It's " We the People..." not "I the Donald."
Just my take...
Showing posts with label Republican. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Republican. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Recession Gray
At a recent family party, I cuddle my grand-nephew and introduce him to a guest.
“He has such beautiful hair.” The woman coos and tickles his belly.
“Levi, the first redhead of his generation,” I beam. Just like his aunt a blend of enough red to be smart and enough blonde to be dumb I take silent note.
“Isn’t there a history of redheads in your family?” She says.
Startled, I question her eye sight. Just what the heck do you think I am? I swallow my thought.
With the baby cheek-to-cheek, I stare at our reflection. Strawberry-blonde. Golden hues and light red. Yes, we’re related. But what’s this? My blonde is overtaking the red. I’m becoming a blonde. Sprouts of dementia bloom at my crown. I sense my intelligence fade. Quickly, I speak my name aloud just to see if I remember.
Cynthia, Cynthy, Cindi. Good, I’m still in self-recognition mode.
Unsettled, I peer harder. Worse. I see gray. I blink my eyes in disbelief and swear they multiply in that instant. Spawned by the stressful economy, the colorless invaders resemble the same outcropping on President Obama in recent months.
“I’ve got recession gray.” I gulp.
Obama and I are in a tight race to the silver dome. This is not good. America’s got to hold its head up high. And in color. Homeland security starts at ground zero and this war against listless white is top priority. I type an email to the White House and invite our leader to join the cause.
“He has such beautiful hair.” The woman coos and tickles his belly.
“Levi, the first redhead of his generation,” I beam. Just like his aunt a blend of enough red to be smart and enough blonde to be dumb I take silent note.
“Isn’t there a history of redheads in your family?” She says.
Startled, I question her eye sight. Just what the heck do you think I am? I swallow my thought.
With the baby cheek-to-cheek, I stare at our reflection. Strawberry-blonde. Golden hues and light red. Yes, we’re related. But what’s this? My blonde is overtaking the red. I’m becoming a blonde. Sprouts of dementia bloom at my crown. I sense my intelligence fade. Quickly, I speak my name aloud just to see if I remember.
Cynthia, Cynthy, Cindi. Good, I’m still in self-recognition mode.
Unsettled, I peer harder. Worse. I see gray. I blink my eyes in disbelief and swear they multiply in that instant. Spawned by the stressful economy, the colorless invaders resemble the same outcropping on President Obama in recent months.
“I’ve got recession gray.” I gulp.
Obama and I are in a tight race to the silver dome. This is not good. America’s got to hold its head up high. And in color. Homeland security starts at ground zero and this war against listless white is top priority. I type an email to the White House and invite our leader to join the cause.
I shout in bold print, “I’m gonna wash that gray right out of my hair…”
After a call to the local salon, I choke at the fee. A kin to scammers, I roll pennies for hours. Nowhere near the seventy dollar mark, I put on the plastic gloves and concede to a box job.
Money tight, I embrace the Republican approach and use the product with caution and diligence. No liberal coverage. Non-permanent color. No unnecessary cost.
I pop the tab off the bottle and pour the contents of bottle one into bottle two. A quick glance at my image in the mirror and I look like the mad scientist in gray vogue. Although the final promised color is a golden red the wet product is hemorrhage-purple. Shocked, I grab the box and check again – Golden Sienna. Stamped with the Good Housekeeping seal of approval, Clairol, my image rests in your potion.
Conservative, I leave it on for ten minutes. Scared of the deep color resembling a bruise, I finger the damp strands for scalp stain. Anyway, it washes out nicely. I can’t say as much for the white shower stall. I apply the conditioner for two minutes, dry my hair and it looks nice. The purple eases into a golden red and I wonder what shade our President should consider.
In the dawn’s early light I survey the follicle landscape. It’s now the shade of a spent pumpkin. Orange even. Perhaps the conservative path paled. I cringe but remember my pocketbook and give myself a pat for frugality. A good citizen, I fueled the economy nine dollars.
A battle zone unconquered but penetrated. A foothold, I tousle my antioxidant-fortified strands as I recite Einstein’s theory of relativity and speak three-syllable words. Golden shimmers streak from the crown and halo the bangs. Each blonde strand cloaked in carrot-pumpkin highlights. Yes, America’s got talent.
My stimulus package on course, I hear the phone ring and run to answer.
“Hi, it’s Norm.” a familiar voice says, “What’re you doing?”
“I just colored my hair.” I answer.
The inquiry continues, “Did you go red or blonde?”
“The box reads ‘light golden red’.”
“And…”
“…Well, it’s more pumpkin.”
“Orange,” he chuckles.
“Orange,” I parrot.
“So you’re still blonde.” He says.
