Question for Technoprairie and Timekeeper (TK)

Why was your mother so angry at me in my dream last night? WHY??!!! Cuz she was scary mad. Way scary.

New Question

Was the last post politically neutral?

My wife says, "absolutely not." She seemed shocked when I pointed out that I did not note--not at all--who boobman might have supported.

"But you DID!" she said.

"Didn't."

"Did!"

"Didn't!"

And it went on like this for quite a surprising amount of time; it began to resemble the Monty Python "Argument Clinic" skit.

Finally I said, "No, YOU read the politics into it, thus confirming my only implicit point--that culture reveals politics. But I nowhere suggested how plastic-boob guy voted. Your sureness that I did simply reveals the obvious--not about me but about him."

And she concluded, "Sure. You didn't say it. Just as Fox and Glenn Beck don't *say* that Obama hates America or that he is a Muslim or was born in Africa or whatever. But they imply it, and you hate their ridiculous stance of plausible deniability. And I'm just saying you did the same. Which is fine with me. I don't care. I like what you wrote. But you should be honest with yourself about it."

So reader, Am I right or what???

.....I ask, perfectly neutrally.

Obama or McCain supporter in 2008? What say you?

I observed this charming ornament--and testament to the virtue and sophistication of American culture--hanging from the back of a giant-work-monster-action pickup truck.

Parked in the handicap space of my daughter’s ortho building.

As you can see, the license plate (I digitally changed two of the letters) is from Alabama, and based on what I overheard in the truck owner’s conversation, I gather the truck’s owner drove around forty-five minutes to come to the bustling metropolis of Rome, GA, where the miracles of modern medical care are readily available.

( )

There. That parenthetical space is for you, dear reader, to insert your own far-too-easy and cliched joke about Alabamans [Alabamians(?)], their teeth (or lack thereof), and the need to drive out-of-state to receive orthodontic treatment.

(Okay, I can’t resist a good cliche. Here’s mine: How does one straighten a tooth?)

In the movie Amadeus, there is a fabulous scene in which Salieri, who has heard of Mozart but has yet to see him, entertains himself by winding his way through the attendants of a grand gala to which Mozart is a guest, carefully studying the faces before him, searching for the face of pure genius, challenging himself to discern Mozart’s identity by Salieri’s own conception of what genius must look like.

I thought it would be pleasurable to play the same manner of game. As I walked from the parking lot into the waiting room, I wondered whether I would be able to correctly identify by appearances alone the person with the sensitivity, refined taste, and gentle classiness to be the proud owner of a plastic boob ornament?

Is the face, in fact, the window to the bosom of the soul?

Unfortunately, the game turned out to be a bust—in a manner of speaking. The room only had three people in it. One person was a professionally dressed middle-age woman. The other people were an older man and a young teenage boy, presumably the man’s grandson. The boy was wearing a t-shirt that said “Feelin’ lucky?” on the back, but unfortunately I did not have the pleasure of seeing the front of his t-shirt.

Alas. And if that was not disappointing enough, the conversation I overheard simply gave the game away.

The older man spoke to the woman, and the following dialogue ensued:

“Yuh from Rome?”

“Nearby. Silver Springs.”

”Huh. Ya know’f Rome’s got a Dick’s Sporting Good Store?”

“It doesn’t. Probably the closest one is in Kennesaw.” (Kennesaw is a suburb of Atlanta.)

“Kennesaw?! ……..Huh. I don’t get around to Kennesaw—wait, no, I’ve been there a cupla times to go to some gun shows. Where’s the Dick’s at?”

(The woman explains where it’s located.)

“Huh….I reckon that’s near the new Walmart. Yeah, we live in Alabama. Gotta big ol’ creek we overlook.”

”Oh, that must be really nice. Is the creek large enough for kayaking?”

”Kayaking?! I suppose. I know this much. It’s called a creek, but when folks see it the first time they say, ‘That ain’t a creek. That’s a river!”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.”

“It’s nice all right. Suppose you can say this boy here (pointing to his grandson) pretty much lives in Paradise!”

“Hmmmm…..I suspect that may be a matter of opinion.”

At which point I nearly laughed out loud.

We can’t play the Salieri-Mozart game, but we can play a different one. Do you have enough information about this man from the little I’ve shared with you to confidently guess his politics? So here’s my question to you:

Who did this man support for president in 2008 and how much money would you be willing to bet on your guess?

This is not a trick question. I do not know the answer. Also note: I said “support,” not “vote for.” Obviously since the man is American there’s a good chance he didn’t vote.

Judgment Seat

It was either "Judgment Seat" or "Angry Chair." Bible? Or Alice in Chains? Bible? Alice in Chains? Hmmmmmmmmmmm.....and the Bible wins!

I and the Eyeball

Temporary name change in the blog in honor of a friend who refers to our blog in shorthand--quite winningly--as "The Eye."

So yes, Lydia has seen the blog. And a certain father-in-law, though I won't mention whose, wrote me an email the other day and noted that he, too, had seen my eyeball series. His assessment is best summarized in his own words: "Not sure what to say...."

Oh, I think that says it all.

Hey, this is interesting. Lydia has asked to type a special message for Shinigami-Sidhe. Well I don't see why not. Sure Lydia, go right ahead:

"Thanks Dad! You're the BEST!!!

Hi, this is Lydia. I want to write this note to Shinigami-Sidhe, who my fabulous and first-rate and simply lovable father has informed me was one of the most clever (former) students he had the pleasure to teach! In particular, I want to respond to your kind offer from a few days ago, when you wrote this: "Lydia, if you are reading this and have any awkward questions, I will totally answer them!"

I very much appreciate the offer, and I want to respond accordingly. Before I proceed, however, I want to assure you that this really is Lydia. Really. Believe me. This is NOT my father typing out a phony reply posing as me. That would almost be wrong (though charmingly clever), and my father is a most excellent and honorable man. What a guy!!! But back to the letter. I want to assure you that, first of all, I don't have any awkward questions. I don't even think them. Not ever. And I won't think them in the future, either, or at least not until I'm about, oh, 28 or 29 years old. I think nothing but happy innocent (precocious) child thoughts, and in particular I chiefly think thoughts about just how lucky I am to have such excellent and loving parents, who have devoted their lives in recent years to chauffeuring me around God's green earth without ceasing, completely sacrificing their own happiness for my own. (I should add: And cheerfully and without complaint! Man, they really are the BEST!!!) Secondly, I also want you to know that were I ever to stumble upon an awkward question, I will just stuff it deep down inside where it belongs, hidden in the dark recesses of the heart, buried under layers and layers of good Presbyterian guilt. If I MUST ask an awkward question, however, I will consult my parents or, if they are not available, maybe--just maybe--a very happy and contented nun. I will not consult my friends or peers. Ever. Actually, I will consult my MOTHER because though I know my father to be wise beyond measure, I would not want to embarrass him with awkward questions. That would be unfortunate. But thank you, S-S, for volunteering me your ear. How very kind of you.

Yours,

Lydia and NOT my father"

So how 'bout that?! Lydia has spoken.

What's that, Lydia? You want to write Mr. Andy a note, too? A note about how you stand by your assessment of my writing as "profound"? Well, why don't we wait for another time, ok? He's a little....busy.