To the people whose vocabulary regularly includes phrases such as "The Good Lord" and "God Almighty" and "Praised Be Thy Name," it's not a good day.
CNN is reporting that Terri Schiavo's parents, who, late last night filed an emergency appeal with the Supreme Court, were this morning denied the opportunity to be heard. The Supreme Court, for the most part, is non-partisan and apolitical, so the fact they reviewed the appeal and deemed it unworthy of judicial review says, to me, all the i's are dotted and the t's are crossed. Legally speaking, there's nothing that can (or should) be done, other than a politician (George Bush, as an example) contravening the Constitution to intervene on behalf of Ms. Schiavo (or, rather, her parents).
A year ago, when Senator John Kerry was campaigning against George W. Bush, and prior to Bush's first election victory, many of the issues surrounding his possible presidency were centered around his dedication and loyalty to the so-called Christian Right. However, many of his critics cited his overwhelming lean to the Christian Right in context with his stance on abortion and the death penalty.
Yet Bush, and his brother, have sounded off on this situation, both (the President speaking publicly, and his brother Jeb passing laws and pleading his case within the confines of the media as well as Florida's state senate) siding with the women's parents, who, despite Ms. Schiavo's wishes, are attempting to keep her alive.
Many of us watching this scene unfold have formed an opinion one way or the other; but much like the hot potatoes of abortion, gay marriage, etc., the principle, and not the actual activity, is what causes our reaction, either for or against. And in this situation, it is fairly clear, despite Ms. Schiavo's parents frenetic attempts to convince us otherwise, that the principle, and each successive court decision upholding it, is that she should be allowed to choose her own destiny, despite the beliefs of her parents, the governor of the state of Florida, and his brother, the President of The United States.
Personally, what repulses me more than Ms. Schiavo's parents attempts to supercede her husband's care for her, whether with good intention or not, is the number of attacks that her parents have levied against Mr. Schiavo. According to what I've read, Mr. Schiavo was accused of neglecting the care of his wife several times over the tenure of her illness; and even now, while he stands up for his wife's wishes, against her family and a gaggle of publicity-seeking politicians who have no legitimate involvement in the situation, what seems sad is that the only person who is truly acting on principle here is her husband.
Her mother yesterday was quoted as saying that even if Ms. Schiavo had a living will and even if she had gone on record saying she would prefer death to being kept alive in a vegetative state, she would still contravene her wishes and make any and all attempt to keep her "alive." And yesterday afternoon, a doctor who was retained by the Schindlers, Ms. Schiavo's parents, indicated that there were possibly new medical developments to consider; this, after 15 years, is suspect, because the new medical developments seem to come, consistently, from doctors who a) are hired by the family and b) who have questionable ethics and affiliations. To wit, the doctor who claimed "new medical developments," Dr. William Cheshire, wrote the following in connection with Ms. Schiavo "I could not withhold life-sustaining nutrition from this beautiful lady whose face brightens in the presence of others." This isn't a medical development, it's an emotional one. And according to CNN.com, "Cheshire is also director of biotech ethics at the Center for Bioethics and Human Dignity, a group founded in 1994 to recognize the contribution of 'biblical values' to the bioethical debate." Using the bible to come between a husband and wife -- sponsored by the state of Florida.
Unreal.
Although Ms. Schiavo's mother, Mary Schindler, has received much of the publicity surrounding the movement to keep Ms. Schiavo alive, her father, Bob Schindler, yesterday joined in the stupidity by suggesting Judge George Greer, the 11th Circuit Judge ruling on the many Terri Schiavo-related issues which have been presented to him, was on a "crusade" to kill her. And to the dozen or so subsequent judicial decisions which have concurred with Judge Greer's opinion, ie that Ms. Schiavo should be allowed (via her husband) to determine her own course, Mr. Schindler intimated last night that the other decisions were, in large part, supporting Judge Greer's (erroneous) decision as opposed to his daughter's well-being.
Clearly he won't be pleased by the fact that Judge Greer denied the petition by the state of Florida to take custody of Ms. Schiavo.
I've seen cases where parents grossly, and grotesquely, overstep their bounds and meddle and/or intervene in a relationship between engaged and/or married couples, but this is beyond ridiculous. Ms. Schiavo's parents obviously are acting out of emotion, and don't want to acknowledge their daughter is, essentially, gone. That's an unfortunate reality, but one they need to face. Blaming a judge, their son-in-law or the governor of Florida isn't going to change that one simple fact.
However, allowing her the dignity to which every human is entitled would at least restore some of the semblance of the life she had, as opposed to the life her parents have been fighting to lengthen.
Each of us has personal history, and based on mine, watching these people countermand every institution and individual who disagrees with them on their daughter's fate, including not only her husband but her own wishes, amazes, sickens and saddens me. Parents have a way of destroying their childrens' lives, both by omission and comission, but this is perhaps the first time I've seen parents destroy a life after, or very nearly after, it has expired.
Unfortunately, I expect there will be much more to be said on this subject.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
This Just In...
15 years ago, when Michael Schiavo arrived home to find his wife, Terri, on the kitchen floor, prone and barely breathing, if at all, one wonders if he realized his wife's fate would ultimately be not in the hands of doctors but old men wearing suits and/or robes.
90 minutes ago, Terri Schiavo's parents instructed one of their attorneys to file a petition with the Supreme Court, only hours after Florida's State Court of Appeals denied a request for review of the case involving their daughter. The Florida State Senate also rejected a bill that would continue giving Ms. Schiavo food and water.
On top of that, Jeb Bush, younger brother of Dubya and currently serving as Florida's Governor, decided to re-enter the fray by suggesting Ms. Schiavo's medical condition should be reviewed as she might have been misdiagnosed.
Really.
Is he kidding?
