Dear God, our Traditional Values are not extreme enough for You...yet...

Oh God of All that is Good and Pure! The prayers of those who love all that You represent have been answered! The Education Secretary has forced PBS from airing a program in which an animated bunny visits Vermont families with lesbian parents. Vermont has always thought itself to be holier than thou New Englanders, what with their ski slopes and maple syrup and industrious spirit... but Holy Father, how can maple syrup be so wrong? Oh, and of course the rejection of the "alternative lifestyle." Rabbits that wear clothes and walk on their hind legs are totally freaky. But we can do better. We must, Lord, do better, and I have plans... Consider the following:

1. Promote more marriage. I only vote for politicians with two or more marriages. People like Ronald Reagan, Newt Gingrich and Rudy Giuliani show that if your union isn't holy enough the first time around, try again with younger, sexier seconds. The problem must be with my first wife, not my infidelity.
2. Less science, more faith. When I have cancer and other injuries and maladies, You, Lord of Healing, will cure me through prayer and belief, not through good diet, exercise, surgery, medication, rehabilitation and rest. What do evoloutionist, research-based medical doctors know about the human body?
3. What alternative lifestyle? Lord of Holy-Sanctioned Heterosexual Hijinks, there are other family lifestyles that demand Your Ultimate Wrath, such as orphanages, group homes, foster homes, homes where grandparents take care of crack-addicted grandchildren, adult homes, nursing homes, college dorms, MTV homes, Wife-Swapping homes, homes with single people and cats... Family values begin with two adults of the opposite sex, say a DWI convicted husband and a corrupt, corporate CEO mother.
4. Love You more than Iran. On the Who Loves God More Purely Index, Iran is run by a Holy Order of male elders who know and love You best (Allah, Jehovah, the Almighty... they're all Your call signs, you Top Gun of the Universal Aircraft Carrier). Until our priests and preachers can be elected to the top levels of government and issue edicts straight from the Bible, our country will be considered the Mexicos and Italys of theocracies around the world. God, we are so inefficient in passing laws that bind women to their homes...
5. Outlaw fertility clinics. Oh, God of Fruits and Mulitiplication, only you should hold the Power of Creation. When couples thank You for conceiving eight or twenty children on the same day, they make a mockery of Your Power. I know that You certainly did not want them to be saddled with crippling medical, grocery and college bills. Sure, they get to go on the morning shows and they exult in Your Glory, but when the spotlight fades and the diapers start to fill, only You know what they're really wishing (Hansel and Gretel? China's One Baby policy?).

These are only a few of my post-neo-arch-conservative suggestions. If You agree with me, Oh God of Everything except the Internet, show me a sign by doing absolutely nothing. Thy will be done.

On a lighter note: I did three days of jury duty this week. My brain felt like it had been turned into the stuff one uses to insulate walls. But I performed my civic duty and took part as the ultimate leverage by helping two sides to settle a civil case before arguments were heard. All I did was sit on my poor, achy butt. So much power, and at $40 a day!

The Inauguration, or how I stopped hating the Republicans and learned to be passive-aggressive

Disillusioned and angry Americans have urged others to protest the President's Inauguration today by either going out in the cold D.C. weather and turning their backs or closing their wallets and avoiding retail stores in order to drive an economic point. I don't really understand how these forms of protests will actually embarass the President or make any lasting impression. I offer a list of alternatives to the sad, the broken, and the self-appointed rabble-rouser:

