Smart-Lass

Ugh. After another all-nighter, we are finally home again.

I must say, however, that I absolutely love Alabama. It was so beautiful and we had a truly wonderful time. The wedding we attended was one of the most exquisite I have ever seen… I must say that Southerners know how to celebrate.

Here is the church… rebuilt after a hurricane in 1906.

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I love the South!

And on the way home we stopped at the courthouse where the courtroom scenes in “To Kill a Mockingbird” were filmed.

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He did it. Mr. Smart-Lass actually made straight “A”s last semester.

No biggee, you might say. But you’d be wrong.

You see, Mr. S-L does not attend an ivy league school. He doesn’t even attend an ivy-league wanna-be (OU). Rather, he attends an old-school law school: no grade inflation. That’s right, they play by the old rules. They basically let everyone in who applies (and who has a pulse and a willingness to sacrifice their first child to Sallie Mae - sorry Princess), but then they separate the wheat from the chaff in class. You have to earn your grades. A “C” really is the average. (Except that there have recently been some unfortunate additions to the faculty that resulted in final grades appearing nothing like a bell-curve in the odd class every now and again. This screws up the entire ranking system and is inherently absurd.) And if you cannot handle being yelled at and made an ass in front of your peers… well then, you’ve just proven you can’t swim with the sharks.

So in a sink-or-swim situation such as this, my dear, darling husband actually had a straight A semester.

I am so proud of him!

I will also confess that I had a moment of slight annoyance and frustration. My only claim to fame during law school was a semester in which my grades looked like this: A,B,C,D. After the shock of nearly failing ethics - yes, I wear this as a badge of honor - I simply shrugged, figured I had passed and that’s what mattered, and poured another margarita.

But I never, EVER had a straight A term.

So, Mr. Smart-Lass, I concede. You are the far better law student than I ever was.

Now let’s talk about trial records.

Warning: this post contains unmitigated snobbery. Okay, maybe a little bit mitigated. But you’ve been warned.

Last night I attended the “members only” preview of the newest exhibit at the art museum. It’s “Roman Art from the Louvre,” and I highly recommend it. There is something about standing in front of a nearly 2000 year old statue that is essentially a portrait (unlike those highly Hellenic/idealized forms)… this person represented has been dead for ages, yet his features are so clear, so human.

I am morbid, I suppose, but the universal quality of truly exquisite art such as this is its ability to communicate across culture, across language barrier, across time: “as I am, so shall you be… prepare yourself to follow me.”

The tile mosaics from Antioch were breathtaking, and I could have stared for days at the praetorian relief. I was also amazed at the frescoes that had been so perfectly preserved by the volcanic ash at Herculanaeum.

Perhaps the piece that excited me the most was a tablet in which was carved a decree by Emperor Caligula. It was written entirely in Greek… I believe this was the first artifact I had ever seen since I studied Greek that actually represented the ancient style: all capital letters and no spaces between words. I LOVE IT.

Okay, all that said, the evening was a bit tainted by one small fact. I went to see the art. Whoops!

I did not realize (silly me) that this was an event to which one goes primarily to be seen… not to see the high point of ancient art. I made the mistake of wearing a jean skirt with sandals and a white t-shirt. This, of course, rendered me alternately invisible and offensive.

When viewing art, I attempt to stand at a respectful distance from the informational placards so as to allow the highest number of people to read them simultaneously. This is apparently a foreign concept to most Okies. I was repeatedly interrupted by people who shoved their way to within 6 inches of the item I was reading/observing, blocking the view for everyone but themselves. Such people would invariably linger for 5 seconds, reading the title of the work and ignoring its history, discovery, and meaning. They would then usually glance up at the item described, and wander off to glance at the next priceless item. I do not accept poor eyesight as an excuse: go to the doctor and have your prescription updated. I do this, and so can you.

Neither do I harbor sympathy for the 17-year-old (she was probably closer to 13, but the shocking way in which young ladies are allowed to comport and clothe themselves makes determination difficult) who sighed with deep-seated annoyance when her father attempted to broaden her mushy mind by explaining the detail on an exquisite marble sarcophagus. I know, I know, all teenagers go through such troublesome phases. But really. Force the girl to get a job and read Seneca in her spare time. It will do her a world of good. I know of schools that actually introduce children to classical literature and expect them to understand and analyse it. Try it.

Mr. Smart-Lass helped me to put the entire evening in perspective. Rather than thinking of myself as the out-of-place, stay-at-home mom who didn’t get the memo about the evening’s attire, he suggested I consider myself the somewhat absent-minded professor who shows up in slightly crumpled clothes, and, despite the appearance of a misfit, can actually read the Greek and put the art into historical context. I love that man! And he does have a point… I certainly have the crankiness down to an art form.

