Who says it's not my job?

The last few days have been pretty lazy days. I did manage to get all my Christmas decorations boxed up, and His Nibs and Daredevil put it all in the attic. And it's not even Groundhog Day yet, much less St. Patrick's Day! Woo-hoo!

I tinkered around with some piano scales the other day too. Spent about fifteen minutes on it, which isn't stellar, but it's been the better part of a year since I even touched the piano except to dust it, and even that doesn't get done often, although it does happen more frequently than once a year. I'm not that lazy! Oh, and I mopped my kitchen floor too.

I love a feeling of accomplishment, don't you?

I think Monster Cat loves it too, although she's a lot less self-congratulatory about it. I got to watch her patiently wait out that mouse yesterday morning. It was kind of funny to see. The mouse dashed out, saw her, dashed back, repeated this a time or two, and before I knew it, there was Monster with her trophy. Naturally, she didn't kill it right off. Like most mousers, Monster plays with her food. Totally freaked Daredevil out. I guess he'd never seen a cat do this before. I told him the story of the cat I had as a kid, which cat once put his paw down on a mouse's tail and anchored it there, while the poor mouse struggled to escape. Didn't go well for that mouse. I'm not sure Daredevil believed me, but I swear I didn't make that up.

Monster's mouse got a reprieve when she released it, but this morning guess what I got to scoop up and discard? I should have made Daredevil do it.

Ever think about the division of labor in your house and who gets to do what icky jobs? His Nibs is in charge of spider eradication. If a creature has more than four legs, I avoid it like the plague. (Ditto for those with no legs at all, but so far I haven't seen any of them in my house, thank God.) I could get rid of spiders if I absolutely had to, but it would require six cans of Raid and the subsequent evacuation of any living thing in the house with four legs or fewer. Spider Duty is clearly listed on His Nibs' portion of the contract. In ink.

I, on the other hand, get Grossness Duty. When the dog came in after rolling in something foul, I was the one who had to give him a shower (yes, you read that right--no bathtub at the moment, which is probably another blog someday). When the cat favors us with a hairball (or a dead mouse), I'm the one who gets to clean up the mess. Toilet need scrubbing? I'm there. Kid cuts his arm half off breaking a window? Not only did I get to mop up, but I also got to stand around and watch the ER doctor stitch him up. (That might have fallen into the category of a Bad Day.) Kitchen floor sticky with spills where someone opened a bottle of cream soda too quickly and it sprayed all over creation? Hand me the mop; I'll take care of it. I will give His Nibs points for sharing diaper chores back in the day.

I don't really mind doing yucky jobs. Someone has to, and if I want the house to be habitable, it might as well be me. I take care of backyard land mines, unspeakably disgusting results of a kid getting hit with stomach issues in the middle of the night, litter boxes, and mysterious spots on the walls of my kitchen. (I don't even want to know what those are. I just want them gone.) I wash dishes (by hand), clothes that have not seen the washing machine in three weeks but have been worn so often they've developed a personality all their own, shoes that have accumulated mud and who knows what else, spots on the carpet where someone got careless with food or drink (usually something far, far in color from that of the carpet) or where the aforementioned shoe accumulations have been tracked, and black prints over the doorways where Daredevil felt the need to grab onto the top of the frame and do chin-ups. It never ends.

But I've decided to start sharing the wealth. Why should His Nibs and I have all the fun? It's cold here, and I'm sure Monster Cat will provide some sort of Mouse Disposal Initiation for Daredevil before too long. Now all I have to do is think of something equally dastardly for Drama Princess. She's been complaining of boredom lately.

Out with the old, in with the old

Like most people, I was thinking about New Year's resolutions the other day. And like most people, I'm fully aware that I'll probably make a big ol' list of stuff I'll want to accomplish over the next twelve months, which list will promptly disappear, providing me with the perfect excuse not to accomplish anything on it, because how can you possibly cross stuff off your list if you don't have any idea where it is? My name is not Earl.