1. Feed a donkey and ignore an elephant. Size matters in America. Donkeys will grow bigger and stronger. Soon a whole team of them can ambush an emaciated, weakened elephant. The symbol of vote suppression and champagne drinkers will be humiliated, forcing the Republicans to choose another animal not indigenious to America to represent them. How about the platypus? Chock full of all sorts of animals stitched together by God Himself, the platypus can represent their metaphorical racial and political tent. Unlike other animals, it has not shown itself to be gay in over-populated cages and boxes.
2. Pass Canadian change to the postal office clerk. When he objects, ask him how insulting America's ally will help the war on terror.
3. Make a quiche. Throw in some bacon and chopped chiorizo. Present it as a gift to your congressman and explain that it is a Tex-Mex pizza. Voila! Internationalism at its best and most deceitful.
4. Hire an American to be your nanny/housekeeper/gardener. We can show the world that we have homegrown talent for these jobs. By gob, there's got to be college graduates ready to fill those positions held now by these illegals! Bernie Kerik, why do you hate American workers?
5. After you've hired that solid American, pay taxes on their wages. We won't weaken America by avoiding the FICA, Disability, Unemployment, and Medicare taxes. Bernie Kerik, you're a tax-avoiding terrorist... thanks for making my retirement plans that less secure.
6. Learn the Canadian national anthem. It's easier to sing and remember: "Oh, Canada! Our home and native land. True patriot love, in all they sons' command. With glowing hearts we see thee rise, the true north strong and free. From afar and wide, Oh Canada, we stand on guard for thee. God keep thy land, glorious and free. Oh, Canada, we stand on guard for thee! Oh, Canada we stand on guard for thee!" It's less stress on your voice and has fewer high notes to reach. Besides, if you want to move there, you'd better know it. They ask at the border.
7. Order a plate of french fries. Go on. Don't be a Republican by avoiding potatoes grown in the U.S.A. Support our farmers, why don't you?

There you go. Some simple ways to demonstrate your protest. Enjoy!

I say, bring it on! English politics in America

Every once in a while, I get to catch “Question Time with the Prime Minister” on C-Span, a political bloodsport where the British Prime Minister regularly trades barbs with Members of Parliament. To most Americans, the idea of the President standing in the House of Representatives fielding questions and lobbing witty sarcasm with congressmen on television might be unseemly. But in Britain, the PM and the MPs don’t think it unnatural to boo, hiss, grunt, howl, and insult each other’s intelligence. The pressure is on the PM to prove his party’s worth, just as it is the shadow government’s responsibility to prove its mettle as the opposition and suggest better policy. Nevertheless, I do get a kick when the PM gets a good jab in on the Conservatives and the Labour MPs all go “Haaaa” or “Ooohhh” in unison. What I find most strange is that every time the PM ends his diatribe, he sits down and waits for the next MP to be called and deliver the next question. Then the PM gets back up on the podium and gives it another go, only to sit down again. That can’t be good for his back.

In America, the real battles between the two parties are done on political talk shows and radio programs, never face to face between the head of the government and the lower house. Have you ever watched the Senate and the House debate on C-Span? They’re so boring that they can hardly be considered real. The seats are never full, either. Someone speaks and the chamber empties out. The camera is there for the speaker’s constituents. Everyone has decided how they’re going to vote anyway. We all know who represents the President and who belongs to the opposition. The public fight is engaged through proxy.

It would be more honorable and entertaining to watch the President spar with the enemy in the open. It’s the old school yard adage: “If you’ve got something to say, say it to my face.” Well, in the House, you’ve got 435 people waiting to do it. In reality, though, half of them are on your side. And it would be nice to hear the feet of 230 allies drowning out the enemy.

When I went to junior high, this sort of back and forth would have been called a “rank out” or “ranking.” I was never good enough to try my hand. You see, I was nerdy looking, played in the school band and was part of a D&D group of equally awkward mates. So I lived vicariously through the other “rank out” masters. Boy, some of them were truly devastating. Believe it or not, we had a math teacher who actually had a rank out with another student. The teacher killed him and we all got a big laugh (except the kid, though, to his credit, he didn’t cry and no one tattled on anyone).

To be honest, I think the President would have to be a determined and skilled debater. It might be entertaining and sadistic to watch the President squirm if he were not, but I don’t want to see him humiliated either. He is the leader of the free (but still dangerous) world. Yet we all have to give it to the Brits: a people who have no say in selecting their leader came up with a way for him to prove himself week after week.

On mental illness and the Right Reverend

While most folks have the day off to celebrate (do we, really?) Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday, I am at the office along with a number of multi-colored employees tending to the needs of our mentally ill residents. I'd like to imagine that he would have appreciated how far we've come to help these disenfranchised citizens. Race relations among the clients are pretty good. Nobody has called another a "white devil" or some other racial epithet in a few months now. This climate probably has to do with the fact that a few severely paranoid delusional tenants are in the hospital at the moment. "Oh, he's getting a tune-up," many clients will say. They smile when they say that, most of them having had long-term stays in psychiatric hospitals themselves.

