Caustically Optimistic

Hello, Kitty

Today I was called in on my day off to deliver a Jetta.  It came in at one ton, one thousand two hundred thirty pounds, white with tan; client and car are resting comfortably.  It was nice to see someone happy about making such an enormous purchase.  It was touch-and-go for a while and I was afraid they weren’t going to make it but if I come in on my day off, you’re leaving in a car.  I had big plans for my day off, all of which were accomplished – sort of – but I would have liked some time off for myself.  

 

One of the things that I wanted to do was to make Rice Crispy Treats.  We didn’t have all the ingredients so it was okay that I had gone into work and not okay that ALDI was closed by the time I left the dealership.  I had to go to the regular grocery and pay full price for food items that will probably be raided by the other salesmen, who are Neanderthals and won’t appreciate good, home-style cooking. 

 The grocery store was pretty interesting because I was in line behind a woman talking to the cashier about her tattoos.  The cashier was loudly complaining that someone had told her that she had too many tattoos.  I usually avoid this cashier because I used to work at this store and while I didn’t work with her, she annoys me.  I am annoyed because I’d never have been allowed to wear a headband, sunglasses, or have exposed tattoos.  This evening I had no choice

 As I drew closer, following my groceries down the belt, I was able to scrutinize her tattoos better.  She certainly thought she was a badass.  More metal in her face than de la Tour Eiffel and more ink than a Batman comic book.  These weren’t even good or nice tattoos.  They all had the appearance and quality of prison tattoos, and by ‘prison’ I may have meant ‘juvenile detention.’  I didn’t know if I should laugh at this person or send them to the nurse to have the Sharpie tattoos taken off.

 Valerie and I can tell how much learning went on in your classroom by the quality of the Sharpie tattoos coming into our rooms.  It’s one of the many free services we provide.  I love it when my boss tells me, “I don’t pay you to be a smart ass,” and I reply, “I throw that in for free.”

 When that tattooed cashier mentioned, when I was closer, that she was tired of hearing she had too many tattoos I threw in that I didn’t think she had enough.  I think she needed to add more tattoos so that she was expressing herself more clearly.  She didn’t have her arms completely covered in other people’s ideas, symbols, and art.  She was running her hand – the one with evil tattooed on the knuckles – through her hair when I noticed her most important tattoo.  You might think it would be the symbol of her favorite band or the band’s lyrics, or something that might even be significant to someone beside an outsized twelve-year-old like a cross or a heart with “mom” written in it. 

 It was Hello Kitty. 

Not just Hello Kitty, but Hello Kitty that looked like it came from a coloring book filled in by someone with cataracts in the dark.  She went from a wannabe badass to Super Chump in seconds.  It was beautiful and pitiable all at once. 

 Hello Kitty.  Seriously?  I about went Guano Crazy on her.   

 I was on a secret mission, under Emily’s orders,  to get another box of Cheez-its.  We need enough Star Trek uniforms so we can blend in and form an “away team” to make fun of the “renaissance faire” this summer so perhaps I shouldn’t judge.  Perhaps, but there is a huge difference between a t-shirt and permanently altering your body to profess your love of the Insane Clown Posse.  For the record, I have to be Sulu because I’m part Japanese and very jealous of Erin from University who will get to say things like, “Damn it, Emily, I’m a doctor not a zoologist!  I have no idea who she’s kissing!”  At the end of the day we’ll fold up the shirts and store them next to our Quiddich jerseys because while one can have too many tattoos you can never have enough mockery, snark, or t-shirts. 

 

 

Mrs. Curry’s Skills Class

This weekend I got into it on Facebook with my friend Joanna over what should go on in a classroom and what should not.  I am loud, arrogant, and often wrong but one would be hard pressed to point out where I didn’t know what was appropriate in the classroom, for children going through the worst time in their lives.  The essence of the argument was the divergence where a child is one person’s offspring and another’s student and the responsibilities a teacher and a parent hold are incredibly different.  And, yes, I’m aware that winning an argument on the Internet is like, well, I still belong in Mrs. Curry’s Skills Class.