So I've decided that this year, I'm going to apply a little reverse psychology to myself. Since I know that any New Year's resolutions I make will be completely forgotten within a week and I won't keep a single one of them, I hereby make the following resolutions:

1. I resolve to leave my Christmas tree up and holiday decorations out until St. Patrick's Day.

2. This year, I will drink at least six cans of Dr Pepper every day at work. Water is for fish.

3. I will drive by the gym on my way to work and on my way home from work each day, smiling and waving and saying to His Nibs, "You know, we really ought to work out now and again." He'll agree, and we will go on adding girth and chins to ever-expanding collections.

4. Every night, I will pick up my pen and notebook with the good intentions of writing at least 500 words, only to get bored/tired/discouraged/distracted by screaming kids, at which point I'll heave a great sigh, toss the pen and notebook aside, invoke Dorothy Parker by murmuring "What fresh hell is this?" and vow to write 1,000 words the next night.

5. I vow to make sure I leave a sinkful of dishes every night so I can do them the next morning. Mornings are so dull at my house, what with putting the dog out, feeding the fur people, getting His Nibs and the kids up for work and school, fixing breakfast, packing lunches, taking the garbage out, showering, dressing, looking for lost school books, signing permission slips that were due a week ago, making coffee, loading the washing machine, putting the dog out again, chasing the cat back in, refereeing teenage disputes, unearthing a hidden cell phone or iPod, rushing to the gas station because I forgot to go the night before (I promise never to fill up at night, too), putting dinner in the crock pot, hustling the kids out the door so they don't miss the bus, hustling His Nibs out the door so we're not late to work, hustling back into the house to unplug the coffee machine, etc. etc. etc. Oh, and washing the previous night's dishes.

6. While I'm at it, I won't lay out my clothes for the following day, either. Too much trouble, and I need one more thing to do in the mornings.

7. I think I'll skip doing scales on the piano this year, and while I'm at it, when choir practice starts up again, I don't plan to memorize any of my music. Makes performances that much more challenging.

8. Shopping being such a chore for me, I believe that I'll just dispense with getting the kids winter coats when they're on sale. They're teenagers, you know, so they probably wouldn't wear them, anyway.

9. I'm going to pay all my bills late and incur a whole boatload of late fees. I just might make sure to rack up a bunch of overdraft fees as well. Why fight it? It's only money. Heck, I may just pay my taxes late too, just to keep things interesting. It's the American way!

10. All the good movies being on late at night, I resolve to get no more than four or five hours' sleep every night this year. Thanks, TCM!

11. Finally, I resolve to start my Christmas shopping on December 23. Again.

If I fail to keep these resolutions, I will have indeed accomplished something. Happy New Year!

If the coat fits, it must be the wrong coat

His Nibs' nephew got married over the weekend. Fortunately, the wedding was only a three-hour drive away. Unfortunately, Daredevil and Drama Princess needed new duds for this occasion, which meant a shopping expedition. With both of them.

Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something terrible.

If I've said it once, I've said it a zillion times: I hate shopping. Drama Princess hates it too, and Daredevil would just as soon gouge his eyes out using the claws of a live wolverine as to be seen in a clothing department with his mother--to say nothing of his sister. There must be some bad karma out there for us, because we all three found ourselves trapped in Jacques Penney's the night before the wedding, seeking out a suit for him and a dress for her.

I turned Daredevil loose and admonished him to find something suitable to wear. Like what? Whaddya mean, like what? "Think, 'If my friends see me in this I'll have to change my name, shave my head, and join the French Foreign Legion,'" I suggested. That helped. Off he went, while Drama Princess and I scoured every display of female-type dress wear in the vain hope of finding a dress she could wear. Or rather, would wear. Shopping for her is hard. It's not that she's picky. Mostly it's that she's small. And to hear her tell it, that sucks. Yeah, give it a few years, sister; you'll be eating those words and wishing that's all you'd eaten.

