When listening to others speak about their personal challenges in life, I've noticed a common pattern. It seems that in most everyone's life there is one influential person they feel intrinsically connected to and yet struggle to not be like. Usually it is a parent or sibling, someone for whom they share enough common history or genetic resemblance with that separating their identity from the other is a chronic tug of war.
Kamie Norrn is a therapist and yet her education and job experience has not been able to save her from joining her clients in the human pitfalls that can affect us all. Kamie has two sides: who she is when she's trying to not be like her sister and who she is when she is like her sister. This constant search for individual identity has created a pattern in her of being inauthentic. She makes claims, promises or agreements under one mindset and breaks them under the other.
A friend confided in Kamie that she had abandonment issues. When they had their first conflict Kamie sent her an email stating, "I will not abandon you," and yet she never answered another phone call or email from that friend again, thus abandoning her.
Kamie told her husband that he did not have to walk on eggshells around her; and yet the moment that he didn't, she accused him of blindsiding her. In less than two years they were divorced.
Every person in Kamie's life who forces her to live up to the claims about herself that she makes, she ends up cutting off and shutting out, permanently. There is no resolution, no working things through. Her way of moving on is to deny reality, which only sets her up for a successful self fulfilled prophesy of being "blindsided" again.
Being blindsided was her main self-proclaimed issue. What exactly does being blindsided mean? For Kamie, it means dealing with the reality of facts that she isn't expecting because she has created an alternate reality of illusion that she is comfortably living in.
Whenever she would speak to me about her fears, she would bring up her sister and her best friend and all the things about them she didn't like, especially her perception of them as narcissistic. I always found this fascinating. She then went on to explain that when she was with her sister she would lose herself, and yet without her sister she did not know where she ended and her sister began.
How can Kamie know herself as separate from her sister? Through honest introspection of who she really is as an individual. Unfortunately, she is trapped between who she wants to be and who she really is; and until she integrates the two, her integrity will be elusive. By accepting what she has in common with her sister and acknowledging what she doesn't, she can reclaim her true self. This will require a tremendous amount of self-acceptance that she is not yet emotionally mature enough to embrace, but through time I have faith that she will.
Of course, if she chooses not to evolve within, it will be reflected in her life without. The world she now inhabits, a rented studio apartment with only her cat to serve as friend or family will become her infinite fate. There's nothing wrong with that, if it's what you want. But if she wants more — and most people do — she will have to find the courage to face herself.
Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage. -Anais Nin
When not playing blues harmonica, jd smith might be found changing a diaper (her toddler's not her own), skipping barefoot on a beach, compassionately listening to the struggles of others as a psychic mentor, or metaphorically scribbling at bettyconfidential.com
Friday, November 21, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Movie Review: Rachel Getting Married
For those of us who consider ourselves unfortunate to either come from highly dysfunctional families or to have survived the tragic loss of a family member who was only a child, Rachel Getting Married offers an access button into the glorious highs we may have forgotten as we buried the devastating lows in our emotional past.
This film does not glamorize the life of an addict like, say, Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew, a reality show on VH1. Yet, Rachel Getting Married does succeed in revealing the poetry of angst. Among the extra sensitive and extremely gifted, addiction or mental illness — often at the core of addiction — can seem like an inherited gene.
I had a sister who struggled with addiction for most of her young life, which ended at the age of 26. Anne Hathaway so brilliantly captured the moments I remember of my sister when she would be in a gathering, yet feel as if she were in a world all her own. She'd stand on the outside looking in with this pang of longing to come closer, yet it was as if she felt her insecurities were a swarm of bees around her that she was afraid would sting others if she got too close, so she always took life in from an aching distance.
Even though while watching the film I went through my entire mini pack of candy crumb infested Kleenex, the emotional release was cathartic. It reminded me of all the tiny, enchanted moments that filled my family's lives, which were scattered amongst the big, painful scenes that changed us. My sister was incredibly intelligent, deeply compassionate and somewhat of a natural, comic genius. During the long seasons when her mental illness and addiction seemed to take the air out of every room like one humid, hard to breathe day after the next, that unique life force of hers would suddenly breeze through, cool us off, invigorate our fatigue, and make us laugh so hard I needed my inhaler to catch my breath. It would bring a deep magical feeling of hope back into our hearts.