The classroom is absolutely not the place to engineer our society; I cannot teach your children values or correct the misguided ones from bad homes.  I can set a good example.  I can foster a community.  I cannot instill a set of values into them.  The role of the school is to empower our future with the skills and tools to explore and learn about their world. 

Jo, I love you and you’re on my top-five list of Helens to secret off to Troy, but we had a faculty meeting about this and voted.  I am right. 

This argument did teach me something important: despite any doubts or misgivings I do belong in the classroom and it’s high time my exile has ended.  It’s not that I can’t sell cars – although my coworkers will point out that I’m not good at it.  In practice, I’m not a shyster and I am unwilling to bully someone into making a purchase.  Anyone who has bought a car from me has made an educated choice.  Leaving the classroom was a mistake, a very selfish mistake. 

The argument rekindled the fire in my heart to be a teacher, and not only be a teacher but the very best teacher there can be.  It rekindled my desire to get out there and fight: fight for my students, fight for my peers, and fight for my profession.  A great deal of being a teacher isn’t standing in front of the classroom dispensing information or worksheets and we don’t just work nine months of the year, six hours a day, and have excellent retirements.  The bulk of a teacher’s job is creating a community and then maintaining that community so that the students can develop the skills they need to take on the world. 

There are a lot of things we’re asked to do above and beyond that like empower them against bullies or instill civic virtues.  There are battles we have to fight, less against their kids but the army of parents who assume that the ability to make a child somehow instills them with an innate sense of what is right for them as well (not you, Jo); and against our colleagues who are there either with the wrong tools or the wrong motivations; and against the student’s self imposed impediments.  Instructing is the easier part of teaching; the nurturing is the harder part.  I am well equipped and expertly trained to do one thing and that is to be a teacher. 

Now, we just need to find me a classroom and install me in it. 

 

leave the tramp at home

Emily went on vacation without Elizabeth or I, again.  This is putting an incredible strain on our friendship and has caused considerable heartache for Elizabeth and I.  We are very sensitive people.  We’d plan a trip to Cooperstown and Hyde Park and go without Emily but that’s way outside our skill set.  Elizabeth and I are followers.  Emily is a leader.  Emily is a leader who has been vacationing with some tramp; she is cheating on us. 

It wouldn’t be so bad if Emily hadn’t gone to IKEA and the Temple of the Mormons.  I love going to IKEA and I love to point and make remarks in the direction of non-Lutherans.  Emily didn’t even know that the patron saint of IKEA is Vicki or that you should only touch things with tongs if you’re not Swedish.  I have no idea what she is thinking.  I’m also not saying I have something against the Mormons, only other Lutherans.  I still like to go look at non-Lutheran worship space and holy lands to ponder the wrongness of your different-ness.  I know, I know: you should be more PC and accepting!  I like to learn new things, experience the world, and see things that are different than mine.  

I don’t know how Emily had fun without us.  Who can forget the time that Elizabeth and I got drunk at the Samuel Adams Brewery and then proceeded to argue with the tour guide and the Adam’s Historical Home?  I don’t need to be drunk to have fun, but I do need to be drunk to have an excuse.  Also, who can forget all the times that we presented Winkler to someone and insisted that they hold him and pose for a photograph?  That Emily would vacation without Elizabeth and I so flagrantly is odious but it is inexcusable that she’d cast aside her koala as if it were nothing. 

We are taking this class on how to be members of our church and only once has my pastor said, “people who think this are really very stupid,” and I was appalled because he wasn’t talking about the ELCA or even another group of people but about people in our congregation who are wrong-headed about how coffee should be made.  I have learned a lot about being a Lutheran in this class when I expected to just meet people and go to dinner.  I feel bad for the new people in the class because I do not come with a warning label and no one in the class knows me well.  My mentors at University always said that my greatest asset and my worst liability was my honesty.  Oddly enough I felt the need to talk about vacationing with Emily and Elizabeth in class.  I guess normal people go lay on beaches while I am on field trips with the Double E. 