But balancing the rights of the mentally ill with the needs of society is very complex. When I have a client clearly becoming more disorganized, paranoid, delusional, whatever, it's most likely because they refuse to take their medications. Unless the person is under the care of a hospital or institution, there is little that anyone can do to make him take his pills. A fellow client will tell me her concern for her neighbor. Some will complain about another person's bizarre behavior. Short of an actual threat towards himself or others, I can only do my best to persuade and help him change his decision to forego medication. But here's the rub: the poor guy's cognitive functioning grows worse and worse without his medication. How then can he appreciate his own illness and the effect he has on his community? The law does not state that he understand his right in order to have it. He just has an inherent right to reject treatment.

Here are the most common responses someone gives for failing to take their medicine:
1. I'm not sick.
2. I did take my medicine.
3. They make me feel drowsy.
4. You can't tell me what to do.

So I watch as the auditory hallucinations return. I watch as his personal hygiene declines and he looks more and more like the homeless bum he used to be. I watch as he walks in front of traffic or screams at no one in particular. I have to wait until he is at the tipping point, the moment when he presents enough behaviors for me to call emergency services or a mobile crisis team. I've had to argue with police officers and EMS workers to take someone into custody because they don't see what I do. And even if I get the person into the hospital, some hospitals may just keep him for observation, about 24 to 48 hours, and then discharge him. Why? Because he is no longer an immediate threat to himself or others. So I resume the game of waiting, acting, and hoping.

This is the reality of providing mental health in the community. We do our best but we are only a cog in the machine that tries to keep chaos from overwhelming reality. To be fair, most of our clients do very well and understand the need for treatment. They take responsibility for their actions. But a very ill person, someone who truly cannot negotiate between the demands of our tough world and their own fragile one, can harm someone without realizing the consequences. In my state, there are some provisions for a judge to enforce a doctor's order, but no one can still compel a person to actually accept or receive treatment while he is in the community: refusal of a judge's order only means a trip back to the hospital. And then you have to actually get the police and find him. So a judge's mental health order is no better than a domestic violence victim's Order of Protection (and we know how protective that is!).

I'm a social worker, so I do my best to remind people of their rights, especially when they have to deal with government bureaucracies. As I mentioned before, most of our folks do well. But no one has the best answer to address those not wanting treatment. Would that I had a few minutes to chat with Dr. King, he might be able to offer a little insight. Maybe...

On Battlestar Galactica and therapy

I watched the new Battlestar Galactica mini-series last year and really enjoyed the cast of characters: Commander Adama, near retirement, is thrust into the role of Stern Father; The President, uh, what's her name, the former Education Minister, provides the role of Mother and conscience; Apollo is the Golden Boy with the weight of all the Eldest Son expectations on his shoulders; Starbuck is the Wild Child; Colonel Ty is the Drunk Uncle; Gaius Baltar is the insane but brilliant scientist who doomed 99.9% of humanity by selling defense secrets (unknowingly) to the Cylons. They were all stock characters, sure, but now with the series, there's room for them to grow. What they all seek is redemption, to prove that they can be more than what they were before their world blew up (okay, so it took an apocalpyse, but in real life, that's how most of us are motivated to try and change as well). I just hope that they don't become too mired in their own existential angst. Oh, and more dogfights in space! A bit of adventure lightens the mood from time to time.

I'm hoping that Colonel Ty, my favorite character, gets even drunker and nastier. As the Executive Officer, he gets to do the dirty work. Punch people. Scowl. Throw people into the brig. Turn off the oxygen in battle damaged sections of the Galactica where there are still survivors to save the rest of the ship. Boy. No wonder he drinks. It ain't easy being Adama's bulldog. Too bad all the social workers died during the Cylon invasion. He could have used a therapist. But don't we all wish we had a friend like him, you know, to do what we wouldn't have the guts to do?

