly divided as humans, for example, and therefore the toxins are blending the line genetically.

The thing is - I think the news spins a human angle on it to make it newsworthy but I think that takes the interest out of it - to me the real interest is what the hell is up with the fish?

When they do that, it makes a story laughable to me, and then I do what I am doing with you - thinking about the story they should have done.

I'm thinking I am in the minority on this.

Scott: I agree on both points.

I sent this story to the hubby today because I found it laughable. But the more we talked, the more I found that it's the news itself that is laughable, not the individual stories. There are fascinating stories out there, but to be sensational these stupid spins are put on good topics that make the stories ridiculous.

Several weeks ago I read 10 stories about various end of the world plots and prophecies. As you may have noticed, none of them has yet come to pass (they all should have by now). I've gotten to the point where I see these headlines and I say, "shut up". Seriously, I've got shit to do - so either tell me that something is happening, has happened, has been prevented from happening, or... shut up. It isn't news if you are speculating about something that someone thinks may happen at some point. Those are called psychic premonitions. Psychic premonitions have no scientific basis (no, they do not, so shut up) and since they have yet to pass ARE NOT NEWS!

I think the beagle may howl when I prepare to leave the house tomorrow. Regardless of my historical data for my hypothesis, the fact that this event has yet to happen means it cannot be reported as BREAKING NEWS.

Also, if your stories are on par with the beagle story above, it's called fluff, and it doesn't qualify as news either.

General rule:

• happened, happening = news
• not yet happened = prognostication (i.e. NOT NEWS)

Ask Sarcastica

Dear Sarcastica,
I’m a socially awkward boy without any real friends. Recently, an older man befriended me and told me he wants to show me “magical things – the likes of which [I’ve] never seen before” and that I should come over to his house. It sounds intriguing, but I’m wondering if it is really kosher.
Signed,
Art

Dear Once and Future Victim,
A strange, older man shows up and wants you to come over to his house? Kosher? Not so much. If this old perv is a legitimate magician, he can perform for you in public, with lots of witnesses.

Dear Sarcastica,
My stepmother is a real witch! She makes me clean all day long and she treats me like a slave. My ugly stepsisters get to relax by the pool all day while I’m doing laundry and cleaning out fireplaces. Help!
Signed,
Good Girl

Dear Complainer,
First of all, if your stepmother was a real witch she would just say, bibbity, bobbity, boo! and the whole house would be clean – so she may be a word that rhymes with witch, but she has no real power. And since she has no real power, you can either stick it out till you are 18 and then leave, or call child protective services on her ass and watch her get thrown in jail. Your choice.

Dear Sarcastica,
I live with a great bunch of guys (7 actually) – but they are just friends, and they all really want more. I’ve told them time and time again that I am waiting for my Prince Charming, but they still hit on me. The problem is I love living with these guys – I pay no rent and I do no chores (we have outside help that takes care of everything). What can I do?
Signed,
Ms. White

P.S. I tried telling them I was a lesbian but none of them bought it.

Dear Pure as the Driven Snow,
Sounds like you’ve got a pretty cushy arrangement there. My suggestion is that you bring a beautiful woman over one night when they’ll all be home and make out with her on the couch. That’ll convince them you like chicks, and maybe convince you that you’re really looking for your Princess Charming.

Dear Sarcastica,
I’m a guy from the wrong side of the tracks and I’ve fallen head-over-heels for this beautiful lady. How can I woo her?
Signed,
Just a Tramp

Dear Little Tramp,
Well, you’re just going to have to be bold and ask her out. Make sure you take her someplace fancy where you can show her that you fit in her life. I’d find a nice, out of the way, Italian restaurant and share a nice dinner. Just remember your table manners!

A baker's half-dozen rants

Rants:

1. I'm on meds, and lately the symptoms I take the meds for have intensified. Why? Because all my meds have my symptoms as side effects. That's right, my anti-anxiety med causes anxiety. Fuck off.