Between her parents' suggestions that Ms. Schiavo might have been misdiagnosed and recent reports from a neurologist (retained by Ms. Schiavo's parents) indicating her condition might be improved with a different course of therapy, one wonders what these people are actually thinking -- if "thinking" is a term that can actually be used to describe their actions.
On occasion, two parties who are embroiled in conflict are interrupted by a third, detached, unbiased party who intervenes and clears up the conflict. In this case, however, there are about twenty-seven different parties; some of them are politicans pandering for votes and making speeches in their holier-than-thou, deepest, most somber voices, hoping for snippets and/or soundbytes on the 11 O'Clock news. There are judges on every level -- local, state and, now, federal. And there is the President, commenting from the sidelines. There are protestors taping their mouths shut, carrying signs and making attempts to bring Ms. Schiavo food and water.
And then there are Ms. Schiavo's parents, who are begging everyone from politicians to judges to the President to Bishop Desmond Tutu to save their daughter.
And then there is the American public, watching this despicable, ridiculous circus. Free. No tickets for admission to this spectacle. Magnetic, it draws opinion and emotion like an impending collision.
Then there is Mr. Schiavo, presumably attempting to carry out his wife's wish to not exist as a collection of organs connected to a wall in a hospice, simply existing in an emotionless, futile vaccuum.
Some very telling, and very legitimate, points being made in and around the media the last 24 hours:
On Republican Senators involving themselves in the conflict: If Republicans are so dedicated to the sanctity of marriage between man and woman, why are they attempting to shove their beliefs between a husband and wife?
On politicians' conservative, christian, god-fearing right belief(s) which claim saving Ms. Schiavo's life is god's will: If god's will is the goal, wouldn't disconnecting all machines maintaining what little life Ms. Schiavo has in her allow that life to proceed as god designed?
Aside from the fact that, at the end of this debacle, Ms. Schiavo's life will end, perhaps the saddest thing about this entire conflict is that Mr. Schiavo's actions have been, ostensibly, to allow Ms. Schiavo to retain her dignity and not simply exist as semi-living tissue. Her parents, in an effort to "save our daughter," have not only stolen her will (to not be kept alive by machines in a barely-conscious haze), but have stolen her dignity as well. Instead of people remembering Ms. Schiavo as a woman who suffered greatly in this life but was allowed to find peace and dignity in death, her parents have made a mockery of the life she has "lived" since she collapsed and nearly died.
Perhaps this is the way modern America shall be; macabre, disgusting, garish displays involving celebrity trials, school shootings, kidnappings and other high-profile media events leading to press conferences, make-shift memorials, public displays of sadness, and poignant scenes of emotion, all compartmentalized between two thirty-second commercials for tooth whitener and improved plastic wrap. And at the center of all of this crass, superficial commercialism, there is life, and the questions which we all ponder at some point in our collective existence.
The spotlight that is shining on this three-ring circus, hopefully, is going to dim and, once it does, I hope Ms. Schiavo, wherever she is now and wherever she is headed, finds solace, peace and tranquility. And I hope, wherever she is going, there are no reporters, camera operators, parents or politicians. She's lived this hell long enough; hopefully, where she's going, those aforementioned people won't be granted admission.
90 minutes ago, Terri Schiavo's parents instructed one of their attorneys to file a petition with the Supreme Court, only hours after Florida's State Court of Appeals denied a request for review of the case involving their daughter. The Florida State Senate also rejected a bill that would continue giving Ms. Schiavo food and water.
On top of that, Jeb Bush, younger brother of Dubya and currently serving as Florida's Governor, decided to re-enter the fray by suggesting Ms. Schiavo's medical condition should be reviewed as she might have been misdiagnosed.
Really.
Is he kidding?
Between her parents' suggestions that Ms. Schiavo might have been misdiagnosed and recent reports from a neurologist (retained by Ms. Schiavo's parents) indicating her condition might be improved with a different course of therapy, one wonders what these people are actually thinking -- if "thinking" is a term that can actually be used to describe their actions.
On occasion, two parties who are embroiled in conflict are interrupted by a third, detached, unbiased party who intervenes and clears up the conflict. In this case, however, there are about twenty-seven different parties; some of them are politicans pandering for votes and making speeches in their holier-than-thou, deepest, most somber voices, hoping for snippets and/or soundbytes on the 11 O'Clock news. There are judges on every level -- local, state and, now, federal. And there is the President, commenting from the sidelines. There are protestors taping their mouths shut, carrying signs and making attempts to bring Ms. Schiavo food and water.
And then there are Ms. Schiavo's parents, who are begging everyone from politicians to judges to the President to Bishop Desmond Tutu to save their daughter.
And then there is the American public, watching this despicable, ridiculous circus. Free. No tickets for admission to this spectacle. Magnetic, it draws opinion and emotion like an impending collision.
Then there is Mr. Schiavo, presumably attempting to carry out his wife's wish to not exist as a collection of organs connected to a wall in a hospice, simply existing in an emotionless, futile vaccuum.
Some very telling, and very legitimate, points being made in and around the media the last 24 hours:
On Republican Senators involving themselves in the conflict: If Republicans are so dedicated to the sanctity of marriage between man and woman, why are they attempting to shove their beliefs between a husband and wife?
On politicians' conservative, christian, god-fearing right belief(s) which claim saving Ms. Schiavo's life is god's will: If god's will is the goal, wouldn't disconnecting all machines maintaining what little life Ms. Schiavo has in her allow that life to proceed as god designed?
Aside from the fact that, at the end of this debacle, Ms. Schiavo's life will end, perhaps the saddest thing about this entire conflict is that Mr. Schiavo's actions have been, ostensibly, to allow Ms. Schiavo to retain her dignity and not simply exist as semi-living tissue. Her parents, in an effort to "save our daughter," have not only stolen her will (to not be kept alive by machines in a barely-conscious haze), but have stolen her dignity as well. Instead of people remembering Ms. Schiavo as a woman who suffered greatly in this life but was allowed to find peace and dignity in death, her parents have made a mockery of the life she has "lived" since she collapsed and nearly died.