I related to every character in this film — the "normal" sister whose accomplishments were dwarfed by the drama that her troubled sister's illness consumed, the mother who detached from everyone she was biologically connected to so as not to hurt so deeply, and the over-protective, emotional father who was portrayed exquisitely by Bill Irwin, as were all the roles including Rosemarie Dewitt as the normal sister and Debra Winger as the mother. Even the cameos were gems of artistic perfection (Anna Deavere Smith and newcomer Tunde Adebimpe, to name a few). Anne Hathaway as Kym, reached a new personal mountain of truth and has earned her privilege to be considered a genuine talent. The acting was phenomenal, the likes of which I haven't seen since the 1980s in Kramer vs. Kramer.
Jonathan Demme, as director, is at his most raw, vulnerable and accessible. He has accomplished truly fine filmmaking with his latest love letter to living. This is a slice of life film captured in a quasi-documentary, voyeuristic, home movie style — one of my favorites. I feel that it's what Woody Allen wishes his films could be if he were capable of being fully present with the true multi-faceted nature of life and move beyond his two favorite subjects: infidelity and Crime and Punishment rehashing.
Rachel Getting Married has an incredibly natural unscripted feel. Like the perfect vacation, the film flows and lingers where desired. The long shots of atmosphere viewing void of dialogue made me feel like a part of the scene. The film was filled with actors and non-actors alike and an eclectic group of interesting artists — particularly musicians. I came from such roots.
Now, most of my musician friends have gone on to such success that their music is primarily sequenced into a computer whereas it used to be played live in my living room. This is one of the primary beauties of this film. It captures elegantly the luxury of exploration on the road to success or recovery or just, life — the collection of meaningful moments that paves the path of our often anxiety filled journeys and those experiences we miss having once we reach our desired destination. I don't miss lugging equipment from one gig to the next, but I do miss having my home filled with live music on a regular basis. I don't miss the treacherous pain my sister endured; but I do passionately miss those moments of bliss when she made us all feel like such a connected, cohesive family unit.
As we make our transition from collegic freedoms to adult responsibilities, we tend to strive for balance. For most of us, the dramas of our youth die down as routine sets in; and one day we realize we have reached that plateau of normality that we were striving for. Our emotional state becomes fairly even keel and we feel a sense of pride in that. Then a film like Rachel Getting Married comes along and reminds us of the adrenaline that unexpected peaks and valleys create. Memories are created with high surges of adrenaline. They create the splash of color that illuminates most people's safe beige décor. The unexpected is not where I want to live, but I'm sure glad I have a scrapbook from my travels to and from those adrenaline drenched places of exhilaration.
Of course, not everyone is going to come away from this film with the same impressions I have. I can imagine many people in my life quipping, "It's too depressing. Too slow. Too filled with drama." If you are a person who goes to the movies to escape and you prefer romantic comedies or action adventures, then Rachel Getting Married, may not be your cup of tea. If however, you escape to go on expeditions of the spirit which can take you deep within your life or at the very least the lives of others and you miss the filmmaking pace that was more prevalent between 1960-1980, then you might very well appreciate this film as much as I have.
This film does not glamorize the life of an addict like, say, Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew, a reality show on VH1. Yet, Rachel Getting Married does succeed in revealing the poetry of angst. Among the extra sensitive and extremely gifted, addiction or mental illness — often at the core of addiction — can seem like an inherited gene.
I had a sister who struggled with addiction for most of her young life, which ended at the age of 26. Anne Hathaway so brilliantly captured the moments I remember of my sister when she would be in a gathering, yet feel as if she were in a world all her own. She'd stand on the outside looking in with this pang of longing to come closer, yet it was as if she felt her insecurities were a swarm of bees around her that she was afraid would sting others if she got too close, so she always took life in from an aching distance.