So… in short, those of you who are anywhere nearby need to see this exhibit. It is, for those of you not contemplating a trip to Paris or Italy anytime in the foreseeable future, an opportunity of a lifetime. The remnants of a culture that defined western civilization are valuable not only for their inherent educational value, but also as a powerful reminder that, no matter what we believe we have accomplished and regardless of the might of our empire, we are all - ultimately - ashes and dust.

And I have to say that game 6 of the finals was a beautiful thing to behold. The Celtics played their guts out, even when they had a thirty+ point lead. They never played as if the championship was in the bag… they just kept on coming. The Lakers, on the other hand, seemed to stop playing as the gap widened. With the exception of Lamar Odom, the final quarter was badly one-sided.

But the victory was no less sweet. And although these guys certainly are not perfect, their attitude throughout these finals has been visibly better than that of the Lakers. Foot stomping, whining, swearing (yes, we can read lips)… I will just leave it at that.

I will mention, however, that one Celtics fan was wearing a t-shirt that simply said “LA SUCKS.”

Bad form, my dear man. Bad form.

Where can I get one?

I read this article this morning about the division between McCain and Obama on the issue of energy.

If you actually read the article, you will notice that McCain has a multi-pronged plan: drill offshore and invest in nuclear power.

The response to this from the left, and from Obama in particular, has been that this has been tried and has failed. They claim that McCain is just rehashing Bush’s policies.

Here’s the problem with that. Under Bush, we have NOT opened up these vast oil resources nor have nuclear power plants popped up all over the place. So, logically, how can we say a plan has failed when WE HAVE NOT TRIED IT? Thus Obama’s accusation rings hollow and appears to be simply another attempt to link McCain with Bush in a desperate attempt to trade on our current President’s poor polling numbers.

Second, what is Obama’s plan? I’d really like to know. As usual, according this article, Obama roundly criticized McCain and did not offer an alternative plan. Simply saying that alternative energy is good is not a plan… it’s an opinion. What we need is a plan. You know, like drilling and building reactors.

Again, I am all about conservation. I think we should definitely be mindful of our environmental responsibilities to our children. But I firmly believe that we can tap into our natural resources without razing the planet in the process. We can, in fact, drill and remove oil without turning our national parks into parking lots and wantonly slaughtering puppies in the process.

When you think about it, drilling would be an incredibly patriotic duty. We could not only drive prices down by increasing supply (yes, even us lowly English major types, unlike most politicians, can learn the basic tenets of laissez-faire economics), we could stick it to OPEC. Sounds like a plan, and until I hear a viable alternative plan (not rhetoric, guys, a PLAN), I’m all for it.

to all you dads out there.

When it comes to parenting, we spend a lot of time and energy focusing on moms. Pick up just about any parenting magazine and I can guarantee it will be geared toward female readers. Look at the amount of time and energy we spend on mothers’ day: cards, corsages, flowers, gifts. It seems like fathers’ day is usually an afterthought.

And in a way that’s appropriate. Let’s face it: we moms are higher maintenance (come on girls, just admit it) and we like our men with a certain stoic and rock-like quality that defies fussing.

But I think that far too often there are some important truths that go unsaid.

First of all, men are absolutely vital to the health and welfare of families in particular and our society as a whole. In a culture where marriage is optional and even conception does not really require active male participation (think fertility clinics and sperm banks), the role of men has been ruthlessly undercut. Our abortion laws do not require the consent of the father before his own child is murdered, and most states’ laws presumptively favor the mother in custody cases. We have told men not only that we do not need them, but that their presence is even harmful. We tell them that they are inherently violent and that this is damaging. We medicate young boys for ADHD when a healthy regimen of lots of sports and zero TV would probably do wonders. We seem to want everyone essentially to be female.

That, my friends, is what we call horse hockey.

What is desperately needed today are strong men. Men who know what a firearm is and how to use it appropriately. We need men who know what honor and duty are and who can model those qualities for their kids. We need men who will vocally stand up for what is right without apologizing for hurting anyone’s feelings. Frankly, we need more of the Marlboro man and less Dr. Phil.

Women cannot teach boys to be men. We cannot show our sons how to handle adversity like men or, for that matter, how to walk and talk like men. The men must do that. Indeed, we can only tell our sons and (as we all know, God bless their hearts) that just doesn’t cut it with males. Our culture is seeing the effects of what happens when men no longer teach the next generation to be men.