2. Doing the 'right thing' for your health doesn't always make sense. So I'm trying to eat healthier and save money, so we eat home most nights. Most times I make some big meal on Sunday that we do as left overs on Mondays and Tuesdays. Then a dinner out, and then another home cooked for Thursday and Friday, and then out on Saturday. So the problem with this is that I've had to run the dishwasher every night for the last 4 days. That's right. Every. Fucking. Day. I'm single-handedly depleating the water supply for the planet.


3. Apples brown too quickly. I can't slice them at home and seal them and have them fresh by the time I get to work - let alone for my mid-morning snack. So, I take my apple corer-slicer thingy with me every day, rinse it off, and forget to put it in the dishwasher every night. Why do I need sliced apples? Because I need to put light peanut butter on them so that I have protein paired with my fruit - otherwise my stupid metabolism thinks the fruit is in fact a candy bar. Hello - if I wanted you to process food like a candy bar I would eat a fucking candy bar. And yes, sometimes I buy those pre-sliced ones at the grocery store, but they are more expensive and harder to find on a regular basis.


4. I can't get my cereal at the grocery store. Some time ago the good folks who make Cheerios started making Berry Burst Cheerios - and I love them. Truth be told, I do not eat the berries - which sounds odd - but the dehydrated berries infuse the cheerios with a mild sweetness that makes the cheerios both an excellent crunchy snack (dry) and a healthy breakfast. So what's the problem? Giant foods doesn't carry it here in VA. Neither does Safeway. Know where I found it? Target Superstores. Yep. I have to go grocery shopping at Target when I run out of Cheerios.


5. Assholes are driving on my route. Scott and I each drive a route that contains a leg that I refer to as "the crazy route". The crazy route is mostly gravel, and it passes lots of interesting houses and businesses - it's wooded, barely 2 lanes (one each way, kind of), and you feel like you are driving through a forest. It's crazy because the road conditions are sub-sub-par, but no one is on them, so I bypass all normal traffic and generally save 15 minutes each way on my commute. Lately, there have been a bunch of slow-moving assholes on the route. To make matters worse, I heard that they are going to finally pave the crazy route, which sounds good on paper, until you realize that will shut the route down for a year and then increase traffic once the work is done.


6. Mel Gibson, bin Laden, and Prussian Blue. Take your hate and get off my planet. That's right, all the haters - all you people who hate based on religion, race, or any other "they are different" reason - and all the terrorists - get the fuck off my planet.


7. Incompetent people. Why don't you join the haters. You know why? I just watched On Native Soil, and heard over and over again how some or all of the 9/11 tragedy could have been avoided that day. THAT DAY. I'm not talking about months of government screw-ups (which honestly, were many, and FBI - hello - a database is a good idea). I'm talking about the airlines operators who kept a flight attendant on the phone for 20 minutes asking her over and over again for her name, seat number, and flight number when she was reporting the first hijacking as it happened. I'm talking about the guy at the FAA who, when asked if they needed to scramble planes to intercept the hijacked planes (after the first tower was hit) said, "I don't know, everyone just left the room". I'm talking about the air traffic controllers who thought that flight 11 was in the air 15 minutes after it hit WTC 1 - and losing the other flights in the process. I'm looking at the transportation authority that took too much time to alert all in-air flight crews that multiple hijackings were occurring and to be super vigilant. This deserves an entire blog, but I'm too upset to write it.

And here are my thanks:

• Thank you, families of 9/11 victims who fought for the commission.
• Thank you, Joe Liberman and John McCain, for fighting with them. It's nice to see politicians helping people.
• Thank you, committee members who came up with real ideas to try to fight terrorist threats.
• Thank you for making On National Soil. I bawled like a baby while I watched it. I'll never be able to watch footage of that day without bursting into hysterics.
• Thank you, General Mills, for making Berry Burst Cheerios. I'm actually eating breakfast every day.
• Thank you, Super Target, for my Berry Burst Cheerios.
• Thank you, Plant-a-Plant nursery, your grounds are my favorite part of the crazy drive - your ponds and the bridge and the geese are awesome.
• Thank you, miscellaneous wildlife on the crazy route. You are awesome, you deer, llamas, alpacas, bunnies, raccoons, gophers, beavers, and donkeys - you make me smile.
  