But I digress. Remember the Great Swimsuit Quest? This was the same contest only with a different prize at the end. Same sorts of complaints, too. Women's department too big. Girls' department too young. Junior department too iffy. By the time we found her a dress, at the fourth store we entered, I was sure we'd missed the nuptials and the bride and groom had already left for Cancun. Turns out the wedding was still the next day. All was not lost!

Meanwhile, Daredevil had successfully browsed the men's department (at Store No. 1) and selected his outfit. Dark blue pants and a dark blue jacket. On sale. At the risk of embarrassing him and feeding a stupid stereotype, he's turning out to be a way better shopper than the women he lives with. How sad is that?

Everything traveled pretty well the next day too. I couldn't have been happier. Until he put on the suit and it was painfully obvious that the coat was too big and didn't exactly match the pants, which were also just a tad on the large side. Yikes. I can only hope he bulks up some and fills them out eventually. And finds pants to match the coat. At least they were both blue, she said in her defense.

You see what a miserable failure I am at shopping. Who buys clothes without seeing them on the potential wearer? This is why I've never been voted Mother of the Year. I took some consolation when His Nibs tried to show Daredevil how to tie his necktie. Guess who's never been selected to be Father of the Year? Maybe waiting until the day before a Big Event to try to get our kid started thinking about being presentable wasn't our best move.

As it turns out, however, no one really saw him. Or her, either. All eyes were on the bride, who was breathtakingly lovely, and the groom, who was dashingly handsome. My kids could have shown up in their pajamas and no one would have noticed. I stressed out over nothing--well, very little--again.

I just hope that when I'm the Mother of the Bride (or Groom), whatever they wear to the wedding will fit just right. But I'm in no hurry to start shopping.

Lessons from my very own unique, singular school of thought

Before you read any further, let me just say a thing or two or three in my own defense. First, the opinions expressed in this essay are strictly my own, and they are just that: opinions. I get to have them whether anyone agrees with them or not. Second, as a former teacher, I have maybe just a teensy bit of knowledge about this subject, so I'd appreciate it if no one told me I have no idea what I'm talking about. Third, as a parent, see "second." Fourth (okay, four things), I'm pretty sure I'm about to tick some people off, but I don't really care, because I was ticked off first. So there.

Let's begin with a commercial His Nibs and I saw on TV recently. It concerned something like the Outstanding Teacher Award for the state we live in, and in this particular ad was featured a man who had been honored as the "Principle of the Year."

Principle?

I realize I'm a spelling freak, but I can't help it. Torrance County, NM spelling champion in the eighth grade, thank you very much. Misspelled words hurt my eyes. Even worse are homonyms that are spelled correctly but used improperly. Am I really the only one who remembers the adage regarding "principle" and "principal"? A principal I had in grade school suggested that we remember "the principal is your pal." Maybe so, maybe not, but by golly, I remember it!

And it's not even so much the fact that "principle" was misused in this ad. It's the fact that these ads congratulate educators! Call me crazy or maybe fanatical or overly demanding, but I want my kids' teachers to be able to use the English language properly.

I taught history and French, myself. I couldn't have told any of my students one blessed thing about chemistry or Spanish or algebra (and my apologies to my teachers thereof, but we can't all be all things), but in my classes, spelling counted--especially the spelling of things I had written on the blackboard. It irritates me that my kids' teachers can't seem to write sentences that make any sense, and they don't seem to know very much about the nuts and bolts of writing, either: punctuation and spelling, to be more specific. And how about looking up words they don't know?

For instance, Daredevil's science teacher, who made it abundantly clear that he was nothing but a problem for her, once sent me an e-mail accusing Daredevil of making "hand jesters" in her class. Hand jesters. What does that mean? Was he wasting class time creating little clown puppets to share with his friends? Perhaps. Or did she mean hand gestures? That's my guess, although when I asked her about the puppets I never did get an answer. I only hope she knows a lot more about science than she does about English.