Perhaps this is the way modern America shall be; macabre, disgusting, garish displays involving celebrity trials, school shootings, kidnappings and other high-profile media events leading to press conferences, make-shift memorials, public displays of sadness, and poignant scenes of emotion, all compartmentalized between two thirty-second commercials for tooth whitener and improved plastic wrap. And at the center of all of this crass, superficial commercialism, there is life, and the questions which we all ponder at some point in our collective existence.
The spotlight that is shining on this three-ring circus, hopefully, is going to dim and, once it does, I hope Ms. Schiavo, wherever she is now and wherever she is headed, finds solace, peace and tranquility. And I hope, wherever she is going, there are no reporters, camera operators, parents or politicians. She's lived this hell long enough; hopefully, where she's going, those aforementioned people won't be granted admission.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
It Happened Again
Yesterday morning, Red Lake, Minnesota, joined Littleton, Colorado, home of Columbine High School, as another example of one of the most sad, terrible phenomenons of America's violent history. Yesterday morning, a 16-year-old named Jeff Weise took the lives of his 58-year-old grandfather and his grandfather's 32-year-old girlfriend, then drove to school in his grandfather's police cruiser, wearing his grandfather's bulletproof vest, shot and killed an unarmed security guard at his high school, and then, as of this writing, shot and killed five students, aged between 14 and 15, before, upon being confronted by police, shooting himself in the head. Today's related news focused on Weise's proclivity towards and support of neo-nazism.
The cycle of violence in America isn't unique; what is is its frequency, magnitude and degree. Many critics point to violence portrayed on television, in movies and transmitted through angry music as being a large contributor to our increasingly violent culture. Without detracting from the validity of this theory, and having "received" the message behind Danny Boyle's "28 Days Later" (which suggests rage, through constant visual and auditory bombardment, is infectious), there's a limit to the theory that violence on television breeds violence in everyday life. If it were true, we'd be witnessing these events on a regular basis in all communities, and not just simply in schools; there have been incidents like these in post offices, workplaces and elsewhere -- but that would entail that students, postal workers and office workers are the only ones absorbing violence on TV, in movies and in music. And that's sort of preposterous.
Even the most simple layperson can make the distinction that both school shootings, while tragic, took place in relatively peaceful surroundings. If violence breeds violence, it would follow that high schools in the South Bronx would be veritable jungles of murder, rape and mayhem. Ditto South-Central Los Angeles. So why did the two most notorious, tragic school shootings to date occur in the middle of such hotbeds of violence as (sic) Colorado and Minnesota? And if television and movies and music are catalysts thereof, it would follow that these types of episodes would be occurring randomly, yet predictably, throughout the nation, which is not the case; what is perhaps most disturbing is that, whereas the two perpetrators in the case of the Columbine shootings sought out gun shows to obtain weapons, the weapon used in yesterday's episode was the suspect's grandfather's service revolver. The relationship between the two, then, perhaps, is the availability (relatively speaking) of weapons.
Except the Columbine students made pipe bombs in the absence of available (purchaseable) products, ie hand grenades. Assuming that Mr. Weise had learned how to shoot a handgun by his grandfather (his ability to kill a variety of people demonstrated, in addition to a cold, unhuman disposition, a high measure of skill in operating a handgun), then an "overquantity" of available weapons was irrelevant; all he needed was one .22 calibre handgun and the lack of sanity and humanity and compassion to put it to its use.
So if neither visual/auditory stimuli nor the availability of weapons were the essential catalysts to these situations, another factor linking these situations was each incident was perpetrated by youths who had been taunted and picked on by their peers. However, while the students at Columbine had a list of people they had targeted, Mr. Weise appeared to randomly shoot whoever was in his path yesterday morning.
Being taunted by one's peers in high school is obviously something which can cause great angst, depression and isolation; and while different people react to this type of stress differently (John Hughes made a career out of writing/directing comedies based in large part on this phenomenon), it's safe to assume that these three individuals are not, and won't be, the only high school students verbally abused by their peers. And yet, these incidents aren't occurring on most sites of this taunting and abuse, which, presumably, happens at some point every day in every school across the country.
It seems to me that one of the essential ingredients to this recipe of tragedy, for the most part, is the absence of parental supervision in the lives of these students. A great amount of the post-Columbine fallout was the (shocking) revelation that those two young men were stockpiling weapons in their rooms (ie rooms in their parents' houses) without being questioned or with their parents even knowing -- not even having a clue -- what their children were planning. It's hard to imagine a caring, concerned, involved parent not knowing their children had pipe-bombs, shotguns and handguns scattered around their rooms. It's possible today's teenager has more autonomy than perhaps when I was that age, but it seems hard for me to imagine parents doing a poorer job at parenting than not noticing guns and bombs in their kids' rooms.
In the case of Mr. Weise, he lived with his grandfather, a 58-year-old who was dating a 32-year-old woman. Mr. Weise's father committed suicide approximately four years ago, and his mother was confined to a nursing home due to brain injuries sustained in a car accident. So that left the supervision of his daily activities to a career police officer, a grandfather dating a woman twice his grandson's age. When I first reviewed Mr. Weise's family history, it didn't surprise me that he had issues; in fact, it would have surprised me if he didn't act out in some sort of way. Having both parents removed (unhappily) from your life during your adolescence, and being (sic) supervised by someone who is preoccupied with both a busy career and an active social life, and knowing there was suicide in the family (especially that it was his father) virtually guaranteed something would happen.
The warning signs -- present in the two perpetrators of the massacre at Columbine -- were similarly evident in the months leading up to Mr. Weise's actions yesterday. Mr. Weise had once suggested to friends that "blowing up the school would be cool." His friends dismissed it as idle chatter to be disregarded, much like the warnings from Klebold and Harris, the students at Columbine, were ignored. It was also revealed that Weise posted pro-nazi opinion on various, anonymous online bulletin boards.