And last but not least...Thanks for letting me rant, and thanks for coming along for the ride.

Ask Sarcastica: Head to Head

This week I'm going to go head-to-head with Dear Prudence (By Emily Yoffe) - below are the Q&A from this week's column, followed by my answer.

Dear Prudence,
I work for a small company as part of the very small accounting department. A few months ago, I accidentally uncovered evidence of my immediate boss (with whom I am friendly) embezzling what I first thought were small sums of company money. I was stunned at what I saw but thought maybe he'd obtained permission to take out loans. I guess I was hoping this. I never felt comfortable casually bringing up what I found, so I didn't do anything. Yesterday, I saw evidence of repeated and ever-increasing theft and don't really know what to do. The easy answer is to turn him in, but I would be the direct beneficiary of him being fired if I were given his job. Also, this is a small town, and the situation would ruin all job prospects for him here. I've discussed this with my father and he thinks I should stay out of it. I also have always had an aversion to ratting people out. Yet, if this ever comes out, the owner of the company will know that I at least had suspicions but never told him. What do I do?
—Losing Sleep

Dear Losing,
What if he is guilty and you don't report him? What if he's not and you do? (And what kind of accountant keeps his mouth shut in the face of possible financial crimes?) I brought your dilemma to an employment attorney, Christopher E. Ezold, who practices in Bala Cynwyd, Pa. He points out that you would be violating your duties to the company by seeing possibly fraudulent activities and saying nothing. On the other hand, you could be liable for defamation if this guy hasn't done anything wrong and you accuse him of embezzling. Ezold suggested you bring the questionable transactions to the attention of the owner. Say they raised some concerns with you and you wanted to make sure they were appropriate. I'll add that you should stop worrying about being a rat or ruining this man's job prospects. If he's an embezzler, his job prospects deserve to be ruined.
—Prudie

Dear Accountable,
Wow. You suspect fraud. Ever heard of Enron? Ever heard of accessory after the fact? Here’s what you do, keep your mouth shut, and when someone busts this guy you just tell them that you suspected it all along and but you didn’t want to be a rat.

Dear Prudie,
I have been together with my wife for five years, two of those married. No kids. I'm 38 and she's six years older. We love each other and spend most of our time together (we both work from home), support each other and feel we are a great team. The only thing that's a bit strange is that we don't have sex. We kiss and cuddle and touch but hardly ever get ourselves to perform the act. It has been a slow fade-out over the last three years, but I would say neither of us miss it too much. A friend I told about this thinks there is something deeply wrong and that we should see a therapist right away. Now I'm worried.
—Feeling A-OK

Dear A,
It sounds like you and your wife are the couple in the "Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder" T-shirts. It's hard to advise people who are happy that there's something wrong, but you are obviously concerned enough about this turn of nonevents to call it "strange" and bring it up with a friend. Ask yourself this question: Would you be content to imagine yourself celebrating your 20th anniversary with a toast to "Two wonderful decades of celibacy"? Having a sexless marriage, and at such a young age, is a drastic loss of intimacy, and I don't care how good at cuddling you are. This also might leave your marriage vulnerable to destruction the first time one of you comes across someone who reminds you of the power of sexual attraction. If you haven't had sex with each other for years, it may seem less awkward to try it with someone new than reintroduce it to your marriage. A physical as well as mental checkup might help you both revive this part of your lives. Another thing that might help is if one of you finds somewhere else to work, even for part of the week. Maybe you'll look at each other with more excitement if you're not looking at each other all the time.
—Prudie

Dear Eunuch,
You are a eunuch right? A priest? On medication that depletes your libido? Seriously, a man that is A-OK without sex, ever? In the immortal words of Ricky Ricardo, Lucy, you got some ‘splaining to do.

Oh, and your wife is having an affair. No way neither one of you has a sex drive.