Still, summer beckons and even if I am currently exiled from teaching and thus robbed of my summer holiday I will need to take a token trip to celebrate the ungodly heat and regrettable humidity.  I’m thinking a pilgrimage to Minnesota to visit the land of my father’s ancestors – who are still living – would be nice and we are also thinking of recreating our senior trip by going to King’s Island while also seeing how long Nurse Erin and I can stay around each other and remain sober.  The key to success is a good vacation itinerary, a plan.  Tuesday will determine a great deal about what happens this summer.  Certainly, I’m going to connive a way for Elizabeth to come with me and perhaps we’ll forgive Emily and allow her to tag along. 

But, she’ll have to leave that tramp at home.  

Why Harry Met Stabby

I’ve been going out to eat too much lately with my church membership class and my friends from High School.  We’re working on getting to know each other in the church membership class and I’ve missed my friends from high school and relish the time I get to spend with them.  If I had my own space in the world I’d probably have them over but we all know how that goes and it’s not worth parsing since I do not have my own space.

The drawback of going out to eat isn’t really the expense or the juggling of schedules or picking a restaurant – something I’m notoriously bad at and should never be allowed to do.  The hard part is dealing with the server.  I’d assume that in a down economy that servers would step up their game but by assuming I’ve made an ass out of myself.  I wanted to avoid saying that but I really didn’t want the mass of lame comment from Grammar Queens and Blogging Divas about it.  Servers have seemed to slip and slide right along with Wall Street.  It’s entirely possible that the recipients of bogus bonuses are now waiting tables but that is also unlikely. 

This all came to an inglorious head at margarita night at the Tumbleweed on the river when a lack of restraint almost caused me to share with the waiter that I’d prefer if he was seen and not heard.  It had taken forever for our drinks and food to be ordered, much less arrive and I was at a point where as good a tipper as I may be that I might lose my patience.  I have done many strange things to meet people and make friends.  I’m taking a class to become a member at my church despite being commissioned into the synod and not needing to, I’ve taken part time jobs, and I’ve even taught dance lessons with Melissa.  That having been considered I have a hard time figuring out why people who wait tables think that being clever and personable is going to somehow make up for the fact that it’s been forever and my food hasn’t come or they’ve dallied in asking me what I want. 

I’m also annoyed at people who flirt with me – as if I am that stupid – or who flirt with any member of my harem traveling with me or one of my male friends and not me.  Flirting is a lose-lose situation for you.  If I can’t land any of the ladies in my company it can be absolutely certain that the recently released members of the actuarial department at AIG waiting tables at the establishments we slum through on our way to inebriated abandon aren’t going to either.  It’s not like we go nice places; we’re drinking athletically and with purpose.  While I’m a fan of Dr. Erin’s husband and I’d never break up their marriage I am also still smarting from her being romantically linked to Richard Cobb III instead of with me so I am definitely not going to lose her to some waiter.  And for that matter, neither will her husband. 

That is why I tried to stab you with my fork, that and trying to take my food away right after you brought it.  

the tale of the terrapin

Today as I was driving to work, down the deserted rural road that I live on, a turtle (or terrapin) was crossing the street.  I know very little about wildlife in general but I did recognize this terrapin as one of the endangered species of our area from my time working at the local Boy Scout camp.  I stopped my car, grabbed a shirt from my trunk and picked it up and placed it on the other side where it was headed.  I have never encountered another car on the road traveling in the same direction but on this occasion there was.  The person in the car was so inconvenienced by my car, pulled to the side of the road and stopped with flashers on, that he parked his big truck, got out of it and stomped on the turtle.  He broke the turtle’s shell, which for the uninitiated, is where his backbone is. 

While I was doing this I thought of my patron saint and guardian angel, Suburban Island, who with her son once valiantly saved some baby squirrels who later bit her husband and gave him rabies.  I thought of all the good things that she does and how she tries to better the world around her and make people’s days brighter.  I was doing this for me but I can’t help but think that in trying to do this terrapin a favor I ended his life because someone else is psychotic.  Do Saint Suburban Island’s good deeds go so tragically awry? 

