The Local Paper

Back when I was attending office holiday parties, I wasn’t above grabbing the name tags intended for spouses and have a little fun. I generally stuck with one or two, but over time I developed a list of other names that never got used. I figured I’d share the list in the hopes that it brightens your day. If you’ve got any additional ideas, I’d love to hear them. Enjoy.

1. Marion Bright
2. Hal Lelujah
3. Byrum Babumbum
4. Dick T. Halls
5. Noel Bjorn Iztheking
6. Chet Snuts
7. Harold Angels
8. Gloria S. Ongofold
9. Miss L. Toe
10. L. B. Homeforchristmas
11. Will T. Omen
12. Al Iscalm
13. Al Isbright
14. Cy Lentnight

Another Day in Paradise

Old Thinking:  I prefer cold weather to abjectly hot weather because if it’s cold, you can always put more clothes on, but when it’s really hot, even taking off every stitch of clothing you have on won’t cool you down.

New Thinking:  How could I have been so friggin’ stupid to think that?

It’s the time of the year when even life-long Chicagoans ask themselves “Why do I live here?”  It is a question of particular curiosity for me, because I don’t have a job and could look for a new one anywhere in the world—even God forbid, someplace warm.

The Great Book of Parenting will note that I continue to look for work in this beautiful for 9 months out of the year (ok, maybe 6 months out of the year—check that, 4 non-consecutive months out of the year) place only so my children stay with their friends.  I told my 16-yr old that a few months back when she was complaining about the weather,  “Hey Caroline, I don’t have to look for a job here.  We can live anywhere!  Think of the possibilities!  I just thought you wanted to stay here and go to school with your friends.”  She has not complained about the weather since.

The winter thinking is so perverse that you curse the clear days and think, “If we just had some cloud cover…”

We’ve lived in Chicago for almost 20 years now.  The closest I ever came to leaving was one April day in 1997 when there was a freak (!) three-inch slush fall and I had to walk the half-mile home without any overshoes.  Tromping through the muck, slipping every third step I muttered first, then shouted once I realized that I’d ruined my shoes “Why do I live here?”  The next day a headhunter called me about a job in North Carolina (state motto:  Spit Cup Optional).  I took the call and very nearly took the job.  It wasn’t the weather there that kept me from doing it. It was because two of the people I met there couldn’t remember either their young children’s ages or what grades they were in.  Seriously.

It occurred to me this morning that the conditions here today are so severe that they meet even John Yoo’s definition of torture—“an activity that could lead to organ failure, impairment of bodily function or even death.”  Perhaps Amnesty International can get the UN Human Rights Commission to take action to outlaw The Alberta Clipper.  Tomorrow’s Chicago Tribune headline:  “Dick Cheney Endorses Subzero Temps”.  Maybe this is the reason they want to move the Gitmo prisoners to western Illinois—we’ve exposed them to the brutal sun and humidity of Cuba, now it’s time for a little Arctic blast. Tell us what we want to hear or else we’ll take your coat away from you.

But if I didn’t live here, what would there be to complain about? Humidity?  Mudslides and forest fires?  The federal government’s failure to protect my beachfront home from hurricanes or its attempt to “steal” beachfront property from me by creating a buffer to protect my property from erosion and hurricanes? The fact that sand gets all over the carpeting? Skin cancer and the lack of adequate dermatology coverage in the Health Care Reform bill?

As I look out my window, for about the last 15 minutes there has been a constant flow of Canada Geese flying overhead in their characteristic V formations, headed south to crap on golf courses there.  Wave after wave of them, about twenty per group.  Honking and mocking me in my overly bundled up, but still not warm state.

No matter which direction you walk in the winter, you’re always walking into the wind.