My point is that I hear teachers whine and complain about how little money they make and how much work they have to do and all the kids who are disruptive and the unsupportive parents and on and on and on. Hmm. I did a little research recently. Let's take a look at some of the things I learned, shall we? According to the state teachers association, the average teacher salary in my state in 2006 was $44,025 (which is more than I earn doing what I do now); the average salary for new teachers was $23,000. I made half that when I started teaching. I'm not seeing a huge improvement in my children's education as a result of this increase in salary. Which is not to say that I don't think good teachers should be well compensated, but I do think money is far from being the answer. One of my education teachers warned us that if we were going into this for the money, we'd better find another line of work, because teaching isn't lucrative. Well, well.

And another thing. How many days off from school do my kids need? In my teaching days, we had "prep periods," which were to be used to prepare lesson plans, grade papers, calculate grades, etc. If we ran out of time during the "prep periods," we did it on our own time. Our students didn't get innumerable four-day weekends so we could prepare end-of-term stuff. You wouldn't believe the amount of money I lost due to this nonsense when my kids were younger, what with having to take time off work or hire a sitter.

So we threw more money at the problem, and now we have teachers who can't write. We have teachers who do their utmost to expel "problem" students from their classes--probably the very kids who need those teachers most. We have teachers who have no control over their classrooms (which is probably not entirely their fault--we can likely thank the ACLU for that one). We have teachers who have zero interest in academics and who openly admit to their students that the only reason they are teaching is that it gives them the opportunity to coach a sport. (Drama Princess faces such a teacher daily. Guess how interested she is in that class?)

We also have teachers, good and bad, who have far too many kids in a class. How do you address the educational needs of each kid when you have 50 minutes to impart valuable knowledge to 25 or 30 students? I have a kid who doesn't do well in a big class. I'm pretty sure he's not alone in that. We have teachers who are pressed to raise test scores however they can do it, so the districts can get more money. We have teachers who are exhausted and overwhelmed by all the demands on them, and who labor under the delusion that higher salaries will help. It won't. It will only make them higher-paid teachers who are exhausted and overwhelmed.

So what is the solution? I'm not sure I know (HA! And you thought I thought I had all the answers!). I'd start by reminding teachers that they work in a field that is markedly different from any other. They don't have a regular 9-to-5 gig. They have boatloads of days off (yes, they do; I don't want to hear how there are no paid vacations. I don't get to take the whole summer off and still get a paycheck). One simply cannot apply the same principles of work to teaching that one would to, say, practicing law or working in a factory or making sales calls. It's just not the same. Yes, it's a harder job, but they knew that going into it--or they should have. Teaching is in a class all by itself, no pun intended.

And because teachers are in the unique position of sharing their own knowledge and education and experience with children, helping to mold their minds and, one would hope, to teach them how to think, it's incumbent on teachers to be able to communicate effectively with their students and with parents. And when they come off as ignorant (hand jesters, indeed) or unable to express thoughts clearly, they leave the impression that they're not really qualified to teach. Is it any wonder that we are losing ground in global competition?

I'm not perfect; I'm guilty of the occasional typo. Sometimes I question which is correct: "affect" or "effect"? That's what dictionaries are for. And to those people who were singing the praises of the "Principle of the Year," shame on you. Spell check isn't always available, and it isn't always applicable. Do your research. Look things up. It's presumably what you would expect from your students. As a teacher, I expected more than mediocrity from my students. As a parent, I expect excellence from my children's teachers. I don't think it's too much to ask.

I have only myself to blame

Raise your hand if you've finished your Christmas shopping.

Me, neither.

The problem is that I hate to shop. I think I may have mentioned that in passing once or twice. The only stores I really like to spend time in are bookstores. (Man, am I really that boring??? Don't answer that.)

Anyhoo, I hate shopping, so naturally I did it again. I put my Christmas shopping off until the absolute last possible minute. Which is to say, today. December 23rd.

I know when I venture out into the retail wild tonight--alone, because nobody in my family is stupid enough to do this with me--that I'm going to be irritable, annoyed, and snappish. I'm going to shout ugly things at people who get in my way. I'm going to give death glares to half the population of Kansas City. I'm going to growl and cry and complain and probably bang my head against a door.