I reflect on my dilemma. In the marketing world I can turn a copper penny silver. In the bathroom it’s a complete reversal of fortune. Silver to copper. I bow to a setback.
Refocused, I march back into battle and callout, “I’m gonna wash that orange right out of my hair…”
Some days it’s best to stay inside the box and leave it to a pro. Maybe the President can use my skills elsewhere. Got a penny?
THE END
After a call to the local salon, I choke at the fee. A kin to scammers, I roll pennies for hours. Nowhere near the seventy dollar mark, I put on the plastic gloves and concede to a box job.
Money tight, I embrace the Republican approach and use the product with caution and diligence. No liberal coverage. Non-permanent color. No unnecessary cost.
I pop the tab off the bottle and pour the contents of bottle one into bottle two. A quick glance at my image in the mirror and I look like the mad scientist in gray vogue. Although the final promised color is a golden red the wet product is hemorrhage-purple. Shocked, I grab the box and check again – Golden Sienna. Stamped with the Good Housekeeping seal of approval, Clairol, my image rests in your potion.
Conservative, I leave it on for ten minutes. Scared of the deep color resembling a bruise, I finger the damp strands for scalp stain. Anyway, it washes out nicely. I can’t say as much for the white shower stall. I apply the conditioner for two minutes, dry my hair and it looks nice. The purple eases into a golden red and I wonder what shade our President should consider.
In the dawn’s early light I survey the follicle landscape. It’s now the shade of a spent pumpkin. Orange even. Perhaps the conservative path paled. I cringe but remember my pocketbook and give myself a pat for frugality. A good citizen, I fueled the economy nine dollars.
A battle zone unconquered but penetrated. A foothold, I tousle my antioxidant-fortified strands as I recite Einstein’s theory of relativity and speak three-syllable words. Golden shimmers streak from the crown and halo the bangs. Each blonde strand cloaked in carrot-pumpkin highlights. Yes, America’s got talent.
My stimulus package on course, I hear the phone ring and run to answer.
“Hi, it’s Norm.” a familiar voice says, “What’re you doing?”
“I just colored my hair.” I answer.
The inquiry continues, “Did you go red or blonde?”
“The box reads ‘light golden red’.”
“And…”
“…Well, it’s more pumpkin.”
“Orange,” he chuckles.
“Orange,” I parrot.
“So you’re still blonde.” He says.
I reflect on my dilemma. In the marketing world I can turn a copper penny silver. In the bathroom it’s a complete reversal of fortune. Silver to copper. I bow to a setback.
Refocused, I march back into battle and callout, “I’m gonna wash that orange right out of my hair…”
Some days it’s best to stay inside the box and leave it to a pro. Maybe the President can use my skills elsewhere. Got a penny?
THE END
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Democrats, Republicans, Republicrats and those sitting on the Road of Indecision
First, I think it's great that as Americans we can agree to disagree. Since we represent all corners of the states, it's not a surprise we have different POVs. I'll be the first to state that politics are not my expertise.
For me, I want the Vice President to be able to step up and fill the president's shoes. Many have seen just how quickly this can happen from Kennedy's death to Nixon's resignation. I take the VP as a VIP position. I vote for a team.
As a former soccer mom, single mom and sister of a *special needs* child, I'm not qualified to represent this country. Hands down. I bake great cookies, weave tremendous tales, manage a family single-handed, run a business, and house a host of pets. Although I refuse to gut a moose, I can support a broken spirit, treat a bruised knee and cheer on a team. I'm a mom and that's what moms do. Rally to the cause. Dads, too.
On a side note, I've met soccer moms and some are down right vicious. Not a platform I'd embrace.
As a child I sat on metal chairs in a tiny room as my parents joined with other *special needs* families and were the grassroots advocates for the Association for Retarded Children - a term honored now with gentler and positive terms as developmentally disabled and celebrated with Special Olympics events. Even so, after speaking openly, achieving milestones and acting on boards, my mom is not my candidate for VP. She's my mom.
I don't vote for the gender. Period. I vote for the best qualified, experienced candidate. Promoting Sarah Palin’s *mom* achievements places the gender card upfront and personal. This isn't a media issue. It started behind the podium. Can't have it both ways and cry wolf when it doesn't play your way.
Nor can the Republicans expect us to ignore teen pregnancy as a family issue yet embrace Palin’s Down Syndrome son as the poster child that she’ll step up for special needs children. The current cover of People magazine draws question. Can a candidate use one child for political gain and put the other off limits? It’s a shameful political agenda to use a child as a pawn. Even Solomon just rolled over in his grave. My brother Jeff, a Down Syndrome, just joined him.
