John Dingell’s town hall meeting erupted in chaos, as the Journalese goes. Some guy pushed his son’s wheelchair up to the podium and extended a trembling finger at the 81-year-old congressman; he was so calm and reasoned, the police had to escort him out. But that wasn’t the worst of it:
“You may be dead in five years!” shouted Val Butsicaris, 60, of Taylor. “They may euthanize you!” She referred to concerns of government rationing of care for elderly people.
Where do these people get these ideas? Yes, that’s a rhetorical question. Click through and look at some of those pictures — the faces contorted with rage, etc. Weren’t these the same people who fretted not long ago about the lack of courtesy in American life? Yeah, I thought so. Not to mention the cognitive dissonance:
“The government wants to control my body, my health care decisions and the doctors I see,” said Christine Wofford, 56, of Canton, who distributed literature from the Liberty Council, a Lynchburg, Va., religious civil rights law firm.
Where have I heard those phrases before? And hey, Lynchburg — the San Francisco of the right wing. Or is that Colorado Springs?
Everybody’s angry these days. George Sodini, verrrry angry. Smart operators know angry is a cash machine. Here’s Sodini’s guru, “John White, who uses the professional name R. Don Steele,” a man who calls himself…
According to Steele’s Web site, steelballs.com, he is a marriage, family and child counselor in private practice since 1976 and an author since 1984. The site indicates he attended Clarion University of Pennsylvania, Penn State University and the University of Southern California before earning a bachelor’s degree in philosophy from California State University at Fullerton and a master’s degree in psychology from California State University at Northridge.
Steele offers blunt instructions to would-be Romeos:
“The all time DATE DESTROYER is being a NICE GUY. You must be a Man of Steel Balls,” Steele insists.
Isn’t that comforting? It’s always useful, when looking at Sodini and his ilk, to consider that the healthier ones go out and buy a Russian or Filipino bride.
Makes you want to euthanize yourself, doesn’t it? Let’s take a left turn into calmer waters. I forgot to blog this earlier, yet another NYT OMG-I-have-problems piece from Wednesday, about the New York foodie equivalent of roughing it:
Part of me loves to navigate the culinary wilderness of rental homes: the stale McCormick spices, the speckled enamel stockpots in which countless visitors have boiled their corn. Another part of me wants to make sure I can pull the cork from a bottle of wine and turn pork chops with a pair of tongs and whisk mayonnaise when I get there.
[Broad wink] Mayonnaise!
…That was my revelation this June: one needs only a cast-iron skillet to survive. I used it to scramble eggs in the morning, and make grilled cheese for my children at lunchtime, and cook bacon for spaghetti alla amatriciana, and crust up diced, boiled potatoes, and fry breaded pieces of tender Chatham cod. Not for an instant did I miss the All-Clad arsenal in my Brooklyn kitchen.
I love the bravery this woman shows, don’t you? Even in the face of stale McCormick spices, she finds a way to soldier on.
If it isn’t already abundantly clear, I got nothin’ today. I’m prepping for a meeting, calculating end-of-term grades and looking forward to the rest of August, which I intend to spend working on Fun Writing, as opposed to the non-fun kind. I can’t identify with Angry right now. Maybe you folks would like to discuss the films of John Hughes, which I liked, but not as much as I did his National Lampoon-era fiction (“My Penis,” “My Vagina,” et al) — he’s sort of the male Nora Ephron, for me. Although they all pretty much blur together, don’t they? “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” — that’s my favorite. “The Breakfast Club” doesn’t hold up, never saw “Sixteen Candles,” and “Home Alone” boiled down to the kid slapping his cheeks and making an O face. I’m reminded of a friend’s summation of Robin Williams: Stop me before I warm your heart again. But if you liked him, that’s fine. We all have our enthusiasms.
Off to organize papers. Woo.