Women I Can Believe In

No matter how you look at it, it’s been a rough election cycle for women, despite all those cracks in the glass ceiling.

First, we had the historic–and historically messy–candidacy of Hillary Clinton. It’s no secret that I wasn’t exactly a fan of Hill’s during the primary season (and it’s no secret to the point that I can’t link to just one post in which I was railing against her).  While her campaign was historic, I frequently found her tactics disgusting. I don’t have daughters, but I have young female cousins and I frequently work with bright young women. And Hillary Clinton is no longer the role model I would choose for them based on her do-anything, say-anything campaign.

But despite my anger, Hillary redeemed herself to me (at least to some extent) with her speech at the Democratic National Convention. Even if it was all bullshit, even if her heart was breaking, her plea to her supporters–”Was it only about me?”–was wonderful (even if it was delivered in an orange pantsuit. Yikes!). When it truly mattered, Hillary put the Democratic Party–and, given what’s at stake in this election, the country–first, and for that, she’s earned back at least a little of the admiration I had for her during her husband’s administration and her terms in the Senate.

The Republicans, not to be outdone, have also given women a historic candidate in Vice-Presidential nominee Sarah Palin. But as far as I’m concerned, the history ends at the fact that Palin has the requisite lady parts. Now, in my opinion, her candidacy is just historically bad. I don’t think I’ve ever so viscerally disagreed with another human being, from her social and economic policies right down to the way she wears her hair.

And then she opened her mouth.

Palin’s speech at the Republican National Convention made Hillary Clinton’s worst moments on the campaign trail look like an argument for her cannonization. The Pitbull with Lipstick Who Looks Like Peggy Hill But Sounds Like Judy Tenuda gave one of the most mean-spirited, hateful–not to mention, completely devoid of any substantive policy–speeches I’ve ever seen (And a close second would be the speech Rudy Guiliani gave immediately before Palin’s, but as I lived in the New York in the waning days of his administration, I already knew what a mean, opportunistic prick he was. And besides, we’re talking about the women here.). I was particularly appalled at how both Palin and Guiliani gleefully slammed the role of the “community organizer,” Palin going so far as to say that community organizers don’t have any “real responsibility.” Well, here’s some information for you, Sarah (and Rudy, who, as the former mayor of New York, which is composed of thousands of small communities, should really know better than to make fun of the work that these people do)–guess where community organizers do most of their work? Churches. That’s right–churches, you self-righteous, Evangelical, holier-than-thou crazy woman. But I’m guessing that someone who embraces the nickname “Sarah Barracuda” probably isn’t too concerned with the least among us unless we’re sending them to do “God’s will” in Iraq or trying “reprogram” them if they’re gay.

So when you’ve been let down by Hillary and Sarah scares the living hell out of you, what’s a politically-inclined girl to do?

Well, I’ll tell you which women I can currently get behind in this election–Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart.

In case you haven’t been paying attention, the McCain campaign has been using the Heart song “Barracuda” as Sarah Palin’s theme song. And even after the Wilson sisters asked them to stop using the song, they went ahead and used it again during the last night of the convention, prompting the sisters to release this statement (and note how they point out the irony in the Republicans using the song–which doesn’t exactly have the most positive message–to promote their girl). 

So kudos to the Wilson sisters for doing what the media apparently isn’t ready to do–stand up to the McCain campaign. Thanks to Ann and Nancy for showing me that there are still some females out there I can believe in. Hell–in light of the farce that this election season has become all around, let’s just go all in–Ann and Nancy Wilson ‘08, Independent Party candidates (And I just arbitrarily put Ann before Nancy–I’ll let them work out the order of the ticket for themselves). Women unite!

And considering that Nancy is married to Cameron Crowe, at least we know the convention videos will be interesting.

Choose Me for VP

Wow–what the fuck was John McCain thinking?

If this were 1972 and Sarah Palin’s name were “Thomas Eagleton,” she would have hopped the first plane back to Alaska yesterday. Instead, the scandal train just keeps rolling right along. And kudos to The Huffington Post today for putting Bristol Palin’s pregnancy far down on the list of Palin’s scandals. While the mainstream media is foaming at the mouth about whether or not Palin’s family is fair game, I’m frankly more interested in her executive experience. Or, rather, her lack thereof. And I’m far more interested in her secessionist views, her affiliations with Senator/Felon Ted Stevens, how she was almost recalled as mayor of Nowhere, Alaska, and her penchant for firing or trying to fire anyone who doesn’t agree with her or messes with her family. So while the Bristol Palin story may be great tabloid fodder (and not to mention an outstanding representative of what’s wrong with her mother’s abstinence-only sex education stance), to me, the Bristol scandal is just icing on the cake. A very underbaked, no-way-in-hell-ready-to-be-a-heartbeat-away-from-the-presidency cake.