Even though while watching the film I went through my entire mini pack of candy crumb infested Kleenex, the emotional release was cathartic. It reminded me of all the tiny, enchanted moments that filled my family's lives, which were scattered amongst the big, painful scenes that changed us. My sister was incredibly intelligent, deeply compassionate and somewhat of a natural, comic genius. During the long seasons when her mental illness and addiction seemed to take the air out of every room like one humid, hard to breathe day after the next, that unique life force of hers would suddenly breeze through, cool us off, invigorate our fatigue, and make us laugh so hard I needed my inhaler to catch my breath. It would bring a deep magical feeling of hope back into our hearts.
I related to every character in this film — the "normal" sister whose accomplishments were dwarfed by the drama that her troubled sister's illness consumed, the mother who detached from everyone she was biologically connected to so as not to hurt so deeply, and the over-protective, emotional father who was portrayed exquisitely by Bill Irwin, as were all the roles including Rosemarie Dewitt as the normal sister and Debra Winger as the mother. Even the cameos were gems of artistic perfection (Anna Deavere Smith and newcomer Tunde Adebimpe, to name a few). Anne Hathaway as Kym, reached a new personal mountain of truth and has earned her privilege to be considered a genuine talent. The acting was phenomenal, the likes of which I haven't seen since the 1980s in Kramer vs. Kramer.
Jonathan Demme, as director, is at his most raw, vulnerable and accessible. He has accomplished truly fine filmmaking with his latest love letter to living. This is a slice of life film captured in a quasi-documentary, voyeuristic, home movie style — one of my favorites. I feel that it's what Woody Allen wishes his films could be if he were capable of being fully present with the true multi-faceted nature of life and move beyond his two favorite subjects: infidelity and Crime and Punishment rehashing.
Rachel Getting Married has an incredibly natural unscripted feel. Like the perfect vacation, the film flows and lingers where desired. The long shots of atmosphere viewing void of dialogue made me feel like a part of the scene. The film was filled with actors and non-actors alike and an eclectic group of interesting artists — particularly musicians. I came from such roots.
Now, most of my musician friends have gone on to such success that their music is primarily sequenced into a computer whereas it used to be played live in my living room. This is one of the primary beauties of this film. It captures elegantly the luxury of exploration on the road to success or recovery or just, life — the collection of meaningful moments that paves the path of our often anxiety filled journeys and those experiences we miss having once we reach our desired destination. I don't miss lugging equipment from one gig to the next, but I do miss having my home filled with live music on a regular basis. I don't miss the treacherous pain my sister endured; but I do passionately miss those moments of bliss when she made us all feel like such a connected, cohesive family unit.
As we make our transition from collegic freedoms to adult responsibilities, we tend to strive for balance. For most of us, the dramas of our youth die down as routine sets in; and one day we realize we have reached that plateau of normality that we were striving for. Our emotional state becomes fairly even keel and we feel a sense of pride in that. Then a film like Rachel Getting Married comes along and reminds us of the adrenaline that unexpected peaks and valleys create. Memories are created with high surges of adrenaline. They create the splash of color that illuminates most people's safe beige décor. The unexpected is not where I want to live, but I'm sure glad I have a scrapbook from my travels to and from those adrenaline drenched places of exhilaration.
Of course, not everyone is going to come away from this film with the same impressions I have. I can imagine many people in my life quipping, "It's too depressing. Too slow. Too filled with drama." If you are a person who goes to the movies to escape and you prefer romantic comedies or action adventures, then Rachel Getting Married, may not be your cup of tea. If however, you escape to go on expeditions of the spirit which can take you deep within your life or at the very least the lives of others and you miss the filmmaking pace that was more prevalent between 1960-1980, then you might very well appreciate this film as much as I have.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Sensa Release Party Update
I began taking it on November 15 and today, Wednesday, November 19, five days later, I dropped an entire pant size. My weight is still in its normal range of fluctuation but I find I have more energy and less cravings. I am still eating anything I want, all the foods I'd have to give up on other weight loss programs, and that has been an incredible psychological gift. When I feel I have permission to have "bad foods" my inner child doesn't overindulge just to rebel, it actually chooses to eat in moderation. I am also finding that I am eating about a third less food than I used to and I'm comfortably going longer between each meal.
