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Ho Hum, Just Another Crisis

The news of the week is filled with such exceptionally crucial questions that it may be hard to get down to the merely important but mundane issues. Did a Massachusetts man really turn over 94 hamsters to the animal shelter because he ran out of room in his apartment? Should you really bring a chainsaw to the hospital so the white noise will help you sleep? And did Sweden really recognize the Church of Kopimism so it could avoid persecution? (Copy-Me-Ism’s name is derived from the words “let me steal from the Internet”; persecution is the new spelling for “bring to trial.”)

Long time computer pundit and curmudgeon John C. Dvorak opined that “most countries, including the United States, will eventually shut down the ‘World Wide’ Web” in favor of a limited, ‘Nation-wide’ web. “It solves endless political problems with the Web that plague almost every country,” he wrote.

Countries are a wee bit nervous. After all, we might be able to watch reruns of Family Guy on Hulu. Or look up how to pronounce Mr. Dvorak’s name.

First they came for the communists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a Jew.

Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn’t speak out because I was Protestant.

Then they came for me
and there was no one left to speak out for me.
Pastor Martin Niemöller

North Korea has a national Internet so they can order nationwide mourning for their fearless leader.

China wants a national Internet so they can cut off access to Google. That regime is freaked that the China Spring has nothing to do with mattresses, unless the Chinese people suddenly go to them.

Iran wants a national Internet so they can cut off access to Faux News. The Ayatollahs are panic-stricken that the Arab Spring they fomented could spread to their house.

First McCarthy came for the communists,
and you approved because you hate communists and that would protect you.

Then Bush came for the air travelers,
and you approved because you hate terrorists and that would protect you.

Then Obama came for General Motors,
and you approved because you hate big business and that would protect you.

Then Scott Walker came for the trade unionists,
and you approved because you hate trade unionists and that would protect you.

Then Congress came for the Internet,
and you approved because you could still shop on Amazon.

Then they came for you.
and there was no way left to speak out …

Did you worry when the City of Lakewood, Ohio, seized private homes so a private developer could build yupscale condos or the City of Mesa, AZ, would “redeveloped” a multigenerational bike shop out so an Ace Hardware Store could pay higher taxes? You didn’t worry when the Administration nationalized Government Motors. Are you worried about the 94 hamsters yet?

Poly-Days

“I already had my Christmas up to Maryland with the fambly coupla weeks ago,” my neighbor Henk told me. “Today’s just another day.”

Even the most traditional family has trouble getting everyone together at holiday time. My daughter and her husband have just one set of in-laws and one set of out-laws but her mom is in North Puffin, I’m in South Puffin, her brother lives an hour away, his brothers are scattered across a couple of states and his folks live down in Vermont’s Banana Belt…



I missed Thanksgiving at my daughter’s house because I was in South Puffin where Nancy and I had our first-ever holiday together (it was grand). We did have the traditional Thanksgiving dinner (a small turkey with stuffing, homemade cranberry sauce, smashed potatoes and gravy, and pumpkin pie for dessert). And we were together. We also had a visit to the Fakahatchee Strand, a search for the herd wranglers on Auto Ranch Road, and we lolled and beached and ‘puted and played with toys.

And today is Christmas.

“Save me, because they’re caroling in the meeting room next to my office,” Nancy texted to me on Friday.

It’s not just another day.

Oh, sure, there are carolers belting out Porky Pig tunes and Grandma is cowering under her bed if she knows what’s good for her. There’s nothing on television and I have no shopping to do. Cows are out of season, so I can’t fish. And the plumber’s going to charge you quadruple time and a half if you decide to install that new bathroom faucet today.

It’s not just another day because we build expectations of spending the holidays and holy days with our loved ones.

I’m dreaming of a Yuletide Nancy
Just like the one who had to go
When the earrings glisten,
and the red dress slips on,
Wearing her red hair in a bow…

I’m dreaming of a poly Christmas
With every Christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white.

Knight Key ChannelI am, by choice, in the warmest, most comfortable spot in the lower 48. It is about 80° right now, with puffy cumulus clouds overhead, and a gentle breeze riffling the palm fronds. I shall swim in the Atlantic this afternoon.

Truth be told, I’d rather be with my sweetheart. Even if I had to shovel snow or climb mountains.

