i love hypocrites

everybody is a hypocrite about hypocrites. 

nobody admits that he's a hypocrite - it's always someone else (usually a religious person). but we're all hypocrites, for crying out loud. we all tell everybody to do stuff and then we don't do it ourselves. and, in a certain way, i don't have a problem with that. mattera fact, i like that!

look. of course the higher ideal is to do both - say it. do it. but how does saying it and not doing it make the truth of what you said any less real? 

it doesn't.

what would be better? to say it and not do it or to not say it and not do it? to paraphrase meatloaf, one out of two ain't bad.

i don't even necessarily have a problem with people who say it, don't do it, but say they do it. at least they have sense enough to understand that what they are preaching is right - and at least they have enough dignity left in themselves to want to present as doing the right. i don't have a problem with that, folks. do i prefer it? of course not.

here's what i prefer: i prefer that you not call anybody a hypocrite unless you are absolutely sure that you have never been one. and if you have never been one, then grab hold of the hand of one who has (is). 

that will really prove you're not one.

party with respect

wouldn't it be great if people actually did that?


a party with respect would be like this: after a loved one dies, you spend a decent chunk of time commemorating him. and then you have a casserole and cake in the backyard with your friends.

a party with respect would be the music turned up high enough so only the invited guests could hear it. (unless it's the beach boys in which case, crank, baby. crank.)

a party with respect would have people arriving when you asked them to - not early and not late. arriving early or arriving late isn't fashionable or anything else - it's selfish. don't do it.

a party with respect would have the guests bringing something without being asked to - and no, not a bag of flowers from kroger which you ran into at the last minute on the way over to the party because someone in the car said, "shouldn't we bring something" and everyone else said, "CRAP!"


a party with respect has relish for the sacrifice of the soldiers ahead of relish for the hot dogs. 


happy memorial day, everyone.

thought about writin' but didn't

i haven't written anything lately cuz i haven't had anything to write about. (which doesn't seem to stop a lot of people.)



i thought about writing about the sky and how it comes right down to the ground but we never think of it like that.

i thought about writing about how the earth, from its center, comes right up to the sky. but we never think about that, either.

i toyed around with the idea of australia and how you try explaining to a 5-year old why they aren't all walkin' upside down over there.

how it seems like the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. but that isn't really what's happening at all.




how, if we can be so wrong about all of that, some of you still don't believe in God.

miss

in the '50s and '60s "miss" meant an unmarried adult female.

in the '70s it meant an unmarried adult female and you're sexist.

in 2006, when i moved to virginia, it blew me outa the water.

in virginia, somebody called me "miss," ahead of "nancy" for the first time in my life. (prior to that, i had only occasionally been called "miss" - and always without my first name. and always at the end of a sentence, as in, "excuse me, miss" as said by someone, usually a gentleman (oops! sexist!),as he passed ahead of me in line).

but never - never - (except for my grandparents who would sometimes address my birthday cards with "miss nancy rankin," but they only did that when i was really little and they were trying, i guess, to make me feel more grown up or somethin' but hell, i felt grown up enough - it was my birthday, for pete's sake! - so they really didn't need to bother).....but never - that is, never until i moved to virginia in 2006 - did anyone seriously, for real, no foolin', no kiddin' call me "miss nancy," and when he said it, i nearly died.

the fact that the someone was an elderly black man (at my workplace, on the first day of my new job) was the main reason (but not the only one) that i nearly died. my first instinct was to apologize to him. and to remind him that rosa parks moved to the front of that bus - and so could (should) he.

but i didn't. i simply smiled and returned his greeting. and walked away thinking, wow.....they (my yankee friends and family) warned me that richmond, virginia is still stuck in the mid-1800s! and i assumed that this man's greeting to me in that manner was a cultural leftover - and i didn't give it much more thought.

until, about 5 minutes later when my (new) boss called me the same thing! and i heard people calling her that. and as my first day wore on, i heard everybody calling everybody "miss" or "mr." that is, everyone who was either older or in a position of more authority. 

i remember going home after that first day and telling my then-husband, whoa, dude, we're not in kansas anymore. and i asked him if everyone at his workplace calls everybody "miss" and "mr." and he said, "no, but that might be because practically nobody where i work is from the south."

in the weeks and months that followed, i gradually became accustomed to being addressed as "miss nancy," but i never - never - was comfortable with it. for my clients (who were kids) to call me "miss nancy" was one thing. for my boss? and the board president? whoa. it brought up all kinds of feelings then (and it brings up all kinds of feelings right now, just typing about it).

it brought/brings up:

1. shame. i do not want you to feel that you need to address me that way. i am not better than you. please. just call me "nancy."
2. anger. what's wrong with you people? haven't you ever heard of "ms." magazine?
3. nostalgia. i remember - fondly - calling my teachers "miss" or "mrs." or "mr." a big part of me wanted to go back.
4. fear. am i getting old?
5. fear. what kind of place had my (then)-husband and i moved to?
6. fear. i am in a cultural disjoint - every bit as disjointed as i would be in if i were in another country and couldn't speak the language - because i was! and i couldn't! and it was english! and i didn't know how to handle all this strangeness. (because, as it turned out, "miss" was just the tip of the iceberg.)

i am glad - very glad -(well, sort of glad) to be back in ohio now - where nobody calls me "miss."

but, crap. they call me "ms."

Lord......that's another blog.