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The Big Ugly.

When a girl is a Mraz-loving, artsy-fartsy, tree-hugging, feminist who writes poetry, chances are she’ll be in the minority of her peers when it comes to her pro-life leanings.

In this society of politically correct niceties, the pro-life activist is labeled “narrow-minded” at best, and all too often considered a bigot.  It’s “bad form” to even suggest you don’t support “a woman’s right to choose.”  No wonder the issue of abortion is one so many people tiptoe around and avoid confronting: akin to religion and politics, the abortion debate has grown into the sore spot where both of those sensitive topics meet.  Where the ruling of Roe v. Wade was intended to settle an issue, it has created a bloody divide instead.

I have not really delved into this issue myself for the simple fact that I was considering my audience.  Which is exactly why I should have brought it up sooner.

* * * * *

This election has been making me physically ill.  I have been useless at work lately, getting my work done, but not as efficiently as I should.  I have been preoccupied to the point of exhaustion.  I have been having nightmares about not getting to vote, about showing up late, or not being registered.  I have awoken feeling as though I had spent hours crying.

* * * * *

Do you really know what a partial birth or late term abortion is or how one is performed?

“But,” some assert, “Obama supports restrictions on late term abortions and only really supports the procedure when the mother’s health is endangered.” The Partial Birth Abortion Ban affords the senator and fellow pro-abortion fans such a loophole, one that allows partial birth abortions to continue under the guise of “protecting the mother’s life.”

For the record, The Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act of 2003 states:

Hundreds of ob-gyns and fetal/maternal specialists, along with former Surgeon General Koop have come forward to unequivocally state that “partial-birth abortion is never medically necessary to protect a mother’s health or her future fertility.”  In fact, the procedure can significantly threaten a mother’s health or ability to carry future children to term.  The American Medical Association has said the procedure is “not good medicine” and is “not medically indicated” in any situation.

… so why is the loophole necessary if not to abuse it?

* * * * *

Do you know what infanticide is? 

 * * * * *

My second child was born premature.  The span of 50 minutes from when my doctor confirmed that I was “going to have this baby today” to when I actually delivered was among the most frightening experiences of my life.  We were fortunate that he was not dangerously early. But still, his lungs were underdeveloped, so he was swept away as soon as he was delivered, taken to be teathered to a ventilator, IV, feeding tube, heart monitor…

But because he was wanted, he survived.

 * * * * *

Without the Born Alive Infant Protection Act, a premature baby who is marked for abortion but survives is not afforded any right* to medical care for the simple fact that the child was unwanted by the birth mother.  (*Due to the language of Roe v. Wade, we apparently can’t just say “a baby is a baby — care for it.”)

The Born Alive Infant Protection Act prevents the disposal of such children.

Obama opposed the bill.

* * * * * 

I am aware that abortion is not the only issue at stake this election.  Nor is it the only life-affirming issue to up for consideration: the war, poverty issues, and health care fall under the same umbrella.  However, I believe the issue of Life is the most important issue.

To consider a child to be less than human simply because he or she is not wanted by his or her birth mother, to me, that is evil.

Let’s put it this way: if you witnessed a mother walk up to a train track and lay her newborn down on it and walk away, would you rescue the child?  Or would you leave the child to die because that’s what the mother wanted?  Isn’t that question absurd?! You don’t even have to be smarter than a 5th grader to know it would be wrong to leave the child to die.

But that’s exactly what that man is choosing.

And as far as I can see, any person who cannot make such an obviously straightforward moral choice ought not be handling any other matter facing our nation.

 * * * * *

I expect I’m down to only one reader from now on.  But maybe I can sleep tonight for a change.

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Water we thinkin’?

About five years ago, it was typical to find me carrying a “disposable” plastic water bottle or two anywhere I went. Typically, no fewer than three empty or mostly empty bottles would be rolling around in my car. I really didn’t think much of the environmental impact because, hey, I recycled the bottles when I was done with them.

Unfortunately, that mindset ignores the irresponsible misuse of energy and resources needed to create and recreated the bottles, the waste of the non-recyclable caps and labels, and all of the energy and resources used to filter and bottle water into “single use” containers. Consider that according to the Pacific Institute, (in 2006) it takes about 3 liters of water to produce just 1 liter of bottled water.

Environmental pains aside, yesterday one of the headlines on my personalized homepage was “Bottled Water Has Contaminants Too.” Honestly, this did not surprise me. For years I’ve been hearing about how some bottled water is no better than tap water. I mean, isn’t it Dasani’s label that states that the water comes from a “public water source”? So much for Alpine springs! But still, it’s disconcerting to hear that a bottle of Sam’s Choice water might just have traces of Equate pain reliever and caffeine in it. Not cool.