“I would like to be with you. I would also like to be with D#2,” Nancy said. “I would love it if I could be with both of you and there would be warmth and comfort and friendliness but, practically speaking, I reasonably presume there would be a tension born between the men, competitive and not being accustomed to one another.”

Drama. The polydays nightmare.

Yeah, there would be tension but a different dissidence than one might expect.

Remember Paul and Polly Dent, Evelyn and Owen McGregor, and Nicole Norris? I thought so. Heck, I have the score card and even I can’t tell who is doing what to whom in that household. Plenty of drama there, but theirs grows from the secrets they keep, not from their desire to be with each other.

I believe the competitiveness when A, B, C, D, E, F, N, and I try to coordinate our schedules comes because we must meter our time with one another rather than because we two mens might happen be in the same room with the wimmens.

In other words, people like the Dents, McGregors, and Nicole who are always in and out of each other’s houses (or house) have maybe more need for apartness than togetherness. People who see each other only part time yearn for togetherness. That means that some combination of Anne and Nancy, or D#2 and my son, or her daughter and I, we each wish for the time the other gets.

[It is worth noting some artistic license in the alphabet soup, above. I think we just included everyone who ever appeared in the blog as well as our families, friends, and lovers.]

“But, barring being with me, I wish Anne could have come down. Or the kids. Or your Aunt Dot. Or Rufus,” Nancy said.

Anne spent yesterday with the “Bs,” her other family (and a 25-pound rib roast, a turkey breast, and a Smithfield ham); she’s traveling to both ends of Vermont today for two more Christmases with the kids. Nancy is off to California to spend the day with her daughter. I’m holding down the palm trees with Henk who isn’t on anyone’s list. And we will all share the best we can.

Merry Christmas, Darling.


Sculpture by Ania Modzelewski

[Editor’s Note: gekko and I shared the four-part polylocution that lead up to these afterposts. Please visit The Poly Posts for the entire series and for other resources.]

Purchasing Plans

I don’t have a thermometer here in South Puffin so I went to wallyworlddotcom to suss out a “Digital Fever Thermometer with Peak Temperature Beeper [and] Last Read Memory.” Just $4.88! In stock to ship to home, just 97¢ shipping (Will not arrive by Dec 24).

Like most shopping sites, wallyworlddotcom also pimps What Was Ultimately Purchased By People Who Viewed This Item:

Wallyworld First Aid Triple Antibiotic Ointment

That just seems odd.


Mercury thermometers require NO BATTERIES.

Poly Want a Secret?

Holidays.

Even the most traditional family has trouble getting everyone together at holiday time. Take my daughter and her husband. They have one set of in-laws and one set of out-laws but her mom was in North Puffin, I was in South Puffin, her brother was an hour away, hubby’s brothers are scattered across a couple of states and his folks live down in Vermont’s Banana Belt.

My daughter opted to strangle a turkey she had raised herself and invite everyone to her house to chew the feathers off. Them as came, came. Them as didn’t didn’t. Still, she got her mom, her brother, nieces, and the odd ex-brother-in-law and a couple of others. It was a houseful.

I missed Thanksgiving at my daughter’s house because Nancy and I spent our first-ever holiday together (it was grand) down here. She and I are known to all y’all but that’s not the norm.

Even the most traditional family has secrets; poly families often seem particularly closeted.

I ran into some friends at a Halloween party (they came dressed as vanilla wafers, all five of them): Paul and Polly Dent who first made our acquaintance over there, Evelyn and Owen McGregor, and Nicole Norris who was never married to Chuck. The Dents have two younger girls, one in elementary school and one in junior high. The McGregors have a couple of college age girls (Vickie, the elder, and Toni, the younger) and a pre-school granddaughter plus Raymond, a son in his mid-20s from Evelyn’s first marriage. It is an estrogen-rich household.

That’s the marital status.

Here’s the organization chart: Paul and Evelyn are lovers. Polly and Owen likewise. Nicole came into the group as Evy’s other lover and has fallen in love with Paul. Owen vacations each year with Cece, a lovely SCUBA instructor who lives here in the Keys. It is not your “traditional” family. Heck, it’s not even your traditional polyamorous family.

Confused? Need a spreadsheet? I have to keep emailing gekko to keep track of these guys for me.

