I was looking thru an old broke-down laptop this week, and came across this story on a word document, and… did *I* write this? I don’t remember writing it, but it sounds just like me, especially the Alice-in-Wonderland-like last paragraph. I’m pretty sure I never published it, but it’s funny I find it again right now, just as Congressional Republicans are once again threatening us with financial armageddon like they did 12 years ago (if you remember.)
Funny – did I write too much over the last 12 years, or drink too much? Probably a little of both. Anyway there are a couple things I don’t like about it (and maybe that’s why I didn’t publish it.) There’s the knee-jerk pox-on-both-houses blaming the situation on BOTH Parties – when actually it is just the Republicans who think that threatening not to pay our bills – THEIR bills – is a handy and appropriate way to force unconscionable concessions from the Democrats. Also, the sentimental fantasy in the final sentence that the People of America could do something about the Debt Ceiling if the two Parties just got out of the way.
Yeah, maybe that’s why I didn’t publish it 12 years ago. Anyway, THIS IS YOUR MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND OPEN THREAD GOING FORWARD. Talk about whatever. Make us cry, make us laugh, but for God’s sake make us smarter.
That night at dinner, just like every evening the previous few weeks, Michelle was “This is all your fault” and Gabriel was all, “No, dear, it’s actually mostly your fault.” Finally, having had enough, 14-year-old Brandon shouted, “Will you two shut up!” His parents sat up in shock, eyes wide open. “Why don’t you listen to what Mr. Poor actually wrote? Mr. Standard N. Poor? Sally, do you have that letter?”
His little sister pulled a couple of pages out of her purse, while her father stammered, “Where did you find that?” She handed it to her brother, who recited, “We regretfully downgrade this family because of MRS. Johnson’s refusal to consider adding any REVENUE to her family’s budget, and her constant threats to default on the debt.”
Eleven-year-old Joshua chimed in, “Yeah mom, all the Wagner kids heard you at that party Friday night laughing and saying ‘Maybe it’s not such a big deal if our family defaults!’ They said you sounded drunk.”
Michelle sat with her head held high, proudly. “What I discovered was that this family’s finances are a hostage that’s worth holding for ransom. And look what happened, I got 98% of what I wanted, didn’t I?”
Chaos broke out at the dinner table. Seventeen-year-old Charlene was loudest. “Great, mom. 98% of what you wanted. Now we’re down to two meals a day, you’ve liquidated the savings account for our college educations, YOU won’t get a job…”
“If I got a damn job, I couldn’t stay home and make sure YOU don’t get an abortion!” snapped Michelle.
“Yeah, wonderful,” Charlene muttered with her head down. “Another mouth we can’t afford to feed.”
Nine-year-old Randy broke the awkward silence, “And why do we have to keep paying for armed guards for half the houses on the street? How much does THAT cost us??”
All the other children joined in, “Yeah, Mom, why all the armed guards? Can’t some of the neighbors chip in for that?”
“Randy, dear, this is a dangerous, dangerous street, and we need to keep our friends close and our enemies closer. We are the family the other families look up to for protection, the shining house on the hill. I know you’re too young to remember, Randy. But have the rest of you forgotten what happened here ten years ago? Do I need to tell you the story again???”
Gabriel quietly observed, “You know, the kids are right, Michelle. We COULD let a FEW of those armed guards go, and save a LOT.”
“Why do all you people hate this family?” Tears began to roll down Michelle’s eyes. “I’m walking out of here!” She slammed down her silverware and stomped out of the dining room into her bedroom.
Gabriel sat there shaking his head. “Real piece of work, that mother of yours.” Chuckling, he began, “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t – “
“You haven’t exactly covered yourself in glory either, Dad” interrupted 12-year-old Chelsea.
“WHAT?”
“Jeffery, do you have that tape we made? Of Mom and Dad’s so-called negotiations?” Six-year-old Jeffery grinned from ear to ear, showing a missing front tooth, and pulled out some kind of little I-POD. “No! Please don’t play that Jeffrey!” Gabriel pleaded, “I can’t go through all that again.”
“Suffice it to say, Dad, you gave Mom EVERYTHING she wanted. Our college educations – gone. Our health insurance gone. No new income at all.”
“Where are those jobs you promised us, Dad?” snapped sixteen-year-old Greg, and his fellow quintuplet brothers joined in a cacophony, “Yeah! If we had work, we could help out here. That’s all we want to do… You’re the employer of last resort, Dad!”
“Your Mother…”
“Wait – is that her on the phone now? Is she drunk again?”
The family suddenly hushed, and they could hear Michelle clearly yelling on the phone – she was yelling loud enough for them to hear, on purpose. “Mr. Poor? I just want you to know that next month I am going to shut the Johnson family down. We – “
Gabriel jumped out of his chair and picked up the extension. “I’m sorry, Mr. Poor. Please ignore this call. Michelle – GET OFF THE PHONE. Mr. Poor, I am going to have her committed first thing in the morning. Don’t worry, this family will always pay its debts and we are NOT SHUTTING DOWN.”
