Suzy Homemaker

I've felt so lousy for so long, but today I had energy and felt like baking. I decided to make some of my beloved chocolate-chip cookies for my family and co-workers. I also had a ton of laundry to do this afternoon, so the washer and dryer were running all the time I was baking. I took the last batch out of the oven at a little after 4:00, and that meant it was time to start dinner. The oven never cooled off; I just jacked it up to 425 and started juggling pork chops, potatoes, and onions. Well, not actually juggling them, but sometimes it seems that way when I'm trying to get everything ready to go into the oven at the same time. I had the chops browning in two skillets while I peeled and sliced the potatoes and whacked up the onions. Once everything was in the oven and the timer set for 45 minutes I had time to go walk on the treadmill.

After dinner I loaded everything into the dishwasher except the two skillets; they have to be hand-washed. Then I folded laundry while watching "60 Minutes". It was pretty good tonight. Oh wow, another Bush appointee who's incompetent, in over his head, and if we ever have to depend on him to do his job we're totally screwed. So what else is new? My God, is incompetence a condition of employment for Bush appointees? "Oh, you know your ass from a hole in the ground? You're smarter than a box of rocks? Sorry, you're not qualified."

Being a member of the 911 Commission must be the most frustrating job in the world. You know what needs to be done, and none of it is done, and the people who should be doing it are full of excuses why they're not doing it. (Well, that's one thing they're full of.) It reminds me of being married to my previous husband. I was a genius until I disagreed with him; then I didn't have all the facts, or I was biased, or I was just plain wrong. Then when it turned out I'd been right after all, as it always did; and the thing I'd tried like hell to avoid came down on us, we all suffered but me most of all -- because I knew, I knew, and I couldn't stop it.

Fast & Loose With The Truth

Have you heard about the “Oprah’s Book Club” affair? Last fall Oprah Winfrey chose A Million Little Pieces by James Frey, billed as a nonfiction memoir, as her book club selection. Frey’s tale of his life as an alcoholic, a drug addict, and a criminal is full of shocking anecdotes such as undergoing two root canals without anesthesia, and being arrested for running over a policeman while drunk and carrying a bag of crack. Oprah and her entire production company found the book riveting, heartbreaking, un-put-downable; and she presented Frey as an inspiration to alcoholics, drug addicts, and criminals everywhere. Of course, the book went screaming up the best-seller list, enriching the author and turning him into a celebrity.

There’s just one problem with his story: it isn’t true. The Smoking Gun investigated the arrests, looked at the mug shots, visited the jails and the hospitals and the rehab centers – in short, they did the research that Frey’s publisher should have done but didn’t. And they found out that some of it was outright lies, and other parts were wildly embellished versions of real events that happened to Frey or to people he knew slightly. You can read about it at The Smoking Gun.

When the truth began to come out, Oprah at first defended her author. Ultimately, however, the weight of the evidence convinced her that she’d been duped. Yesterday Frey appeared on her show again, along with his publisher, Nan Talese, and Oprah excoriated both of them for playing fast and loose with the truth.

My own view of this runs along the same lines as Oprah’s: they’re both guilty; the author of fraud and the publisher of laziness. However, it started me thinking about the kind of embellishment and fantasy that turned Frey from a normal, spoiled frat boy to a swaggering, brawling, drunken, drug-addicted, dangerous BADASS! In fact, the whole thing started to sound familiar to me. Maybe it does to you, too.

We’ve all known people who can’t seem to tell a straight story. From early childhood we’re exposed to kids who tell whoppers and snowjobs in the vein of Dr. Seuss’ And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street! I went to kindergarten with a girl named Joy who used to tell me tall tales about a boyfriend who took her out driving every evening: “And don’t you dare try to fodder us! ‘Cause Leslie’s got a real fast car!” Yeah, I probably wouldn’t be able to keep up on my roller skates. *rolls eyes* These storytellers become fewer and farther between as we get older, because most of them grow out of it; but I ran into a few while in my teens. I remember one guy who would tell the most outlandish yarns about what he’d been doing since I last saw him – frequently involving travel “out of the state” and martial arts training by government agents.

By the time we reach adulthood these compulsive liars have become pretty rare, and really stand out when we do encounter them. If anyone ever asks me about my most unforgettable character, I’ll tell them about “Roy”. I met him in college and later worked with him, and he used to sit in my office, chain-smoking cigarettes and squashing them out in the big green glass ashtray on my desk, and talking to me about his collection of assault weapons, or his former job as a bodyguard for a Mafioso, or what he heard last night while listening in on his neighbors with a parabolic antenna.