It took a few days to get in the mindset of habitually putting the tastants on every single thing I eat, but now it's second nature. It's a fun conversational piece which I'm sure will gain more merit if my success continues. I feel hopeful and grateful. I do find myself saying quiet mantras as companion to the system: I lovingly release my excess weight while I move toward the healthiest version of me.
It took a few days to get in the mindset of habitually putting the tastants on every single thing I eat, but now it's second nature. It's a fun conversational piece which I'm sure will gain more merit if my success continues. I feel hopeful and grateful. I do find myself saying quiet mantras as companion to the system: I lovingly release my excess weight while I move toward the healthiest version of me.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Dude! and Other Language Pet Peeves
I do not want to hear anyone, especially a woman, using the word dude, in their vernacular. It's past its expiration date of hip, new slang. As far as I'm concerned it's unimaginative and a sign of evolutionary regression. It's not cute, chic, creative or fun. It's Spicoli at Fast Times at Rigemont High. Period.
I'm also fatigued by one or two word answers as a general response to everything being said — "Cool," "Sweet," "Awesome," "Nice," or "You Rock," "Right on." Really? Why? How is it sweet, awesome, nice or cool? Why do I rock? Please elaborate, articulate and use your words, plural, to describe and explain why you think what you feel or why you feel what you think. Language is beautiful. Why be so economical with speech? It's not always effective, and it's rarely engaging. Why should I be interested in you if you are making no effort to be of interest?
What happened to expressive articulation and the colorful, imaginative use of language? I enjoy slang and creative updates of classic words. I'm a huge fan of Ebonics. I love language and its evolutionary transformations. Therefore, I want to hear the fullness of it, not just sound bites.
In our impatient society, most names are butchered to one syllable and responses to queries are often minimized to a solitary word. Texting has replaced speaking and text messages go as far as to use one letter to replace an entire word or an abundance of acronyms for shallow, single aspect expressions. I have more reactions in my being than "OMG!" and "LMAO!"
Where are our adjectives and verbs and sentence structures? Could it be that people are simply no longer in touch with their feelings or thoughts enough to elaborate on them? Have we become a one-dimensional nation of expressionless automatons? Are we really too busy to speak? Or is it fear of not seeming culturally relevant if we actually use language as a form of communication? These annoyances used to be reserved for teenagers, now I find them in women and men of all ages. Is evolution itself becoming extinct?
I miss the poetry of language, the original, loquacious verbiage of my intellectual, artistic friends who are now too busy living life to take the time to write or speak about it.
The words of Gwendolyn Fairfax, from The Importance of Being Earnest, ring now in my head, "I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read on a train." I do not want to be the most interesting person I know.
Please be introspective and share those reflections with others. Think, ponder, muse and then express, articulate and communicate, please. My brain is drying up from lack of outward verbal stimulation from others. I need for people to come alive and use their wit, cleverness and imagination to generate stimulating and entertaining conversations and leave the robotics of language to ghastly sci-fi and reality TV. May the Internet bequeath its thesaurus to us all.
I could keep using more words; but I, along with the rest of Americans, have a word limit.
Word Count 522
I'm also fatigued by one or two word answers as a general response to everything being said — "Cool," "Sweet," "Awesome," "Nice," or "You Rock," "Right on." Really? Why? How is it sweet, awesome, nice or cool? Why do I rock? Please elaborate, articulate and use your words, plural, to describe and explain why you think what you feel or why you feel what you think. Language is beautiful. Why be so economical with speech? It's not always effective, and it's rarely engaging. Why should I be interested in you if you are making no effort to be of interest?
What happened to expressive articulation and the colorful, imaginative use of language? I enjoy slang and creative updates of classic words. I'm a huge fan of Ebonics. I love language and its evolutionary transformations. Therefore, I want to hear the fullness of it, not just sound bites.