Dear Prudence,
My father is 80 and was widowed eight months ago. He was very dependent on my mother, both practically and emotionally. My problem is that he is turning to me for support that I find hard to give. From as far back as I can remember until well into my 20s, I was terrified of him. He used to yell at me all the time, often out of the blue. Nothing I did pleased him, ever. In those years, I wanted mainly to avoid his attention. Nowadays (I'm 51), I can put that history aside for an afternoon every so often, but I can't forgive. He seems to want to chat with me on the phone several times a week, just to have someone to talk to. My father seems to have no idea that I harbor these feelings and consider him a wretched parent. He's got my brother (whom he abused much less) and his wife living nearby and they take a lot of the pressure off me, but he still wants me to be his friend. How can I steer clear of this without hurting his feelings?
—Middle-Aged Son

Dear Middle,
It's not easy figuring out what you owe an elderly parent who gave you a miserable childhood. In general, it's difficult to have sympathy for rotten parents. I'm not talking about flawed people who make mistakes but tried to do their best. I'm talking about those parents who, like your father, use their children as convenient emotional or physical punching bags. Your observation that he probably has no idea what kind of parent he was often seems to go along with this syndrome. You sound like you have a remarkably sane perspective on your father. You're right, as awful as he was, for the sake of your own mental health—for your psyche—you don't want to get even now that he's the vulnerable one. It's also not worth it to explain your antipathy—he just won't get it. But it is too much to ask for you to fill the emotional hole that has opened in his life. Since you can stand to have a civil conversation with him occasionally, why not say, "Dad, during the week I'm so overwhelmed with work and other obligations that's it hard for me to talk to you then. Let's try to talk regularly on Sunday."
—Prudie

Dear Dysfunctional Childhood,
Guess what – you’re not a kid anymore. You are a grown-up and it is time you start acting like one.

Own your own fucking pain. Your dad is an old fart with limited time left. Telling him at this point that he screwed up over 30 years ago just makes you a petty, pathetic sad little man. Suck it up, get over it, and be the bigger person. You don’t have to spend all your time with him, but talking or seeing him once a week won’t kill you.

Dear Prudence,
Recently, a close friend told me that she and her partner (also a woman) are planning to have a child. This announcement was not a complete surprise, since we had discussed the possibility before. They have selected a sperm donor from an online registry. I told her that I was glad they had made this decision and that I thought they would be wonderful parents. Since the insemination had not yet occurred and there is no pregnancy, I thought this response was sufficient. Evidently, it was not. I have since been informed that I am not supportive enough and also that I am not "excited" enough for them. Times have changed since I was pregnant 24 years ago. Intimate details of advanced gynecological procedures are discussed over dinner. The earliest sonograms are passed around the office. Am I just hopelessly out-of-date in believing that the time to celebrate begins when there is a confirmed and viable pregnancy?
—Medieval Lady-in-Waiting

Dear Medieval,
Should you have said, "I'm sure 467-B has very superior sperm"? I constantly hear from people who don't know how to keep nosy friends and co-workers from delving into intimate affairs. But you're being punished apparently for not initiating a discussion of motility. It's also likely your friend is looking for evidence that she is not being treated the same as a heterosexual would be—but surely if you knew a heterosexual couple using a sperm donor, you would behave with exactly the same reticence. I don't know any couple embarked on trying to have children, by whatever means, who want monthly inquiries as to whether anything has developed or discussions about how lucky their nonexistent offspring will be to have them for parents. Stay medieval and keep your excitement for when there is actual good news to celebrate.
—Prudie

Dear Lady,
Wait – I’m confused. They aren’t yet pregnant and you are supposed to be enthused? Here’s what I am thinking – they are insane. If you have even an ounce of sense you should say so long and good fucking riddance to that pair of nut jobs.

Ask Sarcastica: Head to Head

This week I'm going to go head-to-head with Miss Manners (By Judith Martin) - below are the Q&A from her various columns (go Google it if you want to find them), followed by my answer.