So yeah, James Frey’s fantasized story sounds familiar to me, because I’ve heard it before. The only difference between him and Roy is that Roy didn’t write it down and call it a memoir, and get it published. Which makes me wonder: do these people believe their own tall tales? Frey did make an effort to cover up the true nature of his past, which indicates awareness of the fraud. But it seems to me that it would take more than just nerve to write something like that up and publish it as a book, knowing that so many people would remember him, the events he described, and the truth, or lack of it, thereof. It indicates a pathology that goes beyond spinning yarns for friends and relatives, a need for -- validation? To prove to himself that it really happened that way? Hard to say. At any rate, I don’t plan to read the book. As often happens, the truth (as found at The Smoking Gun) is stranger, and more interesting, than fiction.

There they go again.

The Bushco smearmeisters are at it again. They’re swiftboating Rep. John Murtha, retaliating against him because he called for the withdrawal of American troops from Iraq last November. The man is a retired Marine with two Purple Hearts, a Bronze Star with Combat "V", and the Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry. The first Vietnam combat veteran to be elected to Congress, he has served honorably there for more than thirty years. As the top Democrat on military matters he has frequent contact with soldiers, from the boots on the ground to the top generals, and what he’s seen and heard moved him to call for withdrawal. "Our military has done everything that has been asked of them,” he stated, and, “It is time to bring them home." Now there’s someone who supports the troops.

But he disagreed with the president, so the chickenhawk-in-chief and his thuggish minions are trying to discredit him. The right-wing slime machine is chugging out allegations that Congressman Murtha’s two Purple Hearts were earned for wounds that weren’t very serious, and that consequently he is “a phony and a liar”. They always go after the Purple Hearts. I remember when Bushco was handing out the purple heart band-aids at the Republican Convention – that one made me so furious that I literally saw red.



Now if our imperial president and his court really gave a rat’s ass about our troops, they’d realize how demoralizing it must be for them to hear Murtha’s combat record denigrated, his medals discounted, his distinguished service to his country sneered at – all because he stood up for them! And of course, AWOL-from-the-NG Bush and 5-Deferments Cheney did the same thing to John Kerry. They may not have spit on the troops returning from Vietnam thirty years ago, but they’re sure as hell spitting on them now.

All of this bothers me on several levels. I have deplored the politics of personal destruction ever since the Nixon years; it distracts the electorate from the issues, which is exactly what it’s meant to do. In addition, I resent the breathtaking hypocrisy of the party that reviled Bill Clinton as a draft-dodger, and now has two draft-dodgers as its #1 and 2 men, attempting to impugn the patriotism of combat veterans who put their lives on the line for this country.

I hope this latest stratagem brings a sharp and sudden backlash. Or as Jack Nicholson said in A Few Good Men, “I'm gonna rip the eyes out of your head and piss in your dead skull! You fucked with the wrong Marine!”

I am STUFFED!!!!!

Stuffed, with many exclamation points! --No, I'm not stuffed with exclamation points, I'm stuffed with food. Husband, Young'un and I went out to dinner tonight at Chili's. We'd gotten a $25 gift card from Montana Stepdaughter & family, and we thought this might be a good time to use it. I'd had a somewhat trying day at work, so I ordered a frozen margarita to start. We also got an Awesome Blossom, the breaded fried onion thingie, because Husband loved the ones at Outback and I figured he'd go for this as well. (And he did.) While reading the menu I kept saying I wanted to get myself a dang quesadilla -- thinking of the similar line from "Napoleon Dynamite". I ended up with southwestern shrimp scampi with a small (dang) quesadilla explosion salad. Whoa! If that's a small one, I'd like to see the regular sized one. It was huge! I ate all the shrimp, but took about half of the salad home in one of those little styrofoam containers. Young'un had tacos with rice and beans (he didn't eat the beans), and Husband had a New York Strip steak.

Our bill was $52 and change. I got out the $25 gift card, then said "I think I've got another one here that still has some credit on it." I was thinking of a card that a friend gave me several years ago, that I hadn't used all up -- but when searching in the zipper compartment where I keep coupons, I found another $25 gift card! It was the one Montana Stepdaughter sent us last Christmas! So for just a couple of dollars and the tip, we had a fabulous dinner and a wonderful time.