In our impatient society, most names are butchered to one syllable and responses to queries are often minimized to a solitary word. Texting has replaced speaking and text messages go as far as to use one letter to replace an entire word or an abundance of acronyms for shallow, single aspect expressions. I have more reactions in my being than "OMG!" and "LMAO!"
Where are our adjectives and verbs and sentence structures? Could it be that people are simply no longer in touch with their feelings or thoughts enough to elaborate on them? Have we become a one-dimensional nation of expressionless automatons? Are we really too busy to speak? Or is it fear of not seeming culturally relevant if we actually use language as a form of communication? These annoyances used to be reserved for teenagers, now I find them in women and men of all ages. Is evolution itself becoming extinct?
I miss the poetry of language, the original, loquacious verbiage of my intellectual, artistic friends who are now too busy living life to take the time to write or speak about it.
The words of Gwendolyn Fairfax, from The Importance of Being Earnest, ring now in my head, "I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read on a train." I do not want to be the most interesting person I know.
Please be introspective and share those reflections with others. Think, ponder, muse and then express, articulate and communicate, please. My brain is drying up from lack of outward verbal stimulation from others. I need for people to come alive and use their wit, cleverness and imagination to generate stimulating and entertaining conversations and leave the robotics of language to ghastly sci-fi and reality TV. May the Internet bequeath its thesaurus to us all.
I could keep using more words; but I, along with the rest of Americans, have a word limit.
Word Count 522
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Join My Release Party!
Even though my daughter is about to turn two, I still look like I'm about four months pregnant. So, when the opportunity presented itself to try a new weight loss product, Sensa, that did not require dieting as the holidays approached, I thought to myself, what do I have to lose other than a few pounds?
I'm addicted to positive outcomes, especially the likes of dramatic testimonials, and really noticed myself starting to believe that the caliber of success I was watching in the Sensa promo, could also be my own. But before I could imagine my own dramatic before and after picture, I was given a steadfast reality barometer as the words "Results not typical" appeared on the screen. Of course, those words appear on all the commercials for weight loss programs, from Jenny Craig, Nutri-System, Weight Watchers to numerous exercise programs. The trick I told myself to move past this amygdala kill joy is that I am not typical!
I have set a start date of November 15, and will report back on January 15, with my results. I'd love to have some companions on this release party, if you will. "Weight loss" seems like I'm losing something. "Release party" feel like I'm about to regain some of the freedoms I once had: More energy, smaller clothes and a return to my own personal homeostasis.
To join me, you and your loved ones can use the promo code offered through BettyConfidential.Com
I'm addicted to positive outcomes, especially the likes of dramatic testimonials, and really noticed myself starting to believe that the caliber of success I was watching in the Sensa promo, could also be my own. But before I could imagine my own dramatic before and after picture, I was given a steadfast reality barometer as the words "Results not typical" appeared on the screen. Of course, those words appear on all the commercials for weight loss programs, from Jenny Craig, Nutri-System, Weight Watchers to numerous exercise programs. The trick I told myself to move past this amygdala kill joy is that I am not typical!
I have set a start date of November 15, and will report back on January 15, with my results. I'd love to have some companions on this release party, if you will. "Weight loss" seems like I'm losing something. "Release party" feel like I'm about to regain some of the freedoms I once had: More energy, smaller clothes and a return to my own personal homeostasis.
To join me, you and your loved ones can use the promo code offered through BettyConfidential.Com
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Racism: How Politics Can Bring Out Our True Colors
I am a liberal who lives in a conservative community. Don't ask. I'm here for the beach, not the people. Right now, our neighborhood is less sand and more of a sea of McCain/Palin yard signs.
Our home is barren of political banners not for fear of standing out but due to a lack of willingness to invest time in decorating anything. We don't decorate for Halloween, Chanukah or Christmas, why should we decorate for election season?
A neighbor I had already pegged as a racist from generalizations he has made about various ethnicities in passing, stopped me on my walk to inquire about our lack of patriotic décor and the conversation went something like this:
Racist neighbor: Did you forget to put up the Mccain/Palin sign that was left for you?