I called Chaos Bean, gave her his license plate number (Kentucky 108 GVK) and continued on my way because had I gotten out of the car again I would have probably be in jail right now.  I’d like to consider myself progressive or liberal in my politics but I didn’t realize that I was so into animals.  If you are a Christian or into “the circle of life” or even an “evangelical” like this person (he had Calvin praying to a little cross and a sticker for Little Flock Baptist Church on the back of his truck), you should have respect for God’s creation or the delicate ecosystem that we’ve made our planet into. 

I despise snakes and they scare me to death but I leave even them alone because I know they serve a purpose in the ecosystem and are a part of God’s plan for the planet.  I’m strongly considering going to Little Flock Baptist Church and calling this disgusting excuse for a human out.  Someone suggested to me that he was crazy and Chaos Bean pointed out that the man has a pretty severe psychotic episode to have attempted to kill an animal like that in full view of the public.  I’ll match your crazy, and raise you.  It was uncalled for and upsetting. 

Chaos Bean went to check on the terrapin for me to see what happened.  She reports that she walked down to where the terrapin was and men from the water company, who corroborated my story, had the turtle and were taking it to the zoo where a person who works with turtles, terrapins, and tortoises and can help them when their shells are broken.  She also informed PETA.  Chaos Bean is above all else a good sister and she may have lied to me about all that to make me feel better but if there is something she loves more than me it’s animals with shells on their backs so I’m pretty sure she did all she could to save that poor little terrapin and make the person who hurt it suffer. 

This is kind of ironic because normally I am the one who is staid and she is the one who is emotional.  Today I was the mess and she was more reserved although upset herself.  I told everyone who would listen and interrupted those who did not and made him or her listen.  When I spoke to Chaos Bean I was very irate and used all kinds of slurs and insults to describe the foul creature who did this thing – the only one fit for print being, “Wal Mart shopper.”  I am still upset. 

I can’t help but think that there is a special place in hell for the man who did this; down there with Judas, Brutus and those of you who litter.  

dysentery vociferous

I was going to say something else to you, namely about Valerie’s bad habit of butt-dialing but when I walked by Chaos Bean’s room and she was watching something where the Lamb Chop puppet was on.  The puppet was of course speaking for someone and saying deplorable things and I’ve discovered a new way to stop disaffecting everyone I encounter: I need a puppet to speak for me when I need to say something that falls outside the bright line of social acceptability and politeness.  Yes, Mom, I need to say those things. 

 I have a constant case of dysentery vociferous (verbal diarrhea) and say things that polite, socially adept people never would.  I think a cute puppet sidekick would solve or preempt many of the problems I encounter in life because everything that enters my head tumbles right out of my mouth.  Sometimes I can counter this by writing things that I want to say in my moleskin journals – which Enzo keeps me equipped with – but other times I can’t contain it by trapping it on paper.  I think something cute speaking for me would be the solution because whatever that precocious lamb said people laughed at and weren’t offended.  And, I don’t blame the lamb for being factious and not a little nasty, if I spent my day with that woman doing a constant full-cavity search I’d be a bit irritable too. 

I could stop it, if I had will power.  We’re talking about the will power that drives a super model’s dietary habits – but I have that will power.  My will is iron and when I direct it towards a goal I eviscerate everything betwixt my goal and myself.  However, a great danger exists if I have my dysentery vociferous cured: I would cease to be me.  It is why people either love or fear me.  With it,  I would become just another puffy, drab Lutheran in a pew with hundreds of other Lutherans around the Midwest.  I have to be myself because everyone else is taken.  I’m a short, ugly, crabby Joe Biden: very crabby.  People need friends who say what they’re thinking and give their unvarnished opinions. 