Dear Miss Manners: My best friend got married about a year ago, and I consider her and her husband both to be very good friends. My problem is that she calls me to vent every time she has a problem with her husband.

I understand the need for people to vent, but all of it is stuff that her husband would be humiliated or angry to know she was telling me. She repeats their fights word for word, tells me all about her husband's depression, private stuff about her husband's family (which she dislikes greatly), gossip about her husband's friends and co-workers, etc. She always says, "He would kill me if he knew I told you this, but . . . ."

I want to be there for her, but some things I am plain not interested in hearing. I was raised that private family stuff should be kept private. She wants more than just an ear -- she wants me to help her analyze what they really meant.

I don't know how to ask her, without hurting her feelings, to either tone down the level of info she gives me or maybe talk to someone else. I've tried, but if we're on the phone she'll talk over me and then end the call; if we're face-to-face, she'll get incredibly offended and try to pick a fight.

The truth is that she gets a thrill out of sharing confidential information, and has been this way for as long as I've known her. I can't just ignore her, because I baby-sit for her child. Any thoughts?

Gentle Reader: If Miss Manners were you, she would be thinking about getting a new best friend, even if it entailed finding a new baby-sitting job. Because your friend has always been like that, you might think about what she must be telling others about you.

It is not Miss Manners' job to break up friendships, however, and you have not proposed to do so. Merely to discourage these confidences, she would advise "being there" -- not for your friend, but for those who are, in fact, not there.

A few rounds of "Your poor husband is depressed -- you should go easy on him" and "Your mother-in-law has a point" and "They sound like people I would like" should dramatically dampen her desire for these discussions.

Dear Wussy,
Methinks thou doth protest too much. That's an awfully long letter just to ask what to do when someone shares inappropriate information with you. It seems like you are trying to out her, so to speak.

If someone says something you don't want to hear, either: a) change the subject, or b) stone up and say, "I feel uncomfortable with this information".

This passive-aggressive letter is bullshit – you're just hoping she reads it, recognizes herself and is ashamed.

Stone up or suck it up.

Dear Miss Manners: Does one give a gift for a grandchild for a piano recital? If so, what? I have two grandchildren, one 10 (girl) the other 8 (boy), and they are both having a piano recital on the same day, but I have no idea what is correct to do or rather what is expected.

Gentle Reader: You are expected to endure the entire recital -- not only the pieces played by your relatives, but everybody else's contributions as well -- with an expression of bliss on your face and hands that beat together at every opportunity. Afterward, you are expected to distribute compliments with abandon: to your grandchildren, to the other children, to their parents and to the teacher.

Musicians like to unwind after a performance, and so you might also consider taking them out afterward for a treat. That is optional, but replying to their post-performance questions by assuring them that any mistakes they mention went unnoticed is not. Miss Manners would consider all that generous enough. You do not want them expecting every occasion to be an opportunity to collect.

Dear Grandma,
The grandkids want your attendance and love. Gifts are nice, but not required. I think it is super sweet that you want to get them something – and I think it would be cool to go to a little trophy shop and make them plaques commemorating the event. But that's just me.

Yes, you need to go and listen and be gracious, but you were going to do that anyway.
(What, you want me to be pissy with a nice grandma? Go fuck yourself!)

Dear Miss Manners:
My wife is in her eighth month and quite self-conscious about her appearance. It doesn't help when certain people make comments about her. In particular, one lady at church, who seems well meaning enough, remarked at how big she was last time and puffed up her cheeks to demonstrate.

My father-in-law also doesn't help when he talks about people who are round (meaning fat in his eyes).

I know it's all part of pregnancy and that she will be back to normal in due time. How can she politely communicate to these folks that they are hurting her feelings and persuade them not to say things like that in the future?

Gentle Reader: As you acknowledge, your wife will, in the natural course of events, get past this. But Miss Manners wishes she would get past it now.

There will always be people who make foolish remarks, and pregnancy seems to be a source of inspiration to them. If your wife wants to rattle them out of their thoughtlessness, she can reply to observations about her size by saying innocently, "But I'm pregnant!"