The entire group (other than CeCe) shares a large, rambling Victorian farmhouse on the Eastern Shore, a house built for the hunkering down in the long winters. It has nine or ten bedrooms (there were more but they converted at least a couple of them into baths), three parlors, two dining rooms, a music room, a theater, and office space for Paul and Nicole, who mostly work at home and for Evelyn, a lawyer who brings a lot of work home with her.

Polly said she was going to hire the White House protocol officer to plan Christmas this year. Between them, thanks to the usual American marriage/divorce/remarriage, they have 18 parents or in-laws, I think, about 13 of whom are speaking to each other.

In addition to the place card nightmare, they have a secret.

Toni McGregor was 16 and unwed when she gave birth to now-four-year old Tina, the McGregors’ first grandchild.

When the test strip turned blue, Evelyn made everyone promise not to tell anyone. “Particularly not Cece.”

It was a damn fool promise, particularly since the window of opportunity for secrets like that is something less than 270 days. After that, the cat climbs out of the bag no matter what Evelyn wants.

That is not her only misgiving. She loves her life but it embarrasses her. She doesn’t want anyone in the family to know that Owen and Polly are lovers and she expressly doesn’t want anyone to know about Owen and Cece. Particularly not the Dents’ kids. Or Raymond. Or you. Or me.

She’s been known to melt down at the dinner table over the secrets she needs us to keep.

“I hate going home for the holidays,” Vickie McGregor told me, “but I can’t go anywhere else because I can’t talk about the things that are important to me. Like what goes on in my family.”

Queen Victoria and her namesake would not have liked each other. The queen might have been a bawdy wench but God help anyone who mentioned that out loud.


Sculpture by Ania Modzelewski

[Editor’s Note: gekko and I shared the four-part polylocution that lead up to these afterposts. Please visit The Poly Posts for the entire series and for other resources.]

Fly United

I drove all the way down here to the land of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Key Deer.

I wanted to fly.

1,780 road miles it is from North Puffin to South. 2,000 or more frequent flier miles.

I wanted to fly.

I hate to fly.

Cicero taught us “A bureaucrat is the most despicable of men, though he is needed as vultures are needed, but one hardly admires vultures whom bureaucrats so strangely resemble.”

FELLOW TRAVELERS
55-year-old Olga Bezmelnitsyna and 41-year-old Sergei Gorlov (called “a middle-aged couple” in the report) were fined £500 for outraging public decency after a series of incidents on a 12-hour flight from Brazil to London. The cabin crew received complaints from passengers about the pair and found Bezmelnitsyna face down in her companion’s lap. Despite being warned she was caught later in the flight with her hand on his groin with his trousers unzipped. I guess she wasn’t done.

Jeezum, all they needed was a blanket.

And a 44-year old man and his 39-year-old female partner (also called “a middle-aged couple” on the radio) were arrested upon landing in north Queensland. The Jetstar cabin crew said they found the pair together in the plane’s toilet and that the man “became abusive to staff after they were discovered.” I guess he wasn’t finished, either. He was charged with disorderly conduct on an aircraft but his partner was merely fined.

This is all because airlines stopped giving out blankets.

The news was all atwitter about the Alec Baldwin/American Airlines kerfuffle last week. No other sex to report, I guess.

No, I made that up, mostly because he tweeted about it after the fact.

PETTY BUREAUCRATS
“I have yet to meet a bureaucrat who was not petty, dull, almost witless, crafty or stupid, an oppressor or a thief, a holder of little authority in which he delights, as a boy delights in possessing a vicious dog,” Cicero wrote.

The AA fiasco began with a celebrity using a mobile device to play Words With Friends. He was on an airplane. I presume the Friends were not. The cabin doors closed, and the passengers were asked to turn off all electronic devices. Mr. Baldwin refused. He acted the ass. I understand that.

One passenger told the reporter that the other passengers were all Tweeting about Mr. Baldwin’s ejection for … Tweeting. “The flight attendants didn’t threaten to eject the rest of them.” he said.

Ah hah! Bureaucrats in the skies!

TSA
Lenore Zimmerman, an 84-, 85-, or 95-year-old woman on her way to Fort Lauderdale, said she was strip searched in New York after she asked to be patted down instead of going through a body scanner because she worried it would interfere with her defibrillator. She said she was taken to a private room and made to take off her pants and other clothes. She missed her flight and had to take one 2-1/2 hours later, she said.