So what’s a girl to do but filter her own and bottle it at home. But wait! If the water doesn’t kill me, then surely the bottle it’s in will! Fortunately I never got into using a Nalgene — I mostly just reused those “disposable” bottles — but still… Heck, even the Sigg has had its health concerns, but has since changed the lining in their bottles to something safer.

I don’t know, I’m thinking I might be giving Klean Kanteens for Kris — er — Christmas this year.
Regardless, I’m hoping that maybe articles like the one I stumbled on yesterday might just encourage us as a society to realize we always pay for convenience.

And maybe we can find better means of quenching our thirst.

Drink to that!

PS – No, this post wasn’t intended as a commercial for eSpring, but check out the website to learn about why I swear by eSpring as opposed to other water sources.

— other sources —
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Dancing to the music of poetry

I am not sure where I am but I am in Massachusetts in an old mill, converted to gathering space. There is a bar. There are people, talking. And there is music here. Jazz. Poetry.

I am feeling the warmth of all of the above, including the low hum of one plastic cup of chardonnay. I am missing the words to this poem: they are playing the "da-daa da-daa" baseline of "Billie Jean," and it makes me smile.

I see Robert Pinsky talking with some bearded man I don't know. Really. And I think, "how different to be a poet." A rock star would not have this breathing room. He is alone now in the crowd, Mr. Pinsky, that is: the man with the beard is laughing with a woman now. I wonder if the Poet Laureate is alone out of respect or his fans' introversion. I suppose both.

There are drums now and woodwinds to charm a snake. I move my hips — Mom used to call them "snake hips" — and think, "this is the closest I will ever get to Java Joes," and I'm ok with that. This man is singing in bright exotic jazz tones about "the word."

I think of God.

The instruments have stopped, but the music continues with the buzz of conversation to soften it. My ears will ring when I leave here, filling the silence in the streetlight lit streets. The weight of words in my limbs.

Stuff

Blackout

Julie
October 5, 2008
2 Comments

Suddenly, with a pop, there is dark, as if God himself had changed his mind, had decided light wasn't all that great after all. But no. The heavenly lights still gleam: stars and stars and galaxies of stars and a bright lunar wink. Perhaps, instead, God decided to remind these…

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Tips for Servers: an Open Letter


To the Servers Who Fail To Earn Their Tips:

I have heard the rumors that women are poor tippers. Maybe there’s a grain of truth to that as a stereotype; I don’t know, I have never worked in the Food Service industry. Regardless of that stereotype or any other, and despite the hour at which a person might visit your place of work, here are some extra service tips you didn’t have to work for:

  • Even if you expect that a person might tip poorly, serve them as if they’ve already left you at 25% or more. Because, really, stereotypes are just social profiling and there will always be exceptions.
  • If my girlfriend and I show up at 10 PM, don’t be sour because we’re there “so late.” Especially if the establishment doesn’t close until 2 AM.
  • The easiest way to earn yourself a low tip is to fail to fill our drinks.
  • The easiest way to earn yourself a pathetic tip is to forget to fill our drinks after we’ve specifically asked for a refill! Come ON!
  • You never know when you’re being mystery shopped. You never know when your patron is an “off-duty” mystery shopper who “knows the ropes” and won’t hesitate in filling out a comment card or going online to fill out the “contact us” form. Either way, poor service could get back to your management. Likewise, exceptional service could be worth a LOT more than a good tip.

After two sub-par dining experiences in only four days’ time, I feel the need to put this out there. I know, everyone seems to be pinching pennies lately. I bet this is resulting in less eating out as a whole, lower average spending on individual restaurant visits, and possibly even lower tips in general. I am sure any of those factors can make working at a restaurant wearying.

But poor service is NOT going to fix the problem.

After all, I could be your next patron. And as a wife and mother, I appreciate, recognize and generously tip quality service: I’m in the same line of work.

But I don’t get tips for serving spaghetti or chicken nuggets with a smile.

I know it can be thankless work. I know it can wear you down. And I know what standards you’re being held to: chances are, as a mystery shopper, I have the checklist in my car.

So do us both a favor: serve me respectfully and efficiently. I’ll make it worth your time. Otherwise, I’ll satisfy your stereotype instead, and I’ll report the bad news.

Respectfully,

Brushed & Ticked Off

PS — For the record, it takes me more time to file a negative report than to say you gave stellar service. Please, if not for your own professional well being, serve me well to save me some time and effort.