Then I'll get to Best Buy, and park, and get out of my car, and try to be my usual charming self. It ain't easy.

What is it that makes me put this off year after year? Why do I do this to myself? I have something like four gifts yet to buy. Gifts I could have taken care of months ago, if only I'd made myself do it. It's not like I haven't run errands all year long, for crying out loud. I've been to the various retail establishments in my area bazillions of times, and yet I find myself once again shopping at the last freakin' minute for Christmas gifts. What is my problem???

The truth is, I'm not very good at paying attention. Every year I resolve to listen closely and make mental notes when His Nibs says, "You know, I could really use a subscription to Couch Potato Digest."

Or when Daredevil explains that the reason his pants are full of holes is that the wheels and bearings on his skateboard need constant replacement, which he can't do because he doesn't get to his favorite skate shop often enough, and since the wheels and bearings go bad so quickly, he gets flung to the ground a lot, which causes him to skid, which explains the holes in his pants.

Or when Drama Princess wails again that she has listened to every song on her iPod hundreds of times and she needs an iTunes card so she can get new songs, oh and also she must have that really rad awesome t-shirt from the Mitchell Davis website, you know, the one that features the Post-It Monster.

I hear this stuff all the time. I just don't listen to it. (Convenient Excuse #2,112: I don't understand a lot of it.) So I'm stuck doing last-minute Christmas shopping two days before Christmas. While His Nibs and the kidlets are getting glassy-eyed staring at the television or computer screen (depends on who we're talking about here), I'll be out there with the rest of the idiots who somehow couldn't be bothered to stick to their New Year's resolution to get one or two gifts every month, stash them away, and have it all done before Halloween. Who am I kidding? I make that resolution every single year.

How about you? Are you any good at paying attention? Because if you are, then you've no doubt figured out by now that I'm so disorganized (distracted?), if I did do my shopping throughout the year, I'd hide my gift stash from myself and then have to do the last-minute frenzy anyway.

I'll bet by now, Santa's elves are on vacation with their families. I'll bet that sleigh is already packed and ready to go. I'll bet the North Pole toy factories are shut down for the holidays.

I'll bet I just re-post this blog same time next year.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

The Blessings Definitely Outweigh the Curses

Before I begin my count-your-blessings essay, let me just say that I'm now aware that Denny Crane does not have Alzheimer's. He has mad cow disease. Unless I'm missing something. Did anyone actually see the shark as Boston Legal went soaring over it? Yup, I'm definitely going back to books.

Oh, and I got a haircut. A good one that I really like. Yea, me!

Okay, now for the real reason I'm here.

The day after tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. This is a somewhat complicated holiday, contrived to make you eat until you're sick, watch football until your eyeballs fall out of your head, eat some more, make a mental note to add "lose weight" to your upcoming New Year's resolutions, listen to your kids fight until you find yourself wishing you didn't have the day off, snack, and hate your relatives, all of whom have decided that you are hosting the feast this year, when really you and your spouse had secretly planned to foist the kids off onto the grandparents and enjoy a long weekend in Jamaica. Or possibly Springfield. Maybe the Motel 6 on the other side of town. Anywhere but where you are. Where you would still eat obscene quantities of high-fat foods, but at least you could do it in peace.

Yes, Thanksgiving is the day that ushers in the high-paced, high-stress frenzy known as the Holiday Season.

You know what I'm talking about. The stress starts as soon as you're at the dinner table, surrounded by your loving and devoted family, staring at a feast the likes of which you've never seen before thanks to your sister who insists on bringing authentic chestnut dressing, which she made with her own hands, thereby sparing you the expense of a couple of boxes of Stove Top, and also she makes her own cranberry sauce from the berries she probably grows herself or at least harvests from somewhere, to say nothing of the ginormous bird she prepared in your late grandmother's turkey roaster which somehow Sis now possesses and how did that happen anyway, and did I mention she also makes her own gravy? From scratch? Dinner rolls too. If you didn't feel guilty about shopping on holidays, you would totally have the local supermarket cater your entire Thanksgiving meal, but heck, even you can pop a bird or a ham into the oven and make it palatable. But not this time. This time your sister shows you up. Oh, wait, she did that last year too. And now you're asking yourself why you keep inviting her.

