Shock and Awe

"I'm