Still, I try to learn the facts and find articles that offer claims with supporting evidence. An environmentalist and supporter of animal rights, I found the article Maybe Your Type of Leader; Definitely Not Mine by Ed Kostro supported by facts and fueled by passion. I take note of my findings, cringe at the photo, and catalogue the image into my data bank, forging forward to discover the experience level and balance for a right-hand to the President.
To entice Hillary supporters to Sarah may be the biggest mistake. With no comparison between the two, I suspect Hillary Clinton may be the deciding factor in this campaign after all. Wonder if she was a soccer mom? She definitely can be a pit bull when necessary. More research for me.
Friday night I was at the SF Giants baseball game. On the message board it asked us to guess the night's attendance. The winning number: 38,904.
My friend, Cy, leaned over and said, "Take a look at the bleacher section. That's about equal to the town Palin served as mayor."
One-quarter of a baseball stadium.
Curious, later I Googled the population for Alaska. 2006 census 670,053. Lower than the 2006 census for San Francisco 764,976.
I respect every ones right to choice and to cast a vote for their candidate and beliefs. For me, I'm researching and studying all the issues more than ever to make an informed decision in November. I watched both conventions to be fair and I read, listen and search between the lines.
An eloquent speaker and charmer at the podium, Sarah, I'm not sold that easily.
Now I think I'll call my mom, place flowers on my dad and brother’s graves, and celebrate my Giants win and together with Democrats, Republicans, Republicrats, Middle of the Fence and those sitting-on-the-crossroads, mourn my 49er Niner loss.
And tomorrow on to the other candidate…Joe Biden.
For me, I want the Vice President to be able to step up and fill the president's shoes. Many have seen just how quickly this can happen from Kennedy's death to Nixon's resignation. I take the VP as a VIP position. I vote for a team.
As a former soccer mom, single mom and sister of a *special needs* child, I'm not qualified to represent this country. Hands down. I bake great cookies, weave tremendous tales, manage a family single-handed, run a business, and house a host of pets. Although I refuse to gut a moose, I can support a broken spirit, treat a bruised knee and cheer on a team. I'm a mom and that's what moms do. Rally to the cause. Dads, too.
On a side note, I've met soccer moms and some are down right vicious. Not a platform I'd embrace.
As a child I sat on metal chairs in a tiny room as my parents joined with other *special needs* families and were the grassroots advocates for the Association for Retarded Children - a term honored now with gentler and positive terms as developmentally disabled and celebrated with Special Olympics events. Even so, after speaking openly, achieving milestones and acting on boards, my mom is not my candidate for VP. She's my mom.
I don't vote for the gender. Period. I vote for the best qualified, experienced candidate. Promoting Sarah Palin’s *mom* achievements places the gender card upfront and personal. This isn't a media issue. It started behind the podium. Can't have it both ways and cry wolf when it doesn't play your way.
Nor can the Republicans expect us to ignore teen pregnancy as a family issue yet embrace Palin’s Down Syndrome son as the poster child that she’ll step up for special needs children. The current cover of People magazine draws question. Can a candidate use one child for political gain and put the other off limits? It’s a shameful political agenda to use a child as a pawn. Even Solomon just rolled over in his grave. My brother Jeff, a Down Syndrome, just joined him.
Still, I try to learn the facts and find articles that offer claims with supporting evidence. An environmentalist and supporter of animal rights, I found the article Maybe Your Type of Leader; Definitely Not Mine by Ed Kostro supported by facts and fueled by passion. I take note of my findings, cringe at the photo, and catalogue the image into my data bank, forging forward to discover the experience level and balance for a right-hand to the President.
To entice Hillary supporters to Sarah may be the biggest mistake. With no comparison between the two, I suspect Hillary Clinton may be the deciding factor in this campaign after all. Wonder if she was a soccer mom? She definitely can be a pit bull when necessary. More research for me.
Friday night I was at the SF Giants baseball game. On the message board it asked us to guess the night's attendance. The winning number: 38,904.
My friend, Cy, leaned over and said, "Take a look at the bleacher section. That's about equal to the town Palin served as mayor."
One-quarter of a baseball stadium.
Curious, later I Googled the population for Alaska. 2006 census 670,053. Lower than the 2006 census for San Francisco 764,976.
I respect every ones right to choice and to cast a vote for their candidate and beliefs. For me, I'm researching and studying all the issues more than ever to make an informed decision in November. I watched both conventions to be fair and I read, listen and search between the lines.
An eloquent speaker and charmer at the podium, Sarah, I'm not sold that easily.
Now I think I'll call my mom, place flowers on my dad and brother’s graves, and celebrate my Giants win and together with Democrats, Republicans, Republicrats, Middle of the Fence and those sitting-on-the-crossroads, mourn my 49er Niner loss.
And tomorrow on to the other candidate…Joe Biden.
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