Indeed, Emily and I spoke of this quality today in one of our mutual friends.  We know that this friend will say what is in their mind without compunction or circumvention.  We’ll hear what they think and not what we want to hear.  If I wanted to hear what I wanted to hear I’d talk to myself.  I know I’m full of crap and don’t know what I am talking about so I don’t.  Who wants to hear from someone who is loud, arrogant, and often wrong?  A lot of people do, Rush Limbaugh is very popular so I have to be myself (everyone else is taken).  However, unlike our friend, I don’t have cute to cover over my offensive repartee so I need a puppet.  

Bachelor Pizza

Sunday is a “Stuff White People Like Dot Com” day for me.  I go to church, listen to NPR, go to brunch, and then do something in the afternoon that would be featured at Stuff White People Like.  One of the things that I listen to on NPR is Splendid Table which is probably named that because the website was free.  I imagine that goes into consideration for many people when naming things since Al Gore linked up the series of tubes we call the Internets.

For the uninitiated, Splendid Table is the radio show for people who love to eat.  You can read all about it other places but the radio host’s raspy voice inspires you to cook neat things and eat well.  Today was a peculiar Sunday because I went to church and left alone so I was listening to the host talk about cooking Mongolian rabbits while sitting in traffic eating Chicken McNuggets.

Another person who inspires me to cook is my friend Emily, author of the Singing Culinista.  One of her first entries was about making an Italian style pizza and I think you’ll enjoy reading it.  I decided to make pizza as well.  Before you read on, you should read her post and Valerie, make sure Tyler takes notes since it will be a while before I can teach him this in person.

 

Bachelor Pizza, a recipe for Tyler

Emily’s blog exists for Emily’s reasons and she explains that pretty well.  My blog exists to entertain people, mainly Valerie who is teaching partner from long ago, and to do a third task which is to educate her son, Tyler - crown prince of Coo-Coostan.  Ashley and I were anointed his aunt and uncle but since I am so far away I cannot teach him in person and must write.  This recipe is a recipe that Tyler should be able to cook – but my money is on the house burning down.  I say that as someone who loves you Tyler.  Please only do this if Kinley is there to supervise.  

Emily’s post begins with a martini and from the beginning we diverge.  I started mine with a good bottle of Samuel Adams.  I chose the Samuel Adams because there is history between Sam, Emily, and I – also Elizabeth.  We three used to vacation together before Elizabeth was married and I was stupid.  We’re hoping I un-stupid soon and can vacation again.  

 

The first thing that Emily did was make dough; I bought dough at the grocer.  At this point my partner in crime, Cindy, is probably having a fit.  Her pizza recipe involves a bottle of red wine and a telephone but the idea of the Pillsbury Doughboy kneading your Italian bread needs is a blasphemy that may drive her back to the rosary.  However, I don’t feel too bad considering the garbage her mother Nettie has feed me, sullying the good name of Italy. 

The next step in making a bachelor pizza is to spread some sauce onto the dough, unfortunately I couldn’t find any pizza sauce at the grocer and I didn't know if we  had any at home.  My father is trained as a chef and told met had he known I was going to do this would have made sauce or let me use a good can of it.  Instead of traditional sauce I used a jar or spaghetti sauce because it is tomato based but not ketchup.  I am not above using ketchup because I am a bachelor but I didn’t want Cindy to disown me.

Spreading the sauce around was a task to be done carefully because you want sauce over the whole thing but you don’t want it too think.  The other issue I had was that I intentionally picked a sauce with vegetables and garlic in it so I wanted to make sure there were chunks of vegetables all over the pan and not just in one location.  My father was pretty pissed that I used a jar that makes a decent back up when homemade sauce is time prohibitive. 

After that you need put on a good layer of mozzarella.  We had two varieties of mozzarella at home but since I was using dough from a can and spaghetti sauce I figured that some cheese in a bag would be just as well.  My parents – especially my father – have a bad habit of not using the American pronunciations of things AND using a fake accent when saying things like muzzarell.  I bought cheese because I didn’t want to have to ask where it was and then stab my father with a pen when I thought one of the Mario brothers had come in through the pipes. 