And all of it was ignored -- up until yesterday morning.
It seems to me that if we are to learn anything from these tragic, awful chapters of our modern history, it is that we can label things, we can invite government scrutiny and guideline, but at the end of the day, we need to be able to answer the question posed by those long-running public service announcements: "It's ten o'clock. Do you know where your children are?"
We, as a culture and a nation, need to start paying more attention; and we need to start realizing that, if we don't pay attention, we'll be doing a lot more wondering how these things happen rather than actively preventing them from happening. It's a toss-up, really: not knowing vs. not caring. In either case, it will produce the same terrible, tragic results.
And it will happen again. And again.
And again.
The cycle of violence in America isn't unique; what is is its frequency, magnitude and degree. Many critics point to violence portrayed on television, in movies and transmitted through angry music as being a large contributor to our increasingly violent culture. Without detracting from the validity of this theory, and having "received" the message behind Danny Boyle's "28 Days Later" (which suggests rage, through constant visual and auditory bombardment, is infectious), there's a limit to the theory that violence on television breeds violence in everyday life. If it were true, we'd be witnessing these events on a regular basis in all communities, and not just simply in schools; there have been incidents like these in post offices, workplaces and elsewhere -- but that would entail that students, postal workers and office workers are the only ones absorbing violence on TV, in movies and in music. And that's sort of preposterous.
Even the most simple layperson can make the distinction that both school shootings, while tragic, took place in relatively peaceful surroundings. If violence breeds violence, it would follow that high schools in the South Bronx would be veritable jungles of murder, rape and mayhem. Ditto South-Central Los Angeles. So why did the two most notorious, tragic school shootings to date occur in the middle of such hotbeds of violence as (sic) Colorado and Minnesota? And if television and movies and music are catalysts thereof, it would follow that these types of episodes would be occurring randomly, yet predictably, throughout the nation, which is not the case; what is perhaps most disturbing is that, whereas the two perpetrators in the case of the Columbine shootings sought out gun shows to obtain weapons, the weapon used in yesterday's episode was the suspect's grandfather's service revolver. The relationship between the two, then, perhaps, is the availability (relatively speaking) of weapons.
Except the Columbine students made pipe bombs in the absence of available (purchaseable) products, ie hand grenades. Assuming that Mr. Weise had learned how to shoot a handgun by his grandfather (his ability to kill a variety of people demonstrated, in addition to a cold, unhuman disposition, a high measure of skill in operating a handgun), then an "overquantity" of available weapons was irrelevant; all he needed was one .22 calibre handgun and the lack of sanity and humanity and compassion to put it to its use.
So if neither visual/auditory stimuli nor the availability of weapons were the essential catalysts to these situations, another factor linking these situations was each incident was perpetrated by youths who had been taunted and picked on by their peers. However, while the students at Columbine had a list of people they had targeted, Mr. Weise appeared to randomly shoot whoever was in his path yesterday morning.
Being taunted by one's peers in high school is obviously something which can cause great angst, depression and isolation; and while different people react to this type of stress differently (John Hughes made a career out of writing/directing comedies based in large part on this phenomenon), it's safe to assume that these three individuals are not, and won't be, the only high school students verbally abused by their peers. And yet, these incidents aren't occurring on most sites of this taunting and abuse, which, presumably, happens at some point every day in every school across the country.
It seems to me that one of the essential ingredients to this recipe of tragedy, for the most part, is the absence of parental supervision in the lives of these students. A great amount of the post-Columbine fallout was the (shocking) revelation that those two young men were stockpiling weapons in their rooms (ie rooms in their parents' houses) without being questioned or with their parents even knowing -- not even having a clue -- what their children were planning. It's hard to imagine a caring, concerned, involved parent not knowing their children had pipe-bombs, shotguns and handguns scattered around their rooms. It's possible today's teenager has more autonomy than perhaps when I was that age, but it seems hard for me to imagine parents doing a poorer job at parenting than not noticing guns and bombs in their kids' rooms.
In the case of Mr. Weise, he lived with his grandfather, a 58-year-old who was dating a 32-year-old woman. Mr. Weise's father committed suicide approximately four years ago, and his mother was confined to a nursing home due to brain injuries sustained in a car accident. So that left the supervision of his daily activities to a career police officer, a grandfather dating a woman twice his grandson's age. When I first reviewed Mr. Weise's family history, it didn't surprise me that he had issues; in fact, it would have surprised me if he didn't act out in some sort of way. Having both parents removed (unhappily) from your life during your adolescence, and being (sic) supervised by someone who is preoccupied with both a busy career and an active social life, and knowing there was suicide in the family (especially that it was his father) virtually guaranteed something would happen.
The warning signs -- present in the two perpetrators of the massacre at Columbine -- were similarly evident in the months leading up to Mr. Weise's actions yesterday. Mr. Weise had once suggested to friends that "blowing up the school would be cool." His friends dismissed it as idle chatter to be disregarded, much like the warnings from Klebold and Harris, the students at Columbine, were ignored. It was also revealed that Weise posted pro-nazi opinion on various, anonymous online bulletin boards.
And all of it was ignored -- up until yesterday morning.
It seems to me that if we are to learn anything from these tragic, awful chapters of our modern history, it is that we can label things, we can invite government scrutiny and guideline, but at the end of the day, we need to be able to answer the question posed by those long-running public service announcements: "It's ten o'clock. Do you know where your children are?"
We, as a culture and a nation, need to start paying more attention; and we need to start realizing that, if we don't pay attention, we'll be doing a lot more wondering how these things happen rather than actively preventing them from happening. It's a toss-up, really: not knowing vs. not caring. In either case, it will produce the same terrible, tragic results.
And it will happen again. And again.
