You didn't need money to be cultured, my mother said. You simply need to behave like a lady. She had simple rules to accomplish this goal. Ladies don't smoke, drink or chew (and she meant chew gum here, not eat.), and practice the Golden Rule. How hard can that be?
Much harder than I thought. The only rule I haven't broken is the don't smoke rule, although you could count on your fingers the number of times I have chewed gum in my life. So, maybe I am half way toward being a cultured lady.
The drinking rule makes all kinds of sense to me, so it is a wonder that I don't follow it. I'm not a big drinker, but why drink at all when it is just expensive extra calories? Actually, I know the answer to that question. Because it is fun and tastes good. I am easily seduced by things that are fun and taste good, including gooey, melting chocolate fondue and anything to do with salt and potatoes.
Practicing the Golden Rule is the issue that concerns me the most. Doing unto others as you would like them to do unto you seems to be an outmoded concept. In fact, I am not sure it was ever in mode. The most popular stories of our culture, from the Bible through "The Real Housewives..." are all about people behaving badly. I know, these can be considered cautionary tales -- do as we say, not as we do, yadda, yaddda. Right? Like that works. In two thousand years we haven't learned that hanging some one from a cross is a bad idea. We develop and publish ever more excruciating, and long lasting methods of torture and humiliation in our books, on television, and on the internet. And then we call it entertainment. Even Christ's death has been offered up as pop culture entertainment. How can describing in gory and graphic detail horrific deaths be instructional in any positive way?
I don't advocate censorship at any level other than the personal. Every person has the right and the obligation to practice censorship in their own lives. Maybe the Golden Rule should be expanded, not excised. To my mind, the Rule should read, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you; shun those whose wickedness seeks to entertain you."
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Trickle Down Economics
Today, I went online to check on my vast wealth, only to discover that it had trickled down another $15 in bank fees. Now I find this totally absurd. My wealth is not in the same league as the US Government, but, all my bill are paid and I actually do have a savings account. That is, I did have a savings account until just a few minutes ago. I couldn't believe that the bank was charging me for the privilege of using my money when they were only paying me a measly thirtyeight CENTS a month in interest. That is a pretty poor ROI.
I called the Bank to close the account, because the negative cash flow of $14.62 a month could be better spent in oh, so many ways. The poor schelp on the phone named James was very nice, and should be commended for following company policy for politely asking why I was closing the account. I told him I thought it was silly to spend $15 an month in order to earn thirty-eight cents. He said thank you politely. Just being able to say such things, does have a cathartic effect. I was feeling pretty smart.
Then, again, undoubtably according to company policy, he told me that the Bank did offer another savings account with a lower minimum balance requirement. C'mon!! Now, I was really insulted. I told him, don't you think it is silly to put less money in the bank and make even less than thirty-eight cents a month on it? Then he got sort of huffy, he was only suggesting some options. I hurt his feelings by suggesting that his offer was silly. I don't know how he could really believe that his options made any financial sense at all.
The option I want from the Bank is to put my money some place safer than in my dust-mite-laden mattress. If I never moved a cent out of my savings account, it would be all gone in less than thirty years. Considering I hope to live a bit more than that, a savings account is no way to prepare for retirement.
My parents and grandparents believed that putting money in the Bank was the only sensible way to live, so long as you didn't put more than $100,000 in any Bank. Times have changed. There doesn't seem to be a good reason for putting money in the Bank unless you have more than $100,000. Bank services are free then.
Monday, June 6, 2011
The Eleventh Commandment
And speaking of adult children, Congressman Wiener is this week's poster child for adults who behave like children. Naive as I am, I thought only adolescents posted pictures of their private body parts on the web -- the rest of us are either too young (nothing interesting to show) or too old (have shown it to enough people already). Most adults I know look back on adolescence as a time when "I wish I knew then, what I know now" and are grateful for the fact that they did NOT get publicly exposed.
Clearly Congressman Wiener did not graduate to that sophisticated view of life. Poor man is languishing in post-adolescence adolescence, and worse yet, he is ashamed of himself.
I secretly love the Calvin Kline underwear ads and a lot of the Abercrombie ads too, but faces are attached to the bodies displaying bulging underwear. You can even go online and learn the names of the models if you are so inclined (pun intended). The point is, these guys are not anonymous, and they are clearly not ashamed. I would not be ashamed of my Always-In-Trouble Son, if he modeled for Calvin Kline. Calvin is only trying to make a buck, and in the process make the walls of the subways more beautiful. I respect that.
Maybe Congressman Wiener never learned the Eleventh Commandment -- Never do anything you can't tell your mother. It is a simple moral imperative that extends across all religions and cultures, just like the Original Ten. This commandment wasn't part of the Original Ten simply because God hadn't gotten around to having a mother in the Old Testament. God realized his mistake, and gave His Son a mom in the New Testament. I have no idea why this commandment was left out of the Sermon on the Mount.
Clearly Congressman Wiener did not graduate to that sophisticated view of life. Poor man is languishing in post-adolescence adolescence, and worse yet, he is ashamed of himself.
I secretly love the Calvin Kline underwear ads and a lot of the Abercrombie ads too, but faces are attached to the bodies displaying bulging underwear. You can even go online and learn the names of the models if you are so inclined (pun intended). The point is, these guys are not anonymous, and they are clearly not ashamed. I would not be ashamed of my Always-In-Trouble Son, if he modeled for Calvin Kline. Calvin is only trying to make a buck, and in the process make the walls of the subways more beautiful. I respect that.