For me, the Palin situation is very simple. If by some outside chance 1) Palin stays on the ticket and 2) she and McCain are elected to lead the country, I’m moving to Canada (where, by the way, I have no intention of ever shooting a moose, for burgers or otherwise). I can’t find a single thing about this woman that I would like or support other than the fact that I have to give it up to any woman who has the patience and stamina to birth and raise five kids. But no, Sherri Shepherd, I don’t think a woman is ready to run the country simply based on the fact that she’s had five kids (and the day I take my political cues–any cues, for that matter–from the women on The View is the day that I surrender the hope of ever having a rational thought again. Just thinking about Elisabeth Hasselbeck makes me want to kick something–her, preferably).

Sarah Palin is no more ready to run a country based on the fact that that she’s a mother of five than I’m ready to run a major corporation because I can maintain a household budget. Trust me–I can balance a checkbook but you wouldn’t want me anywhere near a shareholder’s meeting. And I don’t want Sarah Palin anywhere near the White House.

But what the hell–if the McCain campaign thinks that Sarah Palin is ready to be this nation’s second in command, then I think they should just go ahead and pick me as her replacement if she proves to be too scandal-plagued. I know I’m probably more liberal than McCain would like in a running mate, but, hey–he’s a maverick, right? Plus, I’m relatively scandal-free (assuming we overlook my college years. But at least I’ve never been arrested). While I’ve never been a PTA mom (or any mom, for that matter), I’ve done a lot of babysitting and kids like me. And although I’m no former beauty queen, I have been told that I don’t need to walk around with a bag over my head, so I guess that’s something.

And executive and foreign policy experience? I’ve got that all over Sarah Palin. She may be a hockey mom, former mayor, and fledgling governor, but I’ve been an actual, real-life, vice-president. Of a sorority. You think managing five kids is hard? Try scheduling a year’s worth of meetings and activities for fifty-five college girls and see how well you do. And while Palin may have foreign policy experience because Alaska is next to Russia, I’m willing to bet that she’s never actually had to negotiate with the Russians. So I’m up on her there, too, because one summer I lived upstairs from a family of itinerant farm workers from Mexico, and every once in a while they would block my car into the lot with theirs. So, I’d have to negotiate with them to get them to move their car so I could go to class, all while I didn’t speak a word of Spanish and they didn’t speak a word of English. Talk about diplomacy.

So there you have it, John McCain. If this whole Sarah Palin thing doesn’t work out, I’m willing to help you restore your maverick image by letting you choose me for VP. You certainly can’t do any worse, and I’m thinking that maybe you already have.

On a Rocky Mountain Oyster High…

While his usual Sunday morning column may be abbreviated due to his presence in Denver for the Democratic Convention, Jason Linkins is on fire with the funny this morning. And I think he may have set the record for Most Mentions of Fried Bull Testicles in One Blog Article (because I’m sure someone, somewhere is keeping track of those stats).

I so wish I was in Denver right now, and not just because I might be lucky enough to run into Jason Linkins and Chuck Todd and buy them a round of brews and Rocky Mountain Oysters. Frankly, it’s been a long time since I’ve been excited for a Democratic Convention (okay–it’s actually the first time I’ve been excited for a political convention, Democratic or otherwise). And I’d just love to actually be where the action is, right in the middle of all of it.

Instead, I’ll be on the couch, most likely enjoying a few adult beverages and watching history unfold. That is, of course, in between screaming at the punditocracy for wondering what’s so wrong with Obama that he’s not blowing McCain out of the water.

Actually, I have a theory about why Obama’s not blowing McCain out of the water at this point (and I have to give partial credit to my infinitely smart and wise spouse here, because we came up with this theory together). And it’s a theory that dovetails with my theory as to why Obama chose Joe Biden–the older white guy who’s been a senator for nearly forty years and appears to some to be the antithesis to Obama’s “change message”–as his running mate.