Depression, whining, and poo: Observations of other people's blogs

I've noticed a number of trends among bloggers:

1. Bloggers often feel depressed and experience low self-esteem. Too much navel-gazing if you ask me. I prefer to remember Oscar Wilde's words: "We are all in the gutter but some of us are reaching for the stars." That was before he was imprisoned for being gay and then died a broken man. Those goofy Englishmen.
2. "Sleep" is a common "favorite" activity. Great for the sleeper, but what about my needs? People who sleep are boring and ignore me. So skip those blogs.
3. One person wrote about her "poo" experience. It seems that she works at two different locations, far enough that she needs to drive hours on end, and often has to make bold decisions about where and when to "poo" in order to avoid the embarassment of fellow toilet-users' snide remarks. Though interesting, "poo" blogs are best left undiscovered.
4. There is a lot of whining. Whining about taking classes, relationships, the government, Fox News. Yes, blogs are outlets for one's thoughts and feelings. But in the end, who really cares about what you find annoying? I experience enough complaints from my mentally ill clients, and half the time I can't tell if their grievances are real or delusional. However, I will defend someone's right to whine if he gives me an alternative to the problems raised. So my riff about Fox News really wasn't a whine. Okay, it was.
5. Did you know Portugese people actually exist? There must be hundreds of them! Seriously!
6. People share way too much about their marriage and work. And then they post pictures of themselves. How courageously foolish. I mean, to allow themselves to be "open" and "true" to blogging. I prefer the semi-veiled anonymity of my blog. Deniability. Yup. One must always have an exit strategy. You know, like the U.S. has in Iraq. No, wait...
7. Our English language education is a dismal failure. Sure, people rite lik dis to prove that dey be kewl (or not, which would be even scarier), but after reading a few sentences, one might need a trip to the neurologist to treat all the swollen neurons.
8. Christian bloggers, the serious ones, those who post Scriptures like wallpaper... there's nothing enjoyable about reading those. Why aren't there any Jewish bloggers quoting from the Old Testament or the Torah? Maybe those will be more interesting. I haven't even begun to look for Islamic bloggers. Nope. I don't need the NSA, CIA, DoD and FBI tracking my computer. Ha ha. No. I'm serious.

So what's it all mean? I'll try my hand at more light observations and commentary. For more serious reviews about the world, try The Economist. If I could afford it, I'd subscribe to it.

Next blog: My thoughts on Battlestar Galactica.

Peas out! Green beans in!

Fox News: We Report. You Decide. Um, I'll have the 2 cheeseburger meal...

The two cheeseburger meal, while fattening and certainly no good for me, at least does not pretend to be what is advertised. Two thin meat patties fried in its own juices, nestled afterwards in their own buns with a blanket of processed American yellow cheese. I don't have it all the time but when I do have it, my stomach feels warm and comforted and full. Putting aside the carcinogenic problems of the burgers, one cannot really ignore the simplicity and practicality of this meal.

However, I have problems with Fox News. At root of my discomfort is that they pretend to care about "ordinary Americans." They think that all America needs is "common sense." They brag about being "#1" like the news is a college football game. They take any opportunity to make fun of The New York Times and the other networks when mistakes are made. And if you disagree with them, they'll label you a liberal, an idiot, a liar, a scalawag (in all fairness, I don't think they've ever labeled anyone a scalawag, but I like the sound of it). They think that by talking directly to the viewer and being less polished like the other networks, the audience will feel a stronger, personal connection.

To their credit, they are very successful. And you know what? I don't blame Fox News for their own popularity. I blame each and every American who watches and believes that Fox News knows better than all the other news programs; that Fox News is the new temple of truth and justice; that every Fox News reporter and pundit worries about you and me. But they don't. When Bill O'Reilly goes to bed, he's not thinking of how to change New York's mental health delivery system so that my clients can recover appropriately. Sean Hannity doesn't worry about helping me advocate to get food stamps for my clients. Rupert Murdoch doesn't care about the lack of federal subsidies for housing programs in the city. They portray themselves as patricians of truth and fairness. But in reality, no one can carry that ethical and moral mantle. It's an impossible task. That is my real problem with Fox News: that they make you believe they know better than you.

So when they report, I do decide. I flip to the BBC World News. They actually care enough to produce in depth news stories. They report in a steady, honest tone that reflects their professionalism. Their graphics are sophisticated but somber. The BBC News has made mistakes before, but on at least one occasion, they spent considerable time airing what went wrong and how they addressed it. News is a serious affair and I believe they report in a way that respects the viewer's ability consider the data and make their own decisions without being reminded every ten seconds by terribly loud graphics and announcements. Really, if you are a news agency, why would you need to remind people?