And again.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Yesterday, Tomorrow, and the Promise of Today
Touching base with friends has a way of putting context in the past, the present and the future. It's just how it works; there's only 24 hours in a day, and I try to spend some of those sleeping, many more of them working, and I use the remaining few to have dinner and try keeping tabs on the world outside my little bubble here on Manhattan Island.
I finally managed to make contact with a friend of mine who, these days, is starting to get into heavy wedding planning with her fiance. Since she and I have shared with each other the sordid details of our past insanities which we (at the time) coined relationships, I was very pleased to hear how well her plans were coming, especially given the memorable experience I gained this past summer in the antithesis thereof. Both her family and her fiance's family seem very cool, and genuinely like one another -- which I can attest, from personal experience, is a genuine plus. So as she told me about the thus-far smoothness of everything, I was genuinely happy, and not merely in a vicarious way. I told her things might get bumpy here and there, but part of the fun of getting married -- or so I've heard from people who have actually survived the process -- is making it through the planning phase...although there are people, myself included, who found themselves relieved they pulled the plug in time to get off the sinking ship. I'm glad that her ship is on the right course and I gladly wished her continued happiness.
Something that we discussed, something with which she and I both can definitely relate, is going from a lousy relationship to a great one. For me, the contrast of moods, feelings, and the overall sense of contentment are clearly apparent. Almost everyone I know has had at least one relationship they wish they could just erase from their past, although there are those people who have had a variety of relationships which had components of greatness as well as lousiness. The key to either/both is to come away with a sense of what you need and what you can tolerate, and what you can and can't handle. The trick is doing it before you meet the right person so you know what to look for, what to look out for, and what (and what not) to appreciate. And as she shared a few revelations of her "before" and "after" experiences, I ran through mine and found myself smiling knowing I wasn't alone and that this discovery I had experienced, and continued to experience, was not unique, and, more importantly, was legit.
Almost immediately after getting off the phone, I realized I needed to call my other half back, as she was on her way home from work to get ready to go out and meet a friend and the friend's husband. They had recently given birth to their first child, a daughter, so my other half and I had, earlier in the afternoon, ruminated on a good baby gift; she had already gotten the little one a cashmere blanket and a "onesy" (easily the most irritating thing about babies is the lingo, btw) but wanted to get another gift. She suggested a Tiffany silver spoon, and I suggested some sort of Polo outfit that would keep the little bundle of joy happy during the fading winter and coming spring (the newly-gifted trio live in Maryland, not exactly a hotbed of warm, infant-friendly weather).
I finally managed to make contact with a friend of mine who, these days, is starting to get into heavy wedding planning with her fiance. Since she and I have shared with each other the sordid details of our past insanities which we (at the time) coined relationships, I was very pleased to hear how well her plans were coming, especially given the memorable experience I gained this past summer in the antithesis thereof. Both her family and her fiance's family seem very cool, and genuinely like one another -- which I can attest, from personal experience, is a genuine plus. So as she told me about the thus-far smoothness of everything, I was genuinely happy, and not merely in a vicarious way. I told her things might get bumpy here and there, but part of the fun of getting married -- or so I've heard from people who have actually survived the process -- is making it through the planning phase...although there are people, myself included, who found themselves relieved they pulled the plug in time to get off the sinking ship. I'm glad that her ship is on the right course and I gladly wished her continued happiness.
Something that we discussed, something with which she and I both can definitely relate, is going from a lousy relationship to a great one. For me, the contrast of moods, feelings, and the overall sense of contentment are clearly apparent. Almost everyone I know has had at least one relationship they wish they could just erase from their past, although there are those people who have had a variety of relationships which had components of greatness as well as lousiness. The key to either/both is to come away with a sense of what you need and what you can tolerate, and what you can and can't handle. The trick is doing it before you meet the right person so you know what to look for, what to look out for, and what (and what not) to appreciate. And as she shared a few revelations of her "before" and "after" experiences, I ran through mine and found myself smiling knowing I wasn't alone and that this discovery I had experienced, and continued to experience, was not unique, and, more importantly, was legit.
Almost immediately after getting off the phone, I realized I needed to call my other half back, as she was on her way home from work to get ready to go out and meet a friend and the friend's husband. They had recently given birth to their first child, a daughter, so my other half and I had, earlier in the afternoon, ruminated on a good baby gift; she had already gotten the little one a cashmere blanket and a "onesy" (easily the most irritating thing about babies is the lingo, btw) but wanted to get another gift. She suggested a Tiffany silver spoon, and I suggested some sort of Polo outfit that would keep the little bundle of joy happy during the fading winter and coming spring (the newly-gifted trio live in Maryland, not exactly a hotbed of warm, infant-friendly weather).
So we went back and forth (mostly me being a major pain in the ass) and finally she relented -- although as I explained to her, a Tiffany silver spoon is nice, but it's not a user-friendly gift. Basically, everyone I know who's had a child gets one of these items; they ooh and aah at the box, they ooh and aah when it comes out of the little blue pouch, and then the fucker lands back in the box, in a bag, a thank-you note is sent, and the next thing you know, that spoon is at the bottom of a closet next to Aunt Gertrude's teacups, Cousin Fred's stamp collection and Uncle Elmer's first jock. Yippeee.
The real point of the matter, and what makes me warm and fuzzy (it ain't Elmer's private-keeper, that's fer sure) is that despite our difference of opinion, and her meowing at me and me teasing her about how lame it is to give a Tiffany silver spoon, is that we wound up laughing. We both knew it was a silly argument, and mebbe that's why it wound up in laughter; but in the five or six months we've been together, we've had, maybe, two or three arguments, and every time we wind up meeting in the middle (literally and figuratively) and go back to smiling without either person getting their feelings hurt.