Me: No.
RN:: What are you a nigger lover?
Until now I had been walking while he was talking. Now I am stopped. I take a breath and ask my higher self for guidance in how to answer this assault. This is my first time outside in over a week as I'm recovering from Pneumonia. I am short on patience but want to deal with this effectively. So I turn to him and say…
Me: Define Nigger.
RN: You know what a nigger is. A blacky. That Muslim lovin' Osama Obama.
Me: You mean Senator Barack Obama who is half white and half black?
RN: His skin is black.
Me. Did you know that I am also ethnically mixed with black and white?
RN: No way! Really? I knew you weren't white but I thought maybe you were just Mexican, Greek or Armenian. I didn't think you had black in ya.
Me. Yup, I do.
RN: But you don't look it so it don't matter.
Me: What if I feel it?
RN: What? That don't make no sense. Anyway, how come your kid looks so white?
(My daughter looks nothing like me in coloring. People have gone so far as to ask if she is my biological child.)
ME: Have you ever taken a biology class? Do you know anything about recessive genes?
RN: So you gonna vote for him 'cause he's black?
ME: No. I am voting for him because he is a Democrat and he shares more of my values than the Republican candidate, his skin color like everyone else's, is irrelevant.
RN: I can't get over you having black in ya. I feel like I don't even know you at all.
ME: Funny. I feel like I know you perfectly.
I began to walk again. I knew if I continued to stand there I would burst into tears out of the frustration, sadness and embarrassment of this reflection of ignorance in the world I live in.
Life has taught me over and over again that I cannot change anyone or anything but myself; and I can only change my thoughts and actions, everything else is a result of collective evolution. I was not going to allow myself to retaliate with hateful thoughts. I had to elevate myself in thought quickly - find some immediate mental distraction.
I started visualizing myself as one of the dancers in the Zumba exercise commercials. Somehow seeing myself as lean, strong and glistening with sweat while shaking my body to repetitive music made me feel free from the constraints of racism I felt had just been shackled unto me. This was my new non partisan happy place.
Our home is barren of political banners not for fear of standing out but due to a lack of willingness to invest time in decorating anything. We don't decorate for Halloween, Chanukah or Christmas, why should we decorate for election season?
A neighbor I had already pegged as a racist from generalizations he has made about various ethnicities in passing, stopped me on my walk to inquire about our lack of patriotic décor and the conversation went something like this:
Racist neighbor: Did you forget to put up the Mccain/Palin sign that was left for you?
Me: No.
RN:: What are you a nigger lover?
Until now I had been walking while he was talking. Now I am stopped. I take a breath and ask my higher self for guidance in how to answer this assault. This is my first time outside in over a week as I'm recovering from Pneumonia. I am short on patience but want to deal with this effectively. So I turn to him and say…
Me: Define Nigger.
RN: You know what a nigger is. A blacky. That Muslim lovin' Osama Obama.
Me: You mean Senator Barack Obama who is half white and half black?
RN: His skin is black.
Me. Did you know that I am also ethnically mixed with black and white?
RN: No way! Really? I knew you weren't white but I thought maybe you were just Mexican, Greek or Armenian. I didn't think you had black in ya.
Me. Yup, I do.
RN: But you don't look it so it don't matter.
Me: What if I feel it?
RN: What? That don't make no sense. Anyway, how come your kid looks so white?
(My daughter looks nothing like me in coloring. People have gone so far as to ask if she is my biological child.)
ME: Have you ever taken a biology class? Do you know anything about recessive genes?
RN: So you gonna vote for him 'cause he's black?
ME: No. I am voting for him because he is a Democrat and he shares more of my values than the Republican candidate, his skin color like everyone else's, is irrelevant.
RN: I can't get over you having black in ya. I feel like I don't even know you at all.
ME: Funny. I feel like I know you perfectly.
I began to walk again. I knew if I continued to stand there I would burst into tears out of the frustration, sadness and embarrassment of this reflection of ignorance in the world I live in.