TSA said in a statement that no strip search was conducted. “While we regret that the passenger feels she had an unpleasant screening experience, TSA does not include strip searches as part of our security protocols and one was not conducted in this case.”

I think they found her diaper.

Somebody is lying. I suspect TSA.

And a second granny — 88-year old Ruth Sherman — says she was strip-searched at JFK. She said screeners at JetBlue took her to a private area to check the bulge caused by her colostomy bag. Linda Kallish, in her 60s, also came forward with a nearly identical story.

TSA spokeswoman Lisa Farbstein would not provide the agency’s definition of a strip search. “It depends,” she said.

People who believe the TSA have baptized themselves in the Kool-Aid™. We’re willing to let some stranger stop and search us under the presumption of guilt simply because we travel. They “randomly” select us — or they sort of search all of us — on the off chance they might catch a bad guy.

That’s why we call it “fishing” instead of “catching.”

Back in the old days, I flew to South Puffin on a one-way ticket. I had my pony tail, computer bag, and I checked my “brown cardboard suitcase” (a heavy IBM server shipping box that carried everything I needed down here including a full size cooler). The bureaucrats “randomly” selected that box and me for added scrutiny.

That was the right thing to do.

When they spent their time on the grannies, they missed the wife beater, the smuggler, the embezzler, and father stabber. Father rapers. Father rapers sitting right there on the bench next to me. And they was mean and nasty and ugly and horrible crime-type guys sitting on the bench next to me.1

“Bureaucracy is the epoxy that greases the wheels of progress.” wrote Dr. Jim Boren.

Actually, I rather like to fly. I just hate to fly with the people who grease the wheels. And Mr. Baldwin.

Sex, Sex, and More Sex

Twenty-nine percent of ordinary Americans have had sex on a first date, and about as many have had an “unexpected sexual encounter with someone new.” Among people who are married or living in a committed relationship (or formerly married), sixteen percent have cheated on their partner (nearly twice as many men as women) — while more, thirty percent, have fantasized about it.

Twenty-seven percent of Americans who reported being happy in marriage admitted to having an affair.

Ordinary Americans are pikers.

Voice of America reports that “When U.S. businessman Herman Cain suspended his campaign [Saturday] for the Republican presidential nomination following allegations of sexual harassment and a lengthy extramarital affair, he joined a long list of U.S. presidents and presidential contenders whose personal lives have attracted scrutiny.”

The long list is pretty much all of them.

Bill Clinton, John Edwards, Dwight Eisenhower, Newt Gingrich, James Garfield, Warren Harding, Gary Hart, John F. Kennedy, Thomas Jefferson, Lyndon Johnson, Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Then there are the Mark Sanfords, Arnold Schwarzeneggers, Eliot Spitzers, Anthony Weiners. Apparently about 97.7 percent of American presidents and 110 percent of American presidential candidates.

What did we expect? From the Victorians through Viet Nam, public morality did inhibit any open acknowledgment of sexuality but things have (sort of) changed. Most American homes today probably have copies of Playboy and Fanny Hill and the Joy of Sex but the owners still keep them out of sight. On the other hand, a couple generations of soap operas have been hotbeds of in-your-face adultery. They reflected American life or at least American political life.

Now we tell ourselves stories — stories about how prim we are and how licentious our neighbors are — and those stories hurt us.

Countries with an ultraconservative attitude towards sex and sex education like the U.S. have a higher incidence of sexually transmitted diseases and teenage pregnancy.

I have some simple advice for these people in public life:


Grow a pair!
You guys (and I mean all of you political philanderers from any affiliation) think you’re winning the dicksizing contest.

You ain’t.

You’d like We the People to believe you are King of the Bedroom or at least the oval rug but you can’t even stand up for your bigger self when your littler self gets caught standing up.

Here’s the answer. When the admittedly brain dead reporter asks, “Did you really have sex with three women, and a goat?” tell the truth.

“Yep. What’s it to you?”

About the only follow up to that is, “Was it good for the goat?”

Actually, a decent reporter should ask the spouse to comment. It would be a good teaching moment for relationship building. Maybe for polyamory. Or at least for truth in advertising.