Labor Day

Labor Day heralds the end of summer and is traditionally when I would have my last hurrah before beginning the school year. I have been back to work for a month so this weekend, far from being the ‘deep breath before the plunge,’ is an early, but welcome break. I spent my day at a resort in Scottsdale with friends here from New Zealand and on Saturday, as I’ve mentioned, Gretchen crucified me on Squaw Peak. Monday, I will prepare lessons and reminisce about the days when I spent this weekend on the Connecticut shore.

My favorite Labor Day was when Emily and Elizabeth visited me and we traveled around New England. Emily had lived in Connecticut for a short time before I did and knew a lot more about the area that I had time to learn. We went to this Inn in Essex featuring live music that Emily really enjoyed during her time there.

Emily loves live music. I tend to detest it in small spaces because a small venue usually means a terrible performance. At first we were glued to the wall waiting for a seat but eyeing this family of six that was watching the live music with children clearly agitating to leave the venue and go to bed. The mother at the table, who was a dead ringer for the Duchess of York – only stylish and in shape – motioned for us to take the children’s seats as she put them to bed and left us with her husband who looked like Miles from Murphy Brown. In fact, I was convinced it was Miles from Murphy Brown for a better part of the evening and still hold out a little hope that it was.

We enjoyed the evening and after a bit got to the small talk that Germans tend to skip – we think its rude – and learned that Miles and the Duchess were actually on vacation from San Francisco where he was a lawyer for Greenpeace. In the wake of Hurricane Katrina he exhorted us, lectured us on being active in the community and in politics. The people in our party consisted of teachers, missionaries, and political activists – albeit for more conservative causes – but he was barking up the wrong tree. We were young but not disengaged. My sister has been on more political campaigns than Barack Obama and has advocated for more causes than most.

The rubber hit the road when he the liberal limousine took another hard left turn away from the center and started to talk to us about the environment. My sister and I grew up in Socialist Disneyland where everything this person wanted us to do is a stale, ten or twenty-year-old idea we’ve been doing forever. Anyone my age grew up on a steady diet of fuel economy and recycling will save the world, not to mention those hapless but adorable toads and owls. Everyone, but me, had been drinking so I decided – with the help of my stalwart friend Elizabeth to take the man to task on why people my age don’t drive hybrid cars.

The English teacher on my team wants to read this, can you tell I’m avoiding my signature, “its not a run-on, its just long,” sentence?

Elizabeth and I informed him that people our age do not want to wait in line and pay more for a car that would make us look like an ‘away team’ from the Starship Dork when there was very little positive net impact on the environment – look into the production of those cars, it’s murder on the ecosystem. We knew that ethanol wasn’t perfect either but would prefer to turn Iowa into a Saudi-like economy, growing fat off our energy consumption and fueling their own brand of hate. As Lutherans we’d like to see the sectarian violence directed at and perpetrated between Lutherans since the ELCA is clearly not Lutheran and needs to be taken down a notch.

At one point in the discussion Miles and the Duchess made our Labor Day weekend the best Labor Day weekend there ever was. At one point, and we’re not sure what it was, the Duchess tried to calm him down – pointing out that we were right – and he told her Shut the f*$% up, I’m trying to facilitate a conversation. The liberal limousine – which isn’t hybrid, by the way – came crashing to a halt. Miles got up to go do something, we later learned to pay our tab, and the Duchess assured us not to be worried because he is a f*$%ing judgmental cracker. I’m not sure how the grammar works on that honorific but I know the honorific works for me.

For the rest of the weekend everything was preceded or ended with, “shut the (curse word) up, I’m trying to facilitate a conversation” or “you’re a (curse word) judgmental cracker.” Even simple things like, “thank you for passing the corn,” became opportunities to add in either comment and made the whole weekend really special.

Last weekend, as I have mentioned, a mean drunk that I work with called me a pompous ass and I was offended. Not because she called me a pompous ass (I am) but because the people who know and love me best know to call me a judgmental cracker and tell me to shut the (curse word) up when they’re trying to facilitate a conversation.

Adding to my misery, people here just don’t seem to know how to appreciate me.

Comments

[Terri]

So is it okay if I just call you Cracker, or do I *have* to say your a (curse word) judgmental crack and shut the (expletive) up? ;)

[Spritopias]

I insist on being called judgmental.

[Margaret]

I don't like the f-word, but otherwise, I'm fine with whatever insults mean the most to people.

[Yvonne]

Judgmental Cracker! That's great.

[bettyalready]

Now that's just f****** great! I'm going to be using that. Now that I'm on POPE MODE, would he Facilis Conversacio ex cathadra? Dude. I'm reading pope stuff and scripture stuff and protestant stuff. It's all very...very. AND NOW I TOTALLY GET WHY ELCA aren't really Lutherans. :)