The reason why I mention this, especially within the context of my friend's phone call, was that I had always paid close attention to (either from my girlfriend at the time, a female friend doling out advice, or non-female friends sharing their sides of the story) and studied the rules of conflict between a couple. Throughout the tenure of my dating history, for the most part, if a partner or I had a difference, (depending on the topic) we would either work it out -- "no, hon, you go tonight and I'll hang out here" -- or we'd agree to disagree. With one relationship, it would inspire knock-down, drag-it-out, bang-your-head-against-the-wall exasperation -- though that was more a case of not having a clue as to her thought process in general as opposed to a simple difference of opinion. But one of the many things I love about my other half is that, no matter what it is, we find a way to be happy, as opposed to finding a way to avoid happiness.
So, in retrospect, I suppose I have it a lot easier than my friend in comparing lousy relationships from the past to my current one; while we're both content, excited and thrilled about where our respective relationships are and where they're going, it's a lot easier for me to be amazed by my other half. Not only do I have a good basis of comparison, but I know she's the best thing to ever happen to me.
Even if she does have lousy taste in baby-gifts ;-)
(Yes, I know, I'm gonna pay for that one... :-)
-B-
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Wakey-Wakey
First, before I reel off the Boogie-Birthday Re-Cap, I did more review on the whole Terri Schiavo situation. And while I'm not backtracking -- I still think Congress and all politicians who aren't related to the members of this family should keep the hell out of it -- I have changed my position a bit. The fact that Ms. Schiavo is in a vegetative state doesn't mean she doesn't communicate, or that she is totally catatonic; she doesn't speak, but she can smile, and she does exhibit some sort of presence. She'll never be able to fully communicate with the outside world, but to let a person starve -- over a period of weeks -- seems beyond inhumane to me. If she were my relative, I would want her to find peace, but not over the course of several weeks during which she, ostensibly, would suffer. Instead, I would want permission to have a drug administered that would simply induce coma and, eventually, peace. I still firmly believe that her mother's pleas to Congress to save her daughter are, in fact, misplaced, because, in fact, only God can save her daughter. But I think this country needs to revisit its position on euthanasia; I certainly don't advocate the slow, torturous procedure this woman might be forced endure. But conversely, watching her suffer, day after day, and be barely a shell of the person she once was, should not be the only alternative. And while I understand her family and friends want her to be cared for rather than forgotten, it seems to me that anyone who cares about her would not want her to merely exist in the state in which she is in. I think that is something the politicians meddling in this matter should also consider when they next have a microphone jabbed in their faces.
***
Back to happier subjects: my girlfriend, totally buried beneath an end-of-quarter that comes due at the end of the month, didn't make it to NYC this weekend. Both of us were disappointed, but as I 'splained to her, it's only just a day -- and considering the bullshit over the past couple birthdays I endured, I'm just happy this one transpired without any ancillary temper-tantrums, issues or aggravation clouding the day and our relationship. That, and looking forward to our next visit -- and when she finally becomes a full-time NYC resident -- mean a lot more to me than just one day.
The itinerary was pretty bland -- no bail money, no transvestite hookers named Fred wearing pink fishnets, and no restraining orders -- and no waking up on the Lower East Side in a hippie commune/apartment belonging to The Friends of Taribithia Prayer and Social Club. No, this birthday was pretty cut-and-dry -- my sister brought me a couple cards and gave me a gift from her boyfriend of an assortment of kickin' cigars -- 5 Vegas (Cinco Vegas, for you gaijins), CAO, Don Tomas, et al... Since they weren't humidified I couldn't fire any of 'em up; but in a couple weeks, once they've been properly rehumidified, I'll be running through 'em and re-enjoying my birthday all over again -- the gift that keeps on giving...
The itinerary was pretty bland -- no bail money, no transvestite hookers named Fred wearing pink fishnets, and no restraining orders -- and no waking up on the Lower East Side in a hippie commune/apartment belonging to The Friends of Taribithia Prayer and Social Club. No, this birthday was pretty cut-and-dry -- my sister brought me a couple cards and gave me a gift from her boyfriend of an assortment of kickin' cigars -- 5 Vegas (Cinco Vegas, for you gaijins), CAO, Don Tomas, et al... Since they weren't humidified I couldn't fire any of 'em up; but in a couple weeks, once they've been properly rehumidified, I'll be running through 'em and re-enjoying my birthday all over again -- the gift that keeps on giving...
We got to the office, I did a little work and then my sister and I went to lunch at the Brooklyn Diner, where my other half had called in an attempt to get us a special dessert, but the maitre'd (who knows us well) had it already handled: just when we were stuffed and couldn't eat anymore, the waitress brought a huge hunk of incredible chocolate cake with some whipped cream and a candle. We brought it upstairs as neither of us could even make an attempt at having even a bite of it... Once upstairs I did some more work and got a bunch more calls from friends and relatives all over, although none was more memorable than from my friend Ron (gee, thanks, Ron), who had called from Tokyo earlier that morning at 4AM (hint: 14 hours). Thank god for answering machines and me being a heavy sleeper. And that chocolate cake didn't go to waste :-)
Once we finally made it out of the office and homeward, I came home to find a care package with some awesome goodies awaiting me courtesy of my other half, including pictures, some shirts, a couple of wonderful cards, a frame with a tasty picture and a keycase. After trying some stuff on and spending some much-needed phone-time with her, I got changed and headed out to meet friends; we had sangria, tequila shots and some rockin' Mexican at Rosa Mexicana. By the time I climbed into bed it was the next day. Thanks to the time difference, I got to fall asleep with my other half in my ear and a smile on my face.
***
Friday was a blur: I managed some appointments, a bit of laundry, some relaxing, and just enjoyed the day. Saturday, I did a little running around (errands, etc.) and then came home, got changed and went to dinner with my parents, my sister and her boyfriend at a restaurant near my apartment. I felt a bit detached not having my other half there with us, but I still had a great time; we had a bottle of champagne in honor of my birthday, and then, halfway through dinner, the waiter brought another bottle, announcing to the table that it was from someone who knows and loves me who felt badly she couldn't be there by the name of Kaia...I sorta-kinda knew, as we all smiled and missed her, that, in the back of my mind, she would do something like that, but it still made me smile and even miss her more. And by the time dinner was cleared, I had finished six glasses of incredible champagne, a warm grilled calamari and mesculun salad (rockin'), and about half my dinner. They then brought out the cake -- a chocolate monstrosity with candles spelling out the word celebrate -- before we finally called it a night.