Maybe Congressman Wiener never learned the Eleventh Commandment -- Never do anything you can't tell your mother. It is a simple moral imperative that extends across all religions and cultures, just like the Original Ten. This commandment wasn't part of the Original Ten simply because God hadn't gotten around to having a mother in the Old Testament. God realized his mistake, and gave His Son a mom in the New Testament. I have no idea why this commandment was left out of the Sermon on the Mount.
The Three AM Wakeup Call
At one time I thought women were cursed, because they had to endure fifty years of monthly cramps, which then turned into the nightly sweats. But I am wiser now. I know that there are several good reasons for women to wake up at three in the morning, panting and hyperventilating. That is the time of night when your adult children forget that they are now adults, and do stupid things.
Most religions and cultures have some sort of ceremony marking the passage from childhood to adulthood. Thirteen is usually a good time to acknowledge that your child is old enough and smart enough to get into real trouble despite your best efforts. It is the point at which your child surpasses you in both intelligence and stupidity. It is the beginning of the Three-a-m-phone-call --"Uh, Mom?"
Now, when your kid is thirteen, you are still probably in a position to have more children, but are way too wise to do so. The Three-a-m-phone-call at this point in your life wakes you from a dead sleep. Some parent calls to say your kid is puking his guts out, because he and his buddies decided it was time to learn how to binge drink. You get in your car, and drive by auto-pilot, pick up the wretched child, and are back in bed asleep in an hour. In the morning you wake up with stomach cramps, but, hey, that is hormonal. You are supposed to wake up feeling crappy every month. It has nothing to do with your Three-a-m-phone-call.
By the time my man/child reached thirty, I had become an expert at the Three-a-m-phone-call. See, by then, I was waking up all by myself, between two and three am, panting, sweating and unable to go back to sleep. Once the call was good. He called to tell me the streets in our neighborhood were flooding, but that he was safe at a friend's. Was I okay? he asked I couldn't go back to sleep marveling at his consideration. I felt like Sally Fields, "He loves me--he really loves me!"
But most of the time, the Three-a-m-phone-call is not good. Recently, I was lying awake sweating and the phone rang. "Uh, Mom?" as if it was going to be someone else answering my phone at three am. He was calling from Thailand, where it was three in the afternoon. My son had laid a moped down on top of himself, and broken his collar bone badly. The doctor asked for umpteen gillion bahts to operate, more than my son had available on his credit card. It took a moment for my hyperventilating to subside, as I realized that was really only about $4,000. I considered asking the doctor to remove my son's tonsils, appendix and any other useless organ while he was in there. Couldn't do either of those for $4,000 in the States. But, because I was fully awake, I was aware that this was not the time to joke with the doctor. When I hung up, my husband, who sleeps the sleep of the innocent -- or so he tells me, mumbled, "At least that wasn't the Thai police." Amen to that, but I still lay in bed, sweating and fully awake. Around five, I fell back into a deep sleep to be awakened by the alarm at five thirty. Time to get up and go to work.
Sometimes I long for "the sleep of the innocent" which my husband claims is his, but it would be wrong. Mothers can never be innocent. We have the problems of the world on our shoulders, and that, my dears, is why we are awake in the night.
Most religions and cultures have some sort of ceremony marking the passage from childhood to adulthood. Thirteen is usually a good time to acknowledge that your child is old enough and smart enough to get into real trouble despite your best efforts. It is the point at which your child surpasses you in both intelligence and stupidity. It is the beginning of the Three-a-m-phone-call --"Uh, Mom?"
Now, when your kid is thirteen, you are still probably in a position to have more children, but are way too wise to do so. The Three-a-m-phone-call at this point in your life wakes you from a dead sleep. Some parent calls to say your kid is puking his guts out, because he and his buddies decided it was time to learn how to binge drink. You get in your car, and drive by auto-pilot, pick up the wretched child, and are back in bed asleep in an hour. In the morning you wake up with stomach cramps, but, hey, that is hormonal. You are supposed to wake up feeling crappy every month. It has nothing to do with your Three-a-m-phone-call.
By the time my man/child reached thirty, I had become an expert at the Three-a-m-phone-call. See, by then, I was waking up all by myself, between two and three am, panting, sweating and unable to go back to sleep. Once the call was good. He called to tell me the streets in our neighborhood were flooding, but that he was safe at a friend's. Was I okay? he asked I couldn't go back to sleep marveling at his consideration. I felt like Sally Fields, "He loves me--he really loves me!"
But most of the time, the Three-a-m-phone-call is not good. Recently, I was lying awake sweating and the phone rang. "Uh, Mom?" as if it was going to be someone else answering my phone at three am. He was calling from Thailand, where it was three in the afternoon. My son had laid a moped down on top of himself, and broken his collar bone badly. The doctor asked for umpteen gillion bahts to operate, more than my son had available on his credit card. It took a moment for my hyperventilating to subside, as I realized that was really only about $4,000. I considered asking the doctor to remove my son's tonsils, appendix and any other useless organ while he was in there. Couldn't do either of those for $4,000 in the States. But, because I was fully awake, I was aware that this was not the time to joke with the doctor. When I hung up, my husband, who sleeps the sleep of the innocent -- or so he tells me, mumbled, "At least that wasn't the Thai police." Amen to that, but I still lay in bed, sweating and fully awake. Around five, I fell back into a deep sleep to be awakened by the alarm at five thirty. Time to get up and go to work.
Sometimes I long for "the sleep of the innocent" which my husband claims is his, but it would be wrong. Mothers can never be innocent. We have the problems of the world on our shoulders, and that, my dears, is why we are awake in the night.
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