I’m not a huge fan of cheese so I spread it out in a thin, consistent layer.  I like mozzarella and it’s important to pizza but I’m not a fan of a pizza that’s mainly a piece of bread with melted cheese on top.  I’m also not a fan of a pizza so thick with toppings that you can’t appreciate the flavors of what you’ve put on it.  Getting the right amount of cheese on the pizza was very important to the success of the pizza. 

  Then I put pepperoni on.  Pepperoni pizza is one of my favorite kinds and I’ll confess an affinity for Pizza Hut’s because their pepperoni is crispy like bacon and not chewy.  My family has several different stories about why we converted from Judaism to Christianity but the version I made up in my head goes something along the lines of, “there is a lot of good Italian food that relies on pork products and/or mixing meats with dairy.”  Normally, I would have planned ahead and gone to the Italian deli for sausage or pepperoni but this was spur of the moment and I didn’t want to break up my bachelor theme by using good ingredients. 

Following along with the idea of this being a bachelor pizza I put a layer of pepperoni on the pizza covering it from one end to the other, not overlapping and un-stacked.  If I were making this pizza for friends or company I would have actually made some sausage, peppers, and onions in a frying pan, drained the grease, and used that as a topping.  That’s a bit cost prohibitive for me to make for myself, I can’t justify the expense or the time spent. 

The final step before putting the pizza in the oven is another layer of cheese.  I went light on the first layer of cheese so that I could put another layer of cheese on top without sacrificing the idea of crispy pepperoni.  Now, it is not going to end up as crispy as restaurant style pepperoni but if we went to the root of why that pepperoni is thin we’d probably discover that its sliced thin to save money and not to go for bacon-y goodness. 

Finally, you put it in the toaster oven.  We have been using a toaster oven because cooking is more energy efficient that way.  This would have been a disaster if my father hadn’t intervened because it was set to cook a frozen pizza – something that mystified us because Cindy’s mother hasn’t been there – and it would have cooked my pizza at a lower temperature but for a longer time. 

It was also fortuitous that my father was wandering back through the kitchen when my pizza was done because the timing suggested by the manufacturers didn’t include toaster oven directions meaning my pizza didn’t need to cook so long.  I was reading the labels on all the packages to ensure there were no corn-based products in the bachelor pizza.  My friend Casey cannot have anything corn or she’ll turn into a pillar of salt.  While that would keep the cows happy for a season or two it wouldn’t be that great for a friend. 

When your Dad uses his chef training (and his nose) to rescue your pizza you can be confident that it is ready.  Cut it into squares and serve with a cold beer, because that is how Lutherans do. It is also advisable to save your sister a piece or two – even though she’s protested this pizza being made – and clean the kitchen before your mother comes home.  This is a recipe that every man should know how to make in case there is some catastrophe like poor phone service which would prevent from calling out for pizza.  This is so easy even Tyler can do it, I did and so far no one has died. 

I know what you're thinking, Tyler.  "All pizza is bachelor pizza," which isn't false but this is pizza you would make with your own hands.  Speaking of your hands, I know where they've been and you should wash them before you do anything with food.  No one wants what you picked up at school or in all the other public places you go before you run into soap.  The beer is medicinal, it's a cure for craziness - a hereditary disease we get from our children.  

 

 

America Has Justice

 With the announcement of Justice Souter’s retirement it becomes time to select his replacement.  Since most Americans don’t know how we elect a president I am going to chance that they are unaware of how someone finds himself or herself on the Supreme Court.  Since no one took my suggestion to resolve the Presidential election in viewer driven reality television show, I am going to resubmit it for the Supreme Court. 

The first thing that needs to happen is adjudicators need to be empanelled.  To make this not unlike our political system it will be to be bipartisan, ill informed, and lack tact.  The panel will have five members: myself and the Erin of Saint Louis will represent the progressives and the liberals, Emily, Nathan, and Melinda will represent the conservatives, and Chung and Joanna will represent foreigners who tell us how to run our country (Chung is Chinese by birth and they basically own America and Joanna can fake a British accent).  I would say caustic things along with Emily and Melinda, Nate and Erin would present constructive sounding remarks that are really not and the others would be like Paula Abdul and be supportive.  Sooze will serve as our Dick Clark wannabe doing backstage interviews and introductions.  I have seen American Idol once and could write the script. 

