L in the Southeast's Open Salon Blog

Bloomberg is Grasping at Straws

Thu, 31 May 2012 19:05:48 -0400

Every time I go to a movie theater or a fast-food store and order a soft drink (diet-only for me) I am shocked that the size of the “small” has increased to what was once considered excessively large. Portions have gotten so big, one might as well smuggle a 2-liter bottle of their fizzy liquid of choice into the establishment. That’s about the size of the Big Gulp-type cups these days.

New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s call for restaurants to limit the size of sugary soft drinks to a maximum 16 ounces struck the moderate portion of my politics when I heard about it this morning. Almost like a bona fide conservative, I thought “Wait just a damn minute!”

Do I think the government in the form of this mayor is overstepping its boundaries with this measure? Yes, I kind of do. It’s just probably not for the same reasons as my Republican compadres will be yelling about tomorrow.

Sometimes our leaders, regardless of their ideology, spend too much time and treasure trying to fix the wrong problems. It is easy enough to regulate the Coca-Cola and Pepsi portions served in public venues. In the interest of public safety we have seen laws passed to mandate seatbelts, helmets for cyclists of all levels, and smoke-free environments for diners and workers alike. Why not try to fix our nation’s epidemic of obesity with another law?

I have never run across a child who didn’t want to drink more sweetened juices and sodas than they should or than their parents would allow. My own son would have consumed Hawaiian Punch until it squirted out of his tear ducts I we had let him. He would drink his beverage first and become too full for the food he needed, but would rather not have eaten. Rules were put into place to save the sweet beverage until AFTER the meal. Sip water, if you must, while you are eating. Of course, his consumption was automatically controlled that way – at least when we could see him.

Our country’s struggle with obesity is complex and perplexing, but I just cannot see how limiting the serving sizes of soft drinks is going to change anything. Yes, the retailers create the illusion that buying large sizes is cheaper by the ounce, so why not buy the larger cup and save money? Smoke and mirrors for sure, but that’s how the cinemas and fast-food joints stay in business.

There is nothing to stop consumers from simply buying two 16 oz. drinks or four or however many they please. Some of us cheapskates would probably think twice about that, but young people who have the money in their pockets or who have super-indulgent parents might decide to spend their popcorn money on soda instead.

Sugar is the enemy of public health, I am convinced of that. Should the government ban the production of granulated sugar next? I sure don’t thin k so. Americans need to stop blaming their every trouble on some evil outside element and start taking responsibility for their own “private health.”

Children must be trained to make good food and beverage choices, just as they are trained to do everything else they do. Most of us don’t cave to the pressure of indulgence when our toddlers stick their fingers in outlets or put their hands on the oven door. We teach them that to do that will cause them pain.

Of course, it will do no good for Mom and Dad to require moderation of their children if they themselves order super-sized portions of everything.

Mayor Bloomberg says everybody is screaming about this problem, but no one is doing anything about it, so he did this. The one thing it has done is have every media outlet in the nation talking about it. But will it make any difference in the collective poundage of the American population? I seriously doubt it.

Hey! They Grow On Trees Now

Tue, 29 May 2012 16:05:47 -0400

Just when you think you have seen it all. This is a vegetable that grows in Brazil. It’s called a Chu Chu, pronounced shoo-shoo. Who knew they grew on trees, too?!?

The Infinite Value of the Hug

Sun, 27 May 2012 12:05:48 -0400

Yesterday was spent at my grandnephew’s high school graduation and the partying that followed. It was a grand hodgepodge of blended families, ex-spouses, new spouses and best friends.

The honoree has always been a study in contrasts. His grandmother, my sister, raised him from the age of 18 months until he was around six or seven. His mother, a young woman with many issues, and his father, my nephew with many different issues, were far from ready to raise the child anywhere near his Nana’s standards, so she took the child in.

Over the years it has become clear to me that the graduate’s social awkwardness, avoidance of eye contact and rather odd responses to things around him place him on the high-functioning end of the autism spectrum – probably Asperger's Syndrome. His father, who has raised him and his two younger siblings alone since they left my sister’s home, has never been able to come to grips with the idea that there is an underlying reason for his son’s “differentness.” All one needed to do to experience his condition is attempt to hug him.

His posture is rigid, even in repose. It would not seem possible, but when I approached him for a hug, he would stiffen beneath my arms, mumble something unintelligible, and keep his own arms glued to his sides. With age he learned to feign receptiveness to warm, friendly touches, but his hugger always got the message.

Displayed prominently on the wall of their suburban home is the plaque he received at baccalaureate for four years of perfect attendance in high school. His grades have always been above average and the faculty fawn over him because of his impeccably respectful attitude.

As I prepared to leave the festivities, the graduate reached his own arms out in my direction, encircled my shoulders and squeezed with deliberate gusto. Tears of joy immediately sprang to my eyes, tears of surprise and unadulterated pride. He had just told me he had been accepted to a Georgia college with a strong soccer program. His prowess in the sport made him popular among teammates and fans, in spite of his affective differences. Our family had succeeded in loving him into success.

Perhaps you are not a big hugger, but Americans in general tend to hug a lot. We do it in greeting. We do it in parting. We do it to console each other and to convey our love. I really never thought that much about the importance of the hug in my life until just now, when I read a post by Open Salon blogger femme forte aka Candace.