And the theory goes like this: No matter what people say, the majority of Americans aren’t ready for “Change We Can Believe In.” What they really want is “Change we can kind of sort of deal with because we know the country’s been headed in the wrong direction and I really wanna like this Obama guy but he’s black and that kind of bothers me–not that I’m racist or anything–and then I also hear he might be a secret Muslim which is sort of weird and then he’s also got that crazy pastor and all these other shady people in Chicago who he maybe kinda sorta hung out with once or twice and that wife of his really has a mouth on her. But he’s got cute kids, though.”

So for the aforementioned Americans–Ladies and Gentlemen, Joe Biden. Obama/Biden–Change You Can Deal With. Biden is a white, working-class Catholic who speaks his mind and is, therefore, prone to the occasional verbal slip-up. Most people can identify with more aspects of Biden’s personality and biography than not, thus making him the perfect person to persuade Americans who are still suspicious of or undecided about Obama to get on board the change train.

And speaking of people who are suspicious, here’s a little note to the Hillary supporters out there who are still angry that she isn’t the nominee/isn’t the VP pick/hasn’t been anointed Queen of the Universe: She lost. Get over it. The DNC did not “disenfranchise” you. The constitution does not cover voting rights in presidential primaries, so if the DNC had suddenly decided in the middle of the primary season that they wanted the nominee to be determined by a WWE Smackdown, then that’s what would have happened (and personally, I’d like to see that happen in 2012, because wouldn’t that be interesting?). You’ll get your moment at the convention and Hillary will presumably give a speech in which she tells all of you for the forty-thousandth time to back the party candidate. So after that, could we maybe all just believe her and get on board before you hand the election to John “I have a proven record of not doing shit for women other than letting them buy me houses” McCain? Please?

So yeah–there are a few reasons as to why Obama’s not blowing McCain away right now and why all the pundits will spend next week foaming at the mouth about what needs to happen during the convention for Obama to really start to run away with the race. None of these reasons preclude the fact, however, that Obama has been ahead of McCain this entire time. Seriously–if you watch the talking heads on the TeeVee, you’d think that Obama’s behind and has no hope of catching up and what the fuck’s wrong with him anyway? But really, what fun would this campaign season be for the pundits if Obama were absolutely smoking McCain’s ass right now? Because as we all know horserace = ratings. But as Chuck Todd has reminded us on several occasions, even a slight lead in the polls can translate to a landslide in the electoral college. And as we all should know by now, electoral math is the only math that matters.

Well, okay, I’m just rambling right now. Maybe I’m just incoherent because I’m sad that I’m not in Denver, and I’m probably a little dizzy from hunger right now as well, so I should probably eat. Fried bull testicles, anyone?

Can I Have a Waffle Cone of Silence with Two Scoops of Vanilla?

Much has been made all over the intertubes about John McCain being in his motorcade and not in the so-called “Cone of Silence” for the first part of Rick Warren’s forum with the Presidential candidates last Saturday night. So my intention here is not to add my voice to the din. My intention is, instead, to say this:

I want a Cone of Silence.

Seriously. Where does one go about getting one?

Right now, when things are crazy at my non-blogging-job-that-actually-pays-me-a-salary, I want nothing more than to hold up my hand when someone approaches my desk and say “Not now–I’m in the Cone of Silence.”

I’d like to leave a message on my voice mail that says, “Hi, you’ve reached Amy. I’m not available to take your call right now because I’m in the Cone of Silence and must not be disturbed. I’ll return your call as soon as Rick Warren calls me to the stage.”

Or maybe my email out-of-office message could read “Amy will be inside the Cone of Silence until August 25. If you need immediate assistance from someone outside the Cone of Silence, please contact _______ at _________.”

Now, I understand that John McCain would have very good reasons for wanting to be outside the Cone of Silence. But unless you’re trying to hear trade secrets or forum questions or other classified information (and I’m not saying that McCain was trying to do any of the aforementioned because, really, who knows? And who’s going to admit that they know if they do?), right now I can’t think of one good reason why anyone would want to be outside of something as serene-sounding as a Cone of Silence. But then again, I’m probably just having a bad day. I just happen to think at the moment that the world might be a better place if we all could retreat into a Cone of Silence every once in a while.