And our sons are not the only ones who need their fathers. Our daughters need their dads to show them what to expect from their own husbands someday. They need the unconditional love and safety that are found in daddy’s strong arms. The truth is that no matter how old a girl gets, no matter how tough she is, no matter how many kids of her own she may have, no matter how much she loves her husband, there is a part of each of us that still longs to curl up next to daddy and hear that it will all be okay.

So for you dads out there who are, both figuratively and literally, sticking to your guns, I applaud you. With all my heart I thank you and encourage you to stay the course, no matter what. We may have a fifty percent divorce rate, but that means that at least half of you out there are still fighting the good fight, proving to the world that there are people capable of and committed to doing the right thing. You have not abandoned your wives and kids, even at great pressure to do so. You sit enthusiastically through piano recitals, little league games, and tumbling practice. (You might even, just every now and then, be loving enough to sit stoically, if not joyfully, through a theater or opera performance.) You put up with your wife’s mood swings and dietary escapades, assuring her that the baby fat is just “more to love,” and you don’t consider church attendance the mark of a wuss or a whimp.

In short, we love you and thank you. Especially, of course, Dad, Dad2, and Mr. Smart-Lass. I love all three of you and I know the Little Dude will learn from the very best.

Ahhhh, June. Most girls probably associate this month with weddings. The roses are blooming like gangbusters and there is just enough heat to make the garden flourish. (In two months there will be no such thing as “enough water” and the greenery will essentially just cook.)

But for us pitbulls (as in, what’s the difference between a pitbull and a female lawyer? lipstick!) June is one of the most important months of the year. It’s the month before summer vacation at the courthouse. So every week is trial week. Usually it’s just two weeks out of each month that are set aside for trials. But June is a marathon.

And it’s also the month when the Supremes hand down decisions. So at our house we are waiting with baited breath for the Court to hand down some extremely important decisions. For the first time in our nation’s history, the Court has directly taken on the second amendment.

Anyway, since I’m no longer practicing, I just sit on the sidelines and read the news, hoping to catch results of important cases in between diaper changes and feedings. That’s cool… as I recall, when I was working, June was incredibly stressful. So I miss it in some ways… but when it all comes down to it, I’d rather be right here.

What in the world is that smell??? Ugh. Little dude!

So the last time the Little Dude went to the pediatrician, he was weighed, as usual. At 15 lbs 6 oz, he wasn’t even on the chart. I made it my personal mission to fatten him up (after crying for about 3 days since it was essentially my fault for not feeding him enough).

I introduced him to cookies, Kraft mac and cheese, chicken nuggets, french fries, hamburgers, tater tots, ice cream (he likes mint chocolate chip, just like his mommy), and Dutch apple pancake. That last one is a family tradition on Mr. S-L’s side and is, as he puts it, “a little slice of heaven.”

So now the LD puts away at least as much food at every meal as his big sister… usually more. And he weighs 18 lbs! Not bad for 3 weeks of intensive mothering.

When I picked him up from the nursery at church this morning, he was sacked out asleep in the swing. I looked in at him and was amazed at the big boy snoozing peacefully. I could not believe how big he looked. How fast it goes!

Last night the hubby and I saw Spam-a-Lot. So much fun! Of course I love Monty Python, and it was a fun recreation of the funniest parts of the movie version of the Holy Grail. They somehow managed to find an actor for Lancelot who seemed to be channeling John Cleese. And the audience sing-along of “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” at the end was a hoot.

I particularly enjoyed the jabs at pretty much ever other musical ever produced. Case in point: seeing a bunch of guys in medieval knight costumes with golden goblets on their heads doing a wonderful rendition of the dance in the bar from Fiddler on the Roof pretty much made my night.

What was just as enjoyable as the hilarity on stage was looking around the audience. About three quarters of the folks were cracking up. I think the guy behind me laughed so hard he was crying. But a significant portion of the audience was just looking sort of bored and confused at the rest of us. The chick sitting next to me, for instance, kept checking her phone and sighing deeply. And of course, there were the idiots who took their kids to see the play. Come on, people. Pay attention. Set some standards. This musical was not for kids. Besides the occasional bad language, the sacrilegious references, and the fact that Camelot was basically Vegas (the round table being a roulette wheel), it’s Monty Python for crying out loud! Not for little kids, okay?

Anyway, loads of fun. And thanks so much to my in-laws for watching the munchkins! We were able to do dinner AND theater, which combination we have not attempted since this time last year.

The latest from the situation in Maine seems to be that Sensata has decided to remove the Chinese flag permanently. It would appear that the company was listening and that a group of Americans who raise their voices can still be heard.

Thanks to Sensata for making the right decision. And thanks to everyone who was involved in the effort to make a little noise about something that needed to change.