But I digress. There you are at the table, eagerly waiting for the gun to go off so you can grab the biggest sweet potato, the white meat off the bird, a great spoonful of Sis's admittedly scrumptious chestnut dressing, when someone--probably Sis's husband--suggests that before you say grace and dig in, you should go around the table and name something you're Thankful For, he'll go first.

You know this is going to take a while. For one thing, there are 47 people at your table. You don't even know if they're all family because you've never met most of them. You assume that they are cousins of in-laws or something, and you don't want to be rude by asking if they actually belong there, so you just hope they don't eat too much or break anything (because naturally Sis has insisted on using Grandma's china instead of the Chinet you bought a hundred dollars' worth of just for this occasion, and isn't it interesting that she has Grandma's china as well as the turkey roaster? Maybe it's time for another look at the will). For another thing, the Things I'm Thankful For lists are long. Also the kids will probably find a way to gum up the works. They usually do.

But finally, the recitation of blessings has been completed, thanks have been returned to God, and it's time to EAT. Which you do in about fifteen minutes, because the ball games start pretty soon and your male kin are most assuredly not going to wash Grandma's china. So the menfolk congregate in the living room where they loudly complain that you don't have a big-screen hi-def TV and you're tempted to yell that the bar down the street has eight of them showing eight different sporting events, and it's open hint hint, and the womenfolk crowd into the kitchen--your kitchen--to put food away (assuming there's anything left) and wash up. Not surprisingly, Sis is in charge of Grandma's china.

Thus begins another Holiday Season. Then we have the fun of Christmas shopping, Christmas dinner (oh boy! another big meal for Sis to prepare!), and selecting just the right cheap champagne for New Year's Eve. Life is just one big party from November to January, ain't it?

Anyhoo, I've decided that today I will actually count my blessings so I'll be ready on Thursday, even though my sister and brother-in-law will not be at my house. The problem is where to begin.

Let's start with my family. I have a fabulous husband, two reasonably well-behaved children, one dear mother, two sisters whom I love, one brother (also loved), one aunt, one uncle, two cousins, and various and sundry nieces and nephews, to say nothing of my in-laws and my hubby's extended family. Wonderful people, my family, and I pray God's blessings on all of them.

I have more friends than I know what to do with. We think of things, of course. I love each and every one of them, more than they could ever possibly know.

I have a good job and I am blessed with employers for whom I actually like to work. This is something of a rarity any more, and I am truly thankful for it.

I have relatively good health. I'm starting to feel the effects of growing older, but so what? I'm embracing getting older. I've never been that concerned about my age. My husband laughs at me for constantly quoting Bette Davis, but she was right when she said old age is no place for sissies. Besides, I get to be Queen of the World just one day a year, and I'm racking up as many of those as I possibly can.

I have a home and a car. Plenty to eat and plenty to wear. I'm not lacking for much.

I have hobbies that I love. I sing with a choir. We just had a concert last night and are now on hiatus until January, which gives me a chance to rest my voice and spend Thursday nights at home with my hubby and kids, rather than being off at rehearsals. And I'm blessed with a family who understands how much I love to sing, and they're all good with practice nights. I'm a word puzzle freak, too. More with the understanding. And my husband and I like to read together. So I'm not often bored. That's a blessing if ever there was one!

And the greatest blessing of all: I have the love of Christ and His salvation, and a mansion waiting for me in Heaven.

How much more blessed can one person be?

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

If This is the Best Television Has to Offer, I'll Stick to Reading

I'm going to have to find a new favorite TV show.

For years, I glued myself to NYPD Blue every Tuesday night. I required complete silence from my Daredevil and Drama Princess, and His Nibs was the one who had to take the dog out during every episode. I refused to answer the telephone, even if it was my mother or my sister or Publisher's Clearinghouse calling. Tuesday nights became almost sacred.