 The second step would be to select contestants, which I have already done and they’ll be introduced later.  The final step would be to air the show weekly and have the American people vote them off one by one until there would be a season finally and we’d have a new Supreme Court justice.  This would be a great thing for our country because it would make jurisprudence sexy and interesting – two things that cannot be said with seriousness right now. 

The third step would, of course, be the contests to see who was best.  When a candidate for the Supreme Court is before the Senate the Senators ask questions they already know the answer to.  This contest is a great deal different and since discussing abortion makes everyone testy we’ll not go there on this show.  Americans all have opinions but can they dance?  Can they sing or spit fire?  How would one candidate match up against another in gladiatorial combat – how far are they really willing to go in defense of the constitution?  What other special talents do they have?  I personally was incredibly annoyed that Senator Kennedy was boring us all by asking Sam Alito about being in a club in Princeton – that he is a member at Harvard – instead of asking about his baseball skills.  What a waste that was!  A good Supreme Court softball team is essential to our democracy.  Besides, how a person feels about cats is more important to me than how they feel about things like gun control or abortion.  You can tell more about a soul by their feelings on cats than by any other measure. 

 The contestants include: 

Alex V., who currently serves as the Attorney General of the People’s Democratic Soviet Socialist Republic of Spritopiastan and hopefully someday the consort to Chaos Bean is our first contestant.  The unique talent he would bring to the Supreme Court is actual experience practicing law – although I submit that by the time one reaches the Supreme Court you would pass the stage where you were practicing.  He can also photo-shop anything and that would make the Supreme Court a great deal more interesting than it already is.  Alex is also a cat person and would be our token man in the competition.  If he loses we can always tie him into another hit show. 

 Mademoiselle Giselle is our second contestant.  Mademoiselle previously served on the Obama Campaign and is owed a job by Barack Obama anyway.  She doesn’t have legal experience, strictly speaking, but she does work like a dog and have no discernable sense of humor, which are plusses when you’re going to hang out with Tony Scalia.  She did endure the better part of a political campaign – successfully – with me underfoot and together we are personally responsible for Obama winning Indiana and therefore the White House; you can argue that other people helped but we’re really not listening.  Her special talent that she’d bring to the Supreme Court would be her uncanny ability to herd cats and get them to bend to her will.  Anyone who can do that can win a reality TV show and move the Supreme Court in her direction. Mademoiselle is very clearly the original cat person. 

Kirsten, who I used to teach with, is another great choice for the Supreme Court.  Not only is she a talented teacher she is also a music teacher so she’ll be able to arrange everything to music, choreograph the other justices, and be able to find an Arizona state standard to apply in any situation.  She also puts on several concerts a year and a full-length musical in a Junior High, something not unlike herding cats.  She has more than her fair share of little black dresses and would save the government a great deal on getting her robes to wear to the Supreme Court.  The special skill she’d add to the court is her ability to suffer fools gladly – a skill any master teacher at a Junior High has – and can listen and then respond to stupid questions with ease.  Her ability to stay awake during faculty meetings makes her well suited for the court and sympathetic to issue of torture.  Kirsten is a cat person as well. 

 The author of The Philosophy Factory is another fine choice for the Supreme Court.  The Simpson’s once had a line stating, “unemployment isn’t effecting just philosophy majors but useful people as well,” and when a job opens on the market we have to see if we can squeeze a philosophy major in there.    Being a Supreme Court justice allegedly involves a great deal of reading and writing – something not unlike the work of philosophy – but it also involves sitting through hours of oral arguments that can sometimes be boring.  The Philosophy Factory has also judged more than her fair share of debate rounds at countless tournaments so she has experience not only pondering but also passing judgment.  Her special skill that she would bring to the Supreme Court would most definitely be her knowledge of the care and feeding of debaters.  Lawyers are just like debaters except that lawyers somehow found people to pay them for what they do.  On the issue of cats, it is important to note that her cats insist on being her avatars protect her identity. 

 Like Alex V, the Nedenia brings a law degree to the table but not only that, as an African American woman her qualifications will be ignored by her “two for one identity politics special,” and will have people burning up the phones to vote for her.  When they find out that she’s an accomplished singer, actor, and attorney they may forgive her past as a community organizer and world traveler and overlook the fact that she’s not ruled over a state with a population the size of Louisville, Kentucky.  The Nedenia speaks in a clear, unadulterated English uttered by those souls blessed to be from the Sunflower State but not only is her speaking ability persuasive and clear, she speaks several languages including French and Republican – bringing a distinctive bipartisan appeal to the court.  Her special ability that she would bring to the court and make it better would be her fashion sense, heralded as our generation’s Michelle Obama, she would give court watchers a safe place to rest their eyes.  She has no cats as per her landlord. 

Our sixth contestant is Melody.  Melody is one of the few Master Jedi known to live in the wild in North America.  Her Jedi abilities are unmatched and she is recognized as the greatest Jedi in the Rocky Mountain District.  Several companies and governmental agencies have hired Melody for her valuable insights not to mention telekinesis and being able to choke someone out from across the room.  Can you imagine how cleaned up oral arguments would be at the Supreme Court if they had contend with Justice Melody, Master Jedi?  I contend that she would usher in a new era of civility and succinctness to the court unseen in recent years.  She could also help bring consensus to the court with her ability to manipulate the weak-minded.   Also, in a time when international law is becoming more and more a factor in our lives, why not jump the gun and get an expert on interstellar law?  We may not even need to have the show.  Melody has a cat, clearly making her eligible for the show. 

 There are few people tuned in to what is really important to Americans as the author of Suburban Island.  Suburban Island brings something unique to the table in that she has our pulse.  Did we really pay attention to the Presidential Election?  Not really.  Did we pay attention to American Idol?  Did I really need to ask that?  It’s why we know who Fantasia is and still think that Barack Obama is an inexperienced Muslim and the goiter on John McCain’s neck is Lord Voldemort.  She knows that we really do not understand our Government or current events; we don’t care and are perfectly happy that way.  Her prowess as a web-based journalist would bring to the court the ability to condense everything into a brief, poignant story (with pictures) that we can all learn something from and appreciate.  If the current justices could do that then perhaps we would pay more attention but it really isn’t our fault that they are boring.  Suburban Island would bring the ability to understand the world and translate it into terms we can appreciate to the court so it is easily over-looked that she doesn’t like cats. 

 Our final contestant would be Jill.  Jill is a well-educated and experienced teacher who is enjoying the chance to be at home with her children while they’re little and cute; besides people don’t want to hang around other people’s kids until they’re potty trained.  Ruth Ginsburg and Sandra O’Connor are swell people but I’m pretty sure they have no idea what it is really like to be sequestered at home with small children or to fight the lines at the grocer.  If they do it’s been a long, long time since they’ve actually done it.  Also, Jill is a genius.  She teaches her kids at home, makes their clothes, finds amazing ways to save money and still have nice things, loves Jesus, doesn’t shop at Wal Mart, grows all their food, built their house from scratch, and unlike other women submitted for jobs like the vice-presidency, she can speak in public without people cringing.  Her practical, no-nonsense approach to life and her wisdom as a mother and a teacher would be like a cool breeze in Phoenix at the Supreme Court; that and her uncanny ability to make people feel guilty would make her an honorary Jewish Mother and a fast friend of Ruth Ginsburg.  She could also do the Supreme Court job and still run her household and teach her kids.  The only reason she would lose is that we don’t like people who make us look bad and Jill makes us all look like a pack of sloth monsters from planet McDonald’s.  Jill has no cats, she has small boys at home and cats don’t deserve that.