On the other hand, though, I can’t hear the phrase “Cone of Silence” without picturing myself (or John McCain, although I try not to picture him whenever I can possibly help it) trapped underneath a gigantic waffle cone with no one to talk to. Or maybe being forced to wear the world’s largest dunce hat. I realize “Cone of Silence” is just a concept rather than a literal thing, but I can’t help but picture actual cone shapes when I hear the phrase (and the thought of John McCain wearing a gigantic dunce hat is hysterical. And probably a little too apropos on occasion.).

But as much as I yearn for a Cone of Silence most days, I know that in my practical reality I wouldn’t last very long inside one. While I frequently wish that people would just go away and stop talking to me, that feeling quickly passes and I’m suddenly wondering where everyone went because I don’t have anyone to talk to. It’s the eternal paradox of wanting to be alone but not wanting to be lonely, I suppose.

But I guess if I somehow found myself trapped inside a Waffle Cone of Silence, I’d at least be able to eat my way out.

The Little Ph.D Diploma That Could

Apparently, less than one in every one-thousand people on the planet holds a Ph.D. I am one of those people, and while I find the previous statistic overwhelming and humbling, I also find it easy to forget most days because I work at a university. And given the fact that I’m surrounded by Ph.Ds on a daily basis, it’s pretty easy to feel sometimes that I’m the dumbest girl in the room. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if what I’m admitting to here is the secret shame of most Ph.Ds–we’re all looking over our shoulders, waiting for that moment that someone, somewhere finally determines that our dissertation committees were all horribly, horribly wrong and we’re about to be exposed for the unworthy frauds that we are.

Perhaps this secret shame is what drives many of us to proudly display our diplomas in our offices, even though intellectually, everyone knows that none of us would be where we are without terminal degrees. I know that I am driven not only by this secret shame but also by the realization that despite the fact that my business card and email signature end in “Ph.D” and I’m referred to all over campus as “Dr. Amy Martin,” people walk into my office to find what I’ve been told looks like a fifteen-year old girl sitting behind my desk. And while my youthful appearance might score me some points if I were still looking to get a date to the prom, I figure that displaying my diploma in my office might give me some necessary credibility that my physical person doesn’t necessarily project (and the Dave Matthews Band tour posters on my office wall probably don’t help much in the credibility department, but you’ll have to pry those off my walls over my dead body).

So there it sits on my desk for all to see, in a lovely document frame–my Ph.D diploma. Except the document frame is an eight inch by ten inch, and my diploma is a little too small to take up the space, so I had to put a blank piece of paper behind the certificate to give the image that my document actually fits in the document frame. And then a few years ago, the ceiling in my apartment leaked, and my certificate got wet in the corner and now sports an ugly brown water stain.

But I’m generally pretty proud of my Little Ph.D Certificate That Could. And then I go to someone else’s office and see some eleven inch by seventeen inch monster in a gigantic oak frame, and I just want to run back to my office and put my certificate in a drawer before someone comes over and inwardly laughs at it, my teeny little diploma that looks like someone peed on it. 

And yes, I know–I know that it’s not the size of the diploma that matters but what you do with it. I know that for my particular field–composition studies–I went to one of the best schools in the country. But some days I long for a gigantic, old-fashioned diploma printed on real sheepskin. I remember a friend of mine once showed me her grandfather’s master’s degree and the thing took up half the goddamn wall. And it was a master’s degree, which made me wonder if Ph.D diplomas in those days were the size of plasma-screen TVs (and, ironically, my bachelor’s and master’s diplomas are larger in size than my Ph.D diploma, which is just an example of the quirky and entirely random differences between institutions of higher education).

But, again–it’s not the size of the degree but what you do with it. And sometimes, it’s not the degree at all-some of the most insightful people I’ve ever met didn’t finish high school, and a few of the biggest lamebrains I’ve come across hold terminal degrees in their respective fields. “Smart” and “capable” are matters of context. For example, while you might want me critiquing your writing, you certainly wouldn’t want me managing your finances. Under any circumstances. Trust me–you don’t want me around math.

And, ultimately, I know that on days when I’m feeling particularly unworthy of being anywhere within striking distance of the ivory tower, looking up at my wall and seeing a diploma as big as a Medieval tapestry isn’t going to help me. And, on the other hand, some days all I need to do is look over at my little water-stained Ph.D to know that I spent years preparing and that I really do belong in the same room as the rest of the smart kids. But either way, it’s all about me and my abilities, and a little (or big) piece of paper isn’t going to change that. 

And yet, a Ph.D diploma that’s at least as big as my TV would be nice. But I won’t hold my breath for a replacement.