Drama Princess got us hooked on Project Runway, so our Wednesday evenings have been devoted to dishing on the talents (or lack thereof) of the up-and-coming and wannabe designers. Wednesday evenings are almost sacred as well, and they're even better because the whole family is in on it.

But NYPD Blue was canceled and Project Runway's fifth season ended recently, so I had to find another show. Somehow, His Nibs and I glommed onto Boston Legal. We'd heard often about how entertaining Denny Crane was, and being childhood Star Trek fans, we decided we could do worse than watch a show starring William Shatner. At first I had trouble getting His Nibs interested. He doesn't like cop shows or lawyer shows, having been one and worked with the other, but since Boston Legal does a very respectable job of not worshiping lawyers (or cops), he's okay with it.

But last night's episode completely soured me on the show.

Today is Election Day. We are in the throes of a very heated, controversial, and highly emotional presidential campaign, which will very shortly end in one of two historically significant results: We will have either our first black President, or our first female Vice President. Either way, there will be celebrating and anger and rejoicing and complaining. Much like past elections. So what does this have to do with Boston Legal, you ask?

Simply put, it was a totally shameless plug for Barack Obama. I don't care about that. Really, I don't. I understand that most of Hollywood is in the Democratic camp, and I'm okay with that. Vote your conscience. It annoyed me that the writers of this episode shoved this into my face, but I also understand that I have power over the situation through my remote control. So it wasn't so much the political volatility that irritated me. It was the way the show portrayed supporters of John McCain. Or rather, the supporter. The only character on the show who was planning to vote for McCain was Denny Crane--or at least, he was the only one stupid enough to admit it.

Now, for those of you who don't follow the show, let me fill you in on a couple of things. Denny Crane has Alzheimer's. Another character, Jerry Espenson, has Asperger's Syndrome. Each character struggles with the outward signs and symptoms of his condition. Each has a close friend who sticks with him and helps him get through the tough episodes. The difference is that Jerry's little tics and nervous "pops" and use of "props" are endearing; we find ourselves admiring his perseverance and tenacity in getting through each day; we sympathize with him, we feel compassion for him. And we applaud his friend for seeing what a great guy he is and standing up for him.

Denny Crane's Alzheimer's, on the other hand, makes him ridiculous. He has a reputation as a womanizer; he's always had that. But now it is greatly exaggerated. Now he is a perverted skirt-chaser, a handsy pig with an addled brain, who also carries a gun (last night it was a paint gun, which he used to emphasize his point against Alan in an argument about politics) and who, in response to Alan's demand, gave two reasons why he would be voting for McCain: Salmon and women. Of course, since his brain is slowly wasting away, he gave the most inane explanations for his "reasons." And naturally, in his one moment of clarity (and people in the early stages of Alzheimer's do have those from time to time), he jumped the aisle and voted for the other candidate.

Salmon and women???

It was disgusting. It was blatantly insulting on two fronts: One, it made a mockery of one of the most insidious diseases known to modern man, turning this particular victim into a laughingstock, someone whose mind is so eroded that he is not to be taken seriously--until he casts the vote not for McCain, of course. Two, it implied that those who support John McCain in this election are idiots and fools who are incapable of presenting a cogent argument in their own defense (which begs the question of why these voters are being called upon to defend their choice at all). I noticed that not once did Denny Crane (or anyone else) demand that Alan Shore (or anyone else) give two good reasons for voting for Obama (whose name I don't remember as being actually mentioned in this episode at all, interestingly enough).

I know it's just a television show--one in its final season, from what I hear, so I'd have to find a new favorite anyway. But television is a powerful medium, and in a world where many people have a hard time separating fantasy from reality, last night's Boston Legal episode struck me as not just an irresponsible attack on John McCain and his supporters, but also a frankly inaccurate depiction of Alzheimer's victims. Ask anyone--including members of my family--who have in any way been touched by this nightmare of an illness.

The writers of this episode should be ashamed, but I doubt that they would see it that way. I think I'll just go back to books.