Life has taught me over and over again that I cannot change anyone or anything but myself; and I can only change my thoughts and actions, everything else is a result of collective evolution. I was not going to allow myself to retaliate with hateful thoughts. I had to elevate myself in thought quickly - find some immediate mental distraction.
I started visualizing myself as one of the dancers in the Zumba exercise commercials. Somehow seeing myself as lean, strong and glistening with sweat while shaking my body to repetitive music made me feel free from the constraints of racism I felt had just been shackled unto me. This was my new non partisan happy place.
Friday, October 3, 2008
My Reaction To The Vice Presidential Debate, 10-2-08.
If Obama agrees to sit down with enemies, it's apparently "beyond naiveté;" but if McCain agrees to, it's diplomatic.
Double Standards, your table is ready.
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, may I call you Sarah? I have to admit that the more time I spend with you, the harder it is to criticize you — not because I find that you have redeeming qualities that outweigh my judgments, but because I find myself feeling so sorry for how in over your head you really are.
It's as if the Republicans had a character development meeting, the kind a group of writers working on a TV show might have. One piped up, "America loves an underdog and right now Obama is the underdog. We have to find a running mate for John that is more of an underdog than Barack." And boy did they!
Who knew that all it took to run for V.P. was some political Cliffs Notes and a whole lot of "common folk" talk — gumption? I can't deny that you have a gift for connecting with the public, especially with the average person who may not know much about politics. Since people tend to agree with what they can relate to emotionally rather than what may be factual, it doesn't seem to matter that your facts are off, your rhetoric comes off as Democratic in concern and yet Republican in solution. You're crafty, and that frightens me.
Around, around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. That's the way the story goes: POP goes the weasel. But at the center of it all there's still a Bush, the rest is just a swirl of words. If anyone thinks the McCain/Palin ticket is going to be any different than the past Bush/Cheney tickets, I am here to inform you that you are mistaken. Trust me, I'm psychic.
P.S. Palin, it's really a pet peeve for me to hear a V.P. hopeful butcher language, especially with your "unique" vocal cadence, so here's a few unsolicited tips that might make you appear more worthy of your position:
When you pronounce the word nuclear, it's new-clee-er not new-cue-ler. (The berry doesn't fall far from the Bush.)
Iran is ear-ron not eye-ran.
Iraq is ear-rock not eye-rack.
And in case you visit Italy, it's eh-talian not eye-talian.
Double Standards, your table is ready.
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, may I call you Sarah? I have to admit that the more time I spend with you, the harder it is to criticize you — not because I find that you have redeeming qualities that outweigh my judgments, but because I find myself feeling so sorry for how in over your head you really are.
It's as if the Republicans had a character development meeting, the kind a group of writers working on a TV show might have. One piped up, "America loves an underdog and right now Obama is the underdog. We have to find a running mate for John that is more of an underdog than Barack." And boy did they!
Who knew that all it took to run for V.P. was some political Cliffs Notes and a whole lot of "common folk" talk — gumption? I can't deny that you have a gift for connecting with the public, especially with the average person who may not know much about politics. Since people tend to agree with what they can relate to emotionally rather than what may be factual, it doesn't seem to matter that your facts are off, your rhetoric comes off as Democratic in concern and yet Republican in solution. You're crafty, and that frightens me.
Around, around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. That's the way the story goes: POP goes the weasel. But at the center of it all there's still a Bush, the rest is just a swirl of words. If anyone thinks the McCain/Palin ticket is going to be any different than the past Bush/Cheney tickets, I am here to inform you that you are mistaken. Trust me, I'm psychic.
P.S. Palin, it's really a pet peeve for me to hear a V.P. hopeful butcher language, especially with your "unique" vocal cadence, so here's a few unsolicited tips that might make you appear more worthy of your position:
When you pronounce the word nuclear, it's new-clee-er not new-cue-ler. (The berry doesn't fall far from the Bush.)
Iran is ear-ron not eye-ran.
Iraq is ear-rock not eye-rack.
And in case you visit Italy, it's eh-talian not eye-talian.
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