Walking to work

The weathermen, that cabal of planetary atmospheric priests, were predicting a cold, cloudy morning to be followed by cold, wet slush. So it was with some minor delight that when I walked to work, I actually saw vestiges of the sun trying to squeeze out some peach color through the grey veiled sky. And it wasn't as cold as expected. It was the refreshing sort, the one that softened the smell of diesel fuel from delivery trucks on the go and the breath of morning smokers rushing off to work. It was not a great morning to paint, by all means, but it was good enough to wake up to.

I like walking to work. It beats having to jostle for position on the train. I don't miss experiencing someone else's poor oral hygiene nor the rehearsed chants of beggars and mendicants. The wait for the train is often the worse part of the day. It's a lottery to actually get on once it does arrive. By the time one gets to work, one needs a coffee or two just to cut the edge off, the edge of that imaginary dagger stabbing into all the fellow commuters pushing all aside to get on and off. So walking to work helps me to avoid acting out on my homicidal impulses (of which we all have, I must add...).

I like the random thoughts that come into my head. For example, when I passed by the sanitation truck and saw the green uniformed men feeding the machine with other people's trash, I wondered what they must think of the habits of those whom they serve. They must have appalling judgments of the trash owners. The crossing guards are another folk I encounter. They smile, wave, and say a few words to the brave grade schoolers marching or being dragged to class. When cars slow before raised, authoritative arms, these guardswomen (and they are always women) must feel some sort of power and sadistic glee in forcing an entire street length of them to come to a complete halt. They are the metaphorical superman, able to stop several personal mini-locomotives in their tracks. All drivers, taxi drivers, the BMW or Saab owner, the mom trying to turn the corner and actually drop off her kids before the school bell rings, are subject to the sharp, cautious eye and quick judgments of the school crossing guard.

When I reached the last corner to cross before arriving at the office, a gas station attendant was putting up the new cost of gas on a tall sign. He was using a long metal pole with a suction cup at one end where the numbers would be attached. He noticed me and said with a smile: "No, sir, it is not ninety-nine cents." Too bad.

My day job

Aside from running this inn, I also work as a social worker. We're often viewed as being liberal, soft-hearted, overly kind, self-sacrifcing, etc. You know, the goody-good. A lot of us are. And I have to say that I have certain attributes like the ones just mentioned. But I have to be tough as well, especially with the mentally ill for whom I serve. Just because one has schizophrenia or bi-polar disorder doesn't mean that one can't also manipulate, lie, cheat, you know, do all the things that we normal theives and cutthroats do. I do my best to coax people to take their medications. You have to understand that in this state, short of a court order, you can refuse to take your medications. So I use whatever approach might work: cognitive, behavioral, existential. Sometimes a "Because you have to" might actually go over, but not often. If someone becomes too psychotic and runs a risk to being a threat to himself or others, I will call the police, the mobile crisis team, get a mental hygiene warrant and work with the cops to execute it. It's a tough job, but I believe in the work. I watch my clients' back, even if they don't want me there.

What I like about America

Hello, there! Nice to meet you (wiping hands off the apron before shaking yours). Must be chilly/wet/hot out there. Come, there's a seat by the window. Perfect for people watching or just daydreaming. I can turn the t.v. down a little (nodding to the bar). By the way, my name's Alan. Just opened up. Not much happening so far. The real estate agent told me that this street is up and coming. Don't mind Ruppie (black and tan cat rubbing against your leg), he's a bit needy, is all. Anyway, take your jacket/coat/hat off there and I'll bring you a soda/beer/glass of wine.

Ah, there we go. If there's anything I like about America, it's a place like this where you can sit and relax and just mind your business while eavesdropping on others. Don't know if you're a Republican or Democrat. Me, I'm an independent who votes Democratic. Why? Dunno. Guess I feel that although the Dems aren't any better than the Reps, at least I believe they might actually like me. The Reps, well, they just seem so angry and paranoid. So adamant about wanting things done they're way, 'cause if it ain't, well, hell's just around the corner then.

Sorry, didn't mean to go on like that. I apologize if you might be a Rep. I'll take your business just as easily as any other visitor. That's what I like about America. We might disagree on a lot of things, but we can share a glass of bubbly or a cup of tea and talk about how to make a better life here. Sounds quixotic, sure, but what the heck. Are we going to talk about how to kill each other?

Look around the world. In some places, you can't even sit down without AK-47s in plain sight. Sad, really. Anyway, welcome, and don't be afraid to holler for some service. Looks like the weather's turning nicer by the look of things outside...