I wound up falling asleep on the phone with my other half, despite a clinging headache and being so tired; I thanked her for the champagne, the same bottle that she'd sent to me the day my father got out of the hospital, and let her know how sweet and wonderful a gesture it was. I explained to her that I'd told my father that the only other time she'd sent me a bottle of Clicquot was to celebrate his release from the hospital. As per usual, it was a small gesture, perhaps, but one that really felt good. I doubt I'll ever see another bottle of Clicquot again and not think of her and smile.
***
This morning I woke up early, feeling good, well-rested and relaxed (in other words, not hung over). I wanted to get some laundry done but it wasn't meant to be, so I relegated my early morning wake-up to some work and some organizing, and downloading a clip of Chappelle's Show (where he plays Rick James). If you haven't seen it, you need to...if for no other reason than to be reminded that "Cocaine's a helluva drug!"
In the meantime, it was rainy and miserable in NYC but I was looking forward to going out as some friends were taking me to brunch for my birthday, so we met up, despite the rain, and had a kickin' brunch at Atlantic Grill...our waiter told us to relax and enjoy and was in no rush to clear us out, so we wound up hanging there for awhile (the fact they brought us fondue with rice krispies, marshmallows, biscotti and fruit for dessert didn't hurt). By the time we rolled out of there and swung by one of my friend's apartments, it was late afternoon. All in all, a great way to spend a Sunday, birthday or not :-)
It's nice to know that I've got lots of friends and family around that went out of their way to make sure I had such a great birthday. As they know, I appreciate them all. The one thing that was missing this weekend was my other half, and knowing that for my next birthday she'll be here permanently was all the birthday happiness I needed. The rest -- as great as it was -- is just icing on the cake :-)
It's nice to know that I've got lots of friends and family around that went out of their way to make sure I had such a great birthday. As they know, I appreciate them all. The one thing that was missing this weekend was my other half, and knowing that for my next birthday she'll be here permanently was all the birthday happiness I needed. The rest -- as great as it was -- is just icing on the cake :-)
***
"Enjoy yourself, bitches...it's a celebration..."
Saturday, March 19, 2005
A New/Old Debate, Florida-Style
In a unique bit of irony, only a few days after my rumination on the McDonald's/Super-Size Me issue, another nutrition/government clash is occurring in Florida, though with a decidedly different twist: this struggle concerns Terri Schiavo, the woman who, in 1991, had heart failure and subsequent brain damage that has since left her in a vegetative state.
Several days ago Ms. Schiavo's feeding tube was removed, and she is, barring further governmental intervention, going to die.
The saga, if you've somehow avoided it, entails her parents, who have fought to keep her alive, and her husband, who wants to allow her to die peacefully rather than simply exist as a body connected to machines to keep her alive. Lawmakers, including Florida Governor Jeb Bush, have been involved to try and prevent Ms. Schiavo's husband from allowing her to die, and today, Ms. Schiavo's parents, who have frequently sought the involvement of legislators, have urgently begged lawmakers to intervene.
Mary Schindler, Ms. Schiavo's mother, spoke at a press conference outside her daughter's hospital. "My daughter is in the building behind me, starving to death. We laugh together, we cry together, we smile together, we talk together. She is my life. I am begging Gov. (Jeb) Bush and the politicians in Tallahassee, President Bush and the politicians in Washington: Please, please, please save my little girl."
Whether we're talking about Clint Eastwood's recent Oscar-winning film "Million Dollar Baby," Dr. Jack Kevorkian's notedly unique approach to medicine, or the case of Terri Schiavo, a person's right to die in this nation, for a variety of reasons, is not necessarily his or hers to decide. Speaking from personal experience, having recently watched my father exist in a semi-conscious state for an extended period of time due to medicines to ease his experience of a feeding tube, I would assume Ms. Schiavo, who has next to no brain function and is in a vegetative state, is barely conscious of her surroundings. I'm not a doctor, so I will only assume and defer to her doctors for specificity. Based on what I've read, however, her doctors have indicated that she is and will remain in a vegetative state unless medical technology somehow changes and/or an act of God occurs.
Many have seen the pictures of Ms. Schiavo in her hospital bed; she appears catatonic and vacant. Seeing her pictures is disturbing, not only because of my recent experience with my father, but in general. Going to the hospital to visit someone, especially a loved one, in that vegetative state, isn't easy; knowing that person will never get better or have "life" behind their eyes must be even more excruciating.
Which is why I am confused and irritated each time I read how Ms. Schiavo's parents have fought to keep her "alive." Without knowing their religious or philosophical beliefs, it would seem to me that parents, and her other loved ones, would prefer to know she was no longer suffering or existing simply as a body connected a series of wires, tubes and machines. People who have lived their lives normally but experience an accident that leaves them paralyzed, like Christopher Reeve, still have mental capacity and can think and act on those thoughts; but people who have little or no brain function and whose sole means of expression are, for the most part, grunts and tremors, are no longer "living," they're merely not dead. And each time I hear Ms. Schiavo's mother, Mary Schindler, ask lawmakers to save her daughter's life, I respond to her silently the same way: your daughter's life is over, and the doctors have said the only thing that can save her is an act of God, not an act of Congress. It's troubling that people turn to government once doctors have said there is nothing more that can be done.