Miss Manners does not guarantee that this will put an end to it. But you and your wife will soon have a more promising opportunity to teach thoughtfulness. It's called child-rearing.

Dear Worthless Husband,
Your wife is 8 months pregnant. I don't care if she's doubled her body weight – no one gets to criticize someone who is a carrying a human life. Jesus Christ on a crutch – your wife is going through something horrific – her body basically abusing her from the inside out for the best possible end result. RUN SOME FUCKING INTERFERENCE FOR GOD'S SAKE!

No one gets to criticize pregnant women unless they are knowingly risking the fetus (druggies, alcoholics, abusive asses). And if you don't have the sack to keep people from being rude to your wife, regardless of pregnancy, you are an ass.

Dear Miss Manners:
For the last several years, I have become aware of an "affliction" that saddens me during the normal day-to-day interactions among colleagues, friends and neighbors. (This list can be extended.)

How can one deal (correct word?) with nice people, saying "all the right things," without meaning any of it? It's just been driving me crazy as it seems to be occurring more and more.

Gentle Reader: This is not an affliction, Miss Manners assures you. It is a blessing.

For the last several decades, people have been saying all the wrong things that they really mean, from "I can't use this" instead of "Thank you" for a present; "Only a moron would think that" instead of "I'm afraid we disagree" in a political discussion and "You've put on a lot of weight" instead of "How nice to see you" on seeing an acquaintance.

If they are learning to say the right thing, good for them. In time, they will learn to say it more convincingly.

Dear Barbarian,
Why do you think they call it pleasantries? It's the practice that your mother should have instructed you in – that whole, say something nice or shut the hell up school of thought. You know, when a friend makes you dinner that tastes like shit you don't actually say, "Hey, did you actually cook shit in the oven and cover it in gravy?" You feign fullness graciously, lest you lose a friend, and then remember to only go out to eat with her from now on.

So, my column is obviously the exception to that rule, but I assure you that Ms. Sarcastica is always polite in public, regardless of her evil, evil thoughts.

Dear Miss Manners:
Our son and his then-fiancee announced via Web site post that they have decided to change their last name to a new name when they married. This caught many family members by surprise (as well as many wedding guests who had not necessarily read their Web site and then were confused when the new couple were announced as Mr. & Mrs. New Name).

It has been about a year since then, and although they use the new name in correspondence, e-mail and Web sites, they apparently have taken no steps to change their names legally, so at this point, I suppose, the new name has the status of an alias. Drivers' licenses, Social Security cards, checking accounts, etc., are all still in their legal names.

To what extent is the family obligated to use the new name? When we send them e-mail, cards and letters, on checks as gifts, when we introduce them to friends, when we send out intra-family address list updates?

Hard feelings were created when the new name was sprung on the family and was not immediately acclaimed to be the best idea since shoelaces. We are trying to smooth over the rough spot in the relationship, but are unsure how to proceed.

Gentle Reader: How much are you willing to annoy your son and daughter-in-law? Miss Manners assures you that refusing to use the name you know they have chosen will do a good job of that.

The invented surname is one of several solutions people have sought to the problem of representing both families when a new one is created. None of them has solved the problem, but we no longer have a standardized system of nomenclature.

It therefore behooves people to respect the individual choices that are made when these are known. Miss Manners also expects the choosers to be tolerant when honest mistakes are made by those not in a position to know, but that excuse is of no use to you. You can either use the names they announced or you can take the consequences of becoming a constant irritant to them.

Dear Alias,
Are you an officer of the law? Do you think your son is on the lam? Then what the fuck do you care if he uses one last name with friends and family and his legal last name for, oh I don’t know legal things?

Listen, changing your name is a big pain in the ass – every bank account, credit card, every piece of ID you own needs to be changed. So either your son is a moron, or he’s a lazy SOB. Either way, you need look no further than what values you raised this boy with to see why he turned out the way he did. I’m just saying.