Beating Around the Bush

I'm trying to write my reading analysis for my public policy class. The three articles are about executive branch power and challenges to their authority by Congress, civil service, and the public.

In two of the three articles I'm analyzing, George W. Bush is used as a case. So, I'm having trouble writing this without it sounding like a partisan rant.

Currently, I still have a line in there responding to the fact that it's difficult to assess his presidential performance unless you're looking at the whole picture e.g. 2000 to 2008. The author finished his article in 2005 and a lot has changed for Bushie since then. My line says: "Obviously, Bush 43 isn't finished fucking up the country." It will likely have to be deleted.

And, in case readers out there are like my mother--and don't understand what "Bush 43" means...It's referring to the fact that we're talking about the unfortunate 43rd president, George W. Bush, justs as Bush 41 would refer to the 41st president, George H.W. Bush.

So, I am going to try to divine another thesis that will make me sound intelligent and articulate--and doesn't force me to start slinging mud.

In the meantime, I'm beating around the Bush, and enjoying my partisan rant.

Negotiating

I'm reading a book for my management class called Getting Past No. I would underline the title, but I'm new at blogging and don't know how. Anyway, the book is all about negotiating your way out of a tough conversation, situation, or conflict.

While there are many applicable environments for negotiation skills, I would like to bring up one where I don't think it will help me much: the weather.

So, I moved from Los Angeles to New York City about two months ago. I'm an East Coast kid born and raised, so I understand that it will rain and snow here. I'm sad about it, but I accept it.

However, I found myself stuck in the rain the last night--with no umbrella, no rainboots, and it was coming down pretty bad. Lucky for me I had a jacket to throw over my head and backpack (protect the precious laptop at all costs!). It was late-ish and so the umbrella vendors had given up for the day.

So today, like a proper Brownie drop-out (that's pre-Girl Scouts) I came uber-prepared for rain. I was so prepared it was scary. I had rainboots on AND they matched my shirt. I know, I'm good. I had my not-so-heavy water-resistant jacket with a hood. And I was ready and willing to invest in ingenious technology--an umbrella.

All that said, there was no rain to be had today. So, at the end of the day, I had to shove my rainboots and my jacket in my backpack. My backpack, at maximum storage capacity, made me look like I was really planning to hike somewhere far away. I also hit lots of people with it when I tried to enter buildings, elevators, and the subway.

I must have been a sight to see. It was amusing enough to my new colleagues that they decided my nickname would forever be: Dora (the Explorer).

As I sit and write this post, it is unbearably hot in my room. I desperately want to open the window. But I might have to negotiate with Mother Nature about the chance that rain is in my future.

10/11 UPDATE: I got soaked head-to-toe today--no boots, my new umbrella is too small, and no water repellent clothing. So much for negotiating...

Dream: Egg Baby

Note to the Reader: This post is definitely a woman's post--and heavy at that. So feel free to pass.

Last night I had a dream. I gave birth to about ten eggs. In my dream they were chicken eggs. As time passed, they changed into a real baby. I'm not exactly sure how that happened. So Real Baby and I were happy. Didn't matter that Real Baby's dad wasn't around to help. Although that would be interesting. What if the dad was a chicken?!?

Anyway, then real baby and I are in a hotel-like room. We're getting ready for a conference I have to go to. I'm running late and I let Real Baby hang out in a crib for a moment while I pack. I don't know if I was supposed to pay more attention to Real Baby--but Real Baby turned back into approximately 10 chicken eggs.

Now mind you, the chicken eggs didn't come in a handy cardboard holder like the ones at the store. I had to hold all of them and try not to let any of them crack. It didn't last long. I cried hysterically when one of my eggs drops. I ended up with about 4 eggs out of 10. And for the life of me, they wouldn't turn back into Real Baby. I'm back in the hotel-like room with the 4 eggs underneath a desk lamp. I guess they turn into Real Baby with the application of heat?

So, here's my question. When I have midterms around the corner, why am I dreaming about babies and eggs?

The New York Subway: Episode 1

I was studying like a madwoman tonight. I have a midterm in Financial Management next week. On my way back from the library, I got a taste of just how weird NYC can be--and frankly how bizarre the people in this city can be.

Weird Art Lady
I watched a woman bring in a long 6 or 7 foot plus and approximately 1 foot wide piece of art into the subway. Weird Art Lady was young and on her cell phone (it was an above ground station). She wasn't paying attention at all--almost hit me with the thing and proceeded to lay it down on the floor on its end. So, as fellow subway riders rush to make this train (it's waiting a little for them) each of them has to step over it to get into the train car.

Multiple people, including me, are watching and waiting for someone to trip over this stupid thing. And each of us is secretly wondering who the hell this Weird Art Lady thinks she is, laying something like that in the middle of the entrance.

And lo and behold, just before the train doors close, a mother and daughter rush onto the train and the daughter trips and falls over the item. Everyone wants to make sure that she is okay. She says she is, although I imagine she was more embarrassed than anything else.

Then her mother proceeds to have a conversation with her about how Weird Art Lady should apologize. Weird Art Lady never does. I was on the train for five minutes watching the mother fume.

So, what I want to know is why Weird Art Lady didn't apologize at all. Her inconsiderate actions and indifference directly contributed to another person's pain and suffering. I don't get it. It was clearly a safety hazard--and if Weird Art Lady wasn't so pretty, I think the train conductor would have said something.

Meanwhile
During all the drama detailed above, a young, about my age, Hassidic Jewish man got on the train. (He stepped over the Weird Art Lady's shit too.) I made eye contact with said man and gave a slight smile. (I smile at everyone--it's my default NYC face) Then my eyes returned to my reading (on traditional and customary court structures in Tanzania).

Then he starts talking to me: "You're Jewish, right?"

I nod yes.

Him: "What do you do?"

Me: "I'm a graduate student."

Him: "Oh. Are you married, do you have a boy yet?"

Me: Think for a moment...is he asking if I have a male child or a boyfriend?
"No, I'm not married."

Him: "How old are you?"

Me: "26."

Him: "Oh, you're too old for me then."

Me: "Oh well." Fake smile.

Him: "So, do you have a boy?"

Me: "Yes, I have a boyfriend." Another fake smile.

Him: "Oh."

Me: Watch the mother and girl stare at Weird Art Lady and wait for her to apologize. Exit the train car gracefully.

If I keep missing these fish in the sea--I think I might be better off.