Gabriel hung up, sat down at the table and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. “Children, there is really only so much I can do. If I were a government I could create jobs. If I were a government, and not just the head of a family, I could briefly run up a deficit to get the economy cranked up again. If I were a government – “
“Wait a second,” puzzled eight-year old Chutney. “IF you were a government? But I thought…”
“So you’re saying there’s only so far this whole metaphor can be taken?” one-year-old Biff piped up from his high chair through a mouthful of Gerber’s. The whole family stared – those were the first words they had ever heard him utter. They looked down at their hands…which began to dissolve into formless stumps. Limb by limb, face by face, they slowly dissolved; they tried to speak but their very thoughts were inchoate. Finally it was just we Americans sitting here, trying to figure out what to do next.
****************
That was back when S&P downgraded America’s credit to “Double-A-Plus.” Which reminds me of something else: My mom used to sing “Stars and Stripes Forever” with some silly lyrics that started “Be kind to your web-footed friends, for a duck could be somebody’s mother…” I found out a few years ago that she got those lyrics from Milton Berle’s short-lived radio show. But old Milton didn’t finish writing the lyrics, HE thought it was hella funny to go “You may think that this is the end; WELL YOU’RE RIGHT!” and stop abruptly in the middle of the tune. I didn’t think that was so fucking funny, so I finished the verse off, with a reference to our nation’s new “Double-A-Plus” credit rating:
Be kind to your web-footed friends
cuz a duck could be somebody’s mother.
Be kind to your friends in the swamp
cuz they live where it’s very very damp.
Well you may think that this is the end:
You’d be wrong, like a million more before you.
This song’s rated Double-A-Plus,
and after this we have a dozen more to bore you!
Question for the blog attorney. If someone is employed as a lawyer for the Federal Government,locally how come they are not found on the California Bar website? Can they legally be an attorney in California and not be registered with the State Bar as long as they don’t practice in local courts? There’s a reason I ask.
Being a lawyer in the federal government, admitted and in good standing in another state, may be another exception. This would likely fall into the “in-house” category in my reply to Paul, although it may not apply to litigators. I suspect that their condition would be similar to lawyers who are admitted in a limited capacity to a state for a specific case or cases. After Hurricane Katrina, for example, I was allowed to practice in Mississippi, helping victims of the hurricane navigate federal government red tape (and I think even advocating on their behalf, though not in court.) I did all this from New York, not Mississippi, and was not required to take the Mississippi Bar Exam.
CA State Bar membership is no longer mandatory it’s voluntary . You may find that lawyer on the ABA membership list or any of several specialized bar associations in CA.
I don’t know where you got that idea, Paul. OC Bar Association membership is voluntary; I think that there’s such a thing as “American Bar Association” membership, which is voluntary. But in California every lawyer is automatically a member of the State Bar unless (as I recall) they resign, passed the bar in another state, or fall into certain exceptions, such as teaching law without practicing, clerking, admitted in another jurisdiction and admitted ad hoc for a particular case, or possibly working in-house for a single client.
But other than that, if you’re practicing law in California, you’re a member of the Cal Bar and you’re paying dues annually — and they’re pretty steep. And to my knowledge this hasn’t recently changed.
Myt bad I got it confused with the aba
No problem. It’s a weird system.
Poem for Memorial Day (c/o The Rude Pundit)
Game Over
by Eli Wright
Maybe it was our aimless idealism, or misguided patriotism.
Maybe we just didn’t understand what we were getting ourselves into.
Driven by the desire to serve some greater good,
or follow in the footsteps of our fathers.
Some of us needed money for college,
or wanted to see the world in a new way.
But we couldn’t find any other way to pay for it.
We wanted to prove that we were men,
So we took the oath, then traded our Nintendo’s for M-16’s.
We started out pushing buttons, ended up pulling triggers,
and it was like no game we had ever played before.
When we first tasted war, we became addicts.
Got hooked on bullet crack and artillery blast.
Every day one of us would overdose on sniper shot or IED.
Some of us never got sober, relapsed on 3 or 4 tours.
Wishing we could just go back to playing video games or Cops & Robbers again.
But there was no reset button this time.
No getting back up after counting to ten.
Our eyes were sewn open,
unable to look away from horror stories unfolding in front of us.
We came home incomplete, with no words to describe
how our hearts are now beating us black and blue
for some of the things we had to see and do.
We all got what we asked for, in one way or another.
But maybe we bit off more than we could chew
and we’re still struggling to swallow it all.
We’re still choking on the truth that we were lied to.
And even though they said our war was over, it sure doesn’t seem that way.
But hopefully,
one of these days,
we’ll finally make it back home.
(This poem comes from Warrior Writers, a non-profit organization that teaches and gives space for veterans to write and create art about their experiences. You can donate here. https://www.warriorwriters.org/donate.html)
Our troll sent us a copy of an e-mail that he/she supposedly sent Joanna Weiss, about what bad people me and Greg are. I don’t know what makes the troll think Ms. Weiss would give a damn about what some anonymous person says about a couple of bloggers they don’t like.
So far just another trash comment like we get every day. It’s just that this part cracked me up too much:
“This comes from the Liberal OC, a trusted progressive Orange County political blog, known for it’s dedication to honest political reporting (even when uncomfortable).”
ROTFLMAO!
Th Lib OC doesn’t have a headline on a story saying Scott Baugh is a pedophile. Good luck with that libel suit
Where’s that headline?
*Meanwhile, on the Trump indictment: “At least Adoph was prior service military, had very good hair and sort of a cute mustache.”
Ever notice how Rockwell’s old lady is proffering a 30 pound turkey like it’s light as a feather?
She’s a hardy old broad, strong on the plow. Just look at those forearms.