The "living will," for many people, indicates that, in the event they become incapacitated, their family will allow them to die with dignity rather than simply be kept breathing but, otherwise, no longer a viable human being. I don't know many people who would prefer to be kept alive in this manner, myself included: and while I am sure her parents have been tortured by this entire experience, what is also quite upsetting is the fact her husband has to experience this as well. The incident occured 14 years ago, and in that time, Ms. Schiavo has made little or no improvement; medical technology clearly improves, but it is unrealistic to expect Ms. Schiavo will ever be even remotely like she was prior to the episode which incapacitated her. Selfishness aside, wouldn't it be preferable to end her suffering and let her die peacefully, and with dignity, than to keep her breathing but otherwise a body on a sheet?
Something which really puzzles me is the involvement -- meddling -- of politicians who have contradicted over a dozen court decisions which have stated that Ms. Schiavo should be allowed to die. Actually, based on the cavalier and self-aggrandizing meddling by politicians in abortion, tobacco and gun issues, I shouldn't be puzzled. But these are men, for the most part, who, hopefully, are at least moderately intelligent: why hasn't any of these people told Ms. Schiavo's parents that their daughter is breathing but she's no longer alive? Does election to government equate to a loss of common sense? What is it that so many of us are missing?
David Gibbs, an attorney for Ms. Schiavo's parents, spoke yesterday: "The family is heartsick. This is their daughter. This is their loved one. This is their sister. And they are watching her suffer, in their opinion, a death that she shouldn't have to face."
Sadly, it occurs to me that Ms. Schiavo's parents should consider too that their daughter is suffering a "life" that she shouldn't have to face.
Several days ago Ms. Schiavo's feeding tube was removed, and she is, barring further governmental intervention, going to die.
The saga, if you've somehow avoided it, entails her parents, who have fought to keep her alive, and her husband, who wants to allow her to die peacefully rather than simply exist as a body connected to machines to keep her alive. Lawmakers, including Florida Governor Jeb Bush, have been involved to try and prevent Ms. Schiavo's husband from allowing her to die, and today, Ms. Schiavo's parents, who have frequently sought the involvement of legislators, have urgently begged lawmakers to intervene.
Mary Schindler, Ms. Schiavo's mother, spoke at a press conference outside her daughter's hospital. "My daughter is in the building behind me, starving to death. We laugh together, we cry together, we smile together, we talk together. She is my life. I am begging Gov. (Jeb) Bush and the politicians in Tallahassee, President Bush and the politicians in Washington: Please, please, please save my little girl."
Whether we're talking about Clint Eastwood's recent Oscar-winning film "Million Dollar Baby," Dr. Jack Kevorkian's notedly unique approach to medicine, or the case of Terri Schiavo, a person's right to die in this nation, for a variety of reasons, is not necessarily his or hers to decide. Speaking from personal experience, having recently watched my father exist in a semi-conscious state for an extended period of time due to medicines to ease his experience of a feeding tube, I would assume Ms. Schiavo, who has next to no brain function and is in a vegetative state, is barely conscious of her surroundings. I'm not a doctor, so I will only assume and defer to her doctors for specificity. Based on what I've read, however, her doctors have indicated that she is and will remain in a vegetative state unless medical technology somehow changes and/or an act of God occurs.
Many have seen the pictures of Ms. Schiavo in her hospital bed; she appears catatonic and vacant. Seeing her pictures is disturbing, not only because of my recent experience with my father, but in general. Going to the hospital to visit someone, especially a loved one, in that vegetative state, isn't easy; knowing that person will never get better or have "life" behind their eyes must be even more excruciating.
Which is why I am confused and irritated each time I read how Ms. Schiavo's parents have fought to keep her "alive." Without knowing their religious or philosophical beliefs, it would seem to me that parents, and her other loved ones, would prefer to know she was no longer suffering or existing simply as a body connected a series of wires, tubes and machines. People who have lived their lives normally but experience an accident that leaves them paralyzed, like Christopher Reeve, still have mental capacity and can think and act on those thoughts; but people who have little or no brain function and whose sole means of expression are, for the most part, grunts and tremors, are no longer "living," they're merely not dead. And each time I hear Ms. Schiavo's mother, Mary Schindler, ask lawmakers to save her daughter's life, I respond to her silently the same way: your daughter's life is over, and the doctors have said the only thing that can save her is an act of God, not an act of Congress. It's troubling that people turn to government once doctors have said there is nothing more that can be done.
The "living will," for many people, indicates that, in the event they become incapacitated, their family will allow them to die with dignity rather than simply be kept breathing but, otherwise, no longer a viable human being. I don't know many people who would prefer to be kept alive in this manner, myself included: and while I am sure her parents have been tortured by this entire experience, what is also quite upsetting is the fact her husband has to experience this as well. The incident occured 14 years ago, and in that time, Ms. Schiavo has made little or no improvement; medical technology clearly improves, but it is unrealistic to expect Ms. Schiavo will ever be even remotely like she was prior to the episode which incapacitated her. Selfishness aside, wouldn't it be preferable to end her suffering and let her die peacefully, and with dignity, than to keep her breathing but otherwise a body on a sheet?
Something which really puzzles me is the involvement -- meddling -- of politicians who have contradicted over a dozen court decisions which have stated that Ms. Schiavo should be allowed to die. Actually, based on the cavalier and self-aggrandizing meddling by politicians in abortion, tobacco and gun issues, I shouldn't be puzzled. But these are men, for the most part, who, hopefully, are at least moderately intelligent: why hasn't any of these people told Ms. Schiavo's parents that their daughter is breathing but she's no longer alive? Does election to government equate to a loss of common sense? What is it that so many of us are missing?
David Gibbs, an attorney for Ms. Schiavo's parents, spoke yesterday: "The family is heartsick. This is their daughter. This is their loved one. This is their sister. And they are watching her suffer, in their opinion, a death that she shouldn't have to face."
Sadly, it occurs to me that Ms. Schiavo's parents should consider too that their daughter is suffering a "life" that she shouldn't have to face.
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