From
today’s Wall
Street Journal comes an article about two guys who just
don’t get it. One, Jonathan Wurfel of Rolling Meadows, Illinois,
doesn’t seem to understand even the most rudimentary thing about
being an investor in common equity. “Should common shareholders now
serve as the final scapegoat for others’ flaunty egos and suffer a
total and complete loss?, he asks the Federal Bankruptcy Judge.
YES, that’s what common equity is, the last place money goes after
lenders get paid on their claims.  The people from whom CIT borrowed money
accepted stock in lieu of cash.  That’s
the way it works when
you owe more than you can repay.  That’s the definition of
“bankrupt.”  If there’s no equity, owners get nothing. You,
Mr. Wurfel, were and owner and you get nothing. In a fitting piece
of irony, Wurefl’s letter head is reported to be adorned with an
image of Wile E. Coyote from Looney Tunes.  I would have
suggested Porky Pig.  “Abedee, abedee, abedee That’s all
folks!” This is why people know there’s money to be made in the
stock market.  You’re not picking company stocks, you’re
taking money from fools.e

Maybe Sasha and Melia fight more than we all realize.

Will this make passing Health Care Reform seem small by comparison?

This is really a sign that the Nobel Committee loves getting Rush and them all fired up.  I hope they send a thank you card and a check to Oslo, for giving them more material than they can possibly handle.

This gives you a pretty good idea of the state of what constitutes “peace” these days.

Obama in Oslo is preferable to Bush in The Haig.

In 8 months, Obama received a Nobel Prize, in 8 years, Bush received two shoes. (h/t to TheBigHomieJ)

What can he possibly do for an encore?

What prize will he be awarded when he actually DOES something?

Does this mean that he won’t spend the last two years of his presidency on a “Legacy Project”.

Has the Nobel Committee ever awarded a prize in advance before?

Today’s Headline: President Awarded Peace Prize; Sends 60,000 more troops to Afghanistan.  Discuss.

I was reminded of an old joke, arguably mildly humorous, this morning about a guy who lived by a river.  Heavy rains come and the river rises quickly.  A neighbor come by with a rope.  “Come on,” the neighbor says.  “We can tie ourselves together and make it out of here.”

“No,” the homeowner replied, “I have faith in God and he will deliver me a miracle.”  As the neighbor wades away to safety and the homeowner keeps waiting and praying.  As the water keeps rising up to the man’s neck, a man comes by in a boat and says “Get in!” but the homeowner demurs, “No, I have faith in the Lord and he will bring me a miracle.”

Finally, the man is forced onto his roof as the waters swamp his home.  The National Guard patrolling in a helicopter spots him and drops him a rope, but he again refuses the rescue, citing his faith that God will deliver a miracle.  The water continues to rise and eventually drowns the faithful homeowner, who arrives at the gates of heaven, shaken by the fact that God failed to deliver the miracle he so faithfully sought.  He tells Saint Peter of his great faith and frustration that his prayers were not answered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” St. Peter told him.  “The Big Guy sent you a guy with a rope, a boat and a helicopter but you were too stupid to accept the help.”

Whatever mild humor that existed in this tale ceased to amuse me this morning as I read this story about the sentencing of a Wisconsin couple who chose prayer over medical treatment for their 11-year old diabetic daughter.  The child, Madeline Kara Neumann died on March 23, 2008, unable to walk or talk in the days leading up to her death.  (This is not a story I’d heard before, as early 2008 is a period that I can only recall being at work trying to save my little corner of the banking industry.  I succeeded in one sense and failed in another, but that’s another story).

The miracle these parents were praying for appeared in the form of pharmaceuticals, myriad doctors, nurses and hospitals within a 25-mile radius of their suburban Wausau, Wisconsin home that had the means and ability to treat their daughter.  Their prayers were answered, they just didn’t get the message in the form that they wanted it, and their child died as a result.

I know this is a sensitive topic for people and I’m sorry if there’s something about this story that I’m missing from a faith perspective.  I am a person of faith. I’m not criticizing these people for having faith.  I’ve been wearing out the prayer rug myself lately, but this is an achingly sad story.  These folks missed the rope, boat and helicopter that God sent for them.  I fear that the only lesson they took away from this (because they expressed no remorse at the sentencing according to the New York Times piece) is that they should have prayed harder and victory would have come their way. It’s not unlike athletes coming off the field after a game.  The winners often thank God for answering their prayers with victory, implying that the losing team isn’t getting their prayers heard or that they’re insufficiently faithful.

I understand that structuring a penalty as they judge did in this case is not uncommon when there are other children to be cared for, but I can’t help feeling that the judge was unnecessarily generous to them after they failed the first responsibility of parenting—protect the child.

If I were one of their remaining children, I know what I’d be praying for: “Please God, don’t let me get sick.”