I have known for years now that she is an exceptional writer. This one, though, is in a class by itself. It allows the reader to crawl inside her head as she waits in line at the supermarket. It is really about how she is handling the impending death of her beloved brother. She shares memories of their bond, triggered by two children in the line with her.

When it was over, I was almost crushed to see that Candace had understandably closed the comments. That’s when I realized that here on Open Salon, our version of a hug is a loving comment, and I couldn’t give her one this time. I felt a little like a puppy looking through the door’s window wanting to get inside.

These seemingly mindless gestures we humans create for our non-verbal communication needs are really a lot more meaningful than I thought – as much to the giver as to the receiver.

Coyotes in the 'Hood

Thu, 24 May 2012 12:05:12 -0400

A lot goes on in the dark of night, no matter where one happens to live. Nocturnal animals of countless species wake up, yawn, stretch, and set off to do what it is they do just as soon as the dusk has morphed into darkness.

Most of the midnight predators in my in-town Atlanta neighborhood are of the bipedal type. They skulk around trendy nightlife venues, waiting for a drunk or clueless suburban visitor to stumble toward her car while talking on the ubiquitous smartphone that petty bipeds like to snatch and sell. Handguns are usually brandished in this process, sort of like a ritual dance seen more often in the avian species.

Some drive around in fin-tailed hoopties, sometimes with the lights off so as not to attract the security patrol with their hunting speeds. This biped prefers four-wheeled prey, especially Honda Civics and Jeep Cherokees, again to snatch and sell.

And, as was the case a month ago, every now and then one of them will “select a mate” without the consent or cooperation of the biped’s selection and have his way with her right there on the sidewalk.

Most of the time I am unaware of the nightly drama outside my four walls, hearing only the hoo, hoo, hoo of our Eastern Screech Owl neighbors in the backyard. The rest of the time I might hear the repeat of a handgun in the distance, but decide it was just a car backfiring. No sense in worrying about something I can’t control, right?

Wednesday morning three or four pet cats in our neighborhood were found mauled and eviscerated. At the same time, a neighbor reported having watched two vicious dogs roaming the neighborhood, chasing cats; she even got a picture of the scary delinquents. Case solved.

In less than two hours animal control had picked up the canine hoodlums and begun the search for their unfortunate owners who were going to be held responsible for their pets’ serial murders.

This morning a neighbor reported that she is 99.9% certain she saw a COYOTE at an intersection two blocks from my house. At the very same time I was reading that email a news story was on television, discussing the increased population of urban coyotes in Georgia! What?!?!?!?

This new evidence might be just what the dogs’ defense attorney will need to spring the pooches from custody, At the very least, the element of reasonable doubt has been introduced.

I have lived in Atlanta since 1993. I have seen foxes, opossums, lizards, snakes and roaches big enough to have their own zip codes. But a coyote?

As it turns out, it is not uncommon for coyotes to turn up in cities. They are timid by nature and run from humans, so they have changed over time from diurnal to nocturnal to reduce the likelihood of human encounters.

Neighbors who have outdoor cats who refuse to come in at night are very concerned.

30 Children Too Much for Tennessee Moron—ya think?!

Mon, 21 May 2012 22:05:39 -0400

Desmond Hatchett might be an irresponsible idiot who is probably the poster boy for out of control sex addiction, but one positive thing I can say about him is he sure stays busy. Unfortunately, he’s not busy earning a living wage commensurate with his responsibilities.

Hatchett, 33, is only three short of having fathered one child for every year of his life. That’s right, at 33 he has 30 children, none over the age of 14. I know that sounds impossible, but it isn’t if you have 11 women popping them out for you. Twice in his “productive” life, Hatchett has sired four children in the same year!

If you were to tell me it’s none of my business how many children anybody has, I’d be right there with you – as long as, like the Duggers of TV fame (19 Kids and Counting,) they are able to find a way to feed, clothe and shelter the brood without hitting me up for subsidization. Sadly, this is not the case for the prolific Mr. Hatchett.

Instead, Hatchett works a minimum wage job. Imagine how far one of those 11 stupid mothers can make $1.49 stretch over a month. Yep, that’s the amount some of them are getting.

So, of course, Hatchett had no choice but to petition the court in Knoxville, Tennessee for leniency on his child support payments. Leniency? Really?

According to a LA Times report in the May 21st edition, there is a distinct possibility that Desmond Hatchett in behind bars and has been since November 2009 for an aggravated assault conviction. Although the Corrections Department of Knox County (TN) has confirmed there is an inmate with that name, whether it is the Father of the Century has still not been determined.

Instead of leniency, this record-setting sperm donor needs a vasectomy. And the women who helped him achieve that dubious achievement need therapy so that they can fully understand the fact that they are human beings and not rabbits.

There are 30 children in Tennessee who are destined for hard times, struggles and, saddest of all, the likelihood of continuing in the footsteps of their parents. There is no getting around that. And that is just wrong.

Hatchett should NOT receive leniency from the courts. He should be required to work two or three jobs and turn 90% of what he earns over to the family court for distribution. And if he doesn’t, he should be returned to jail for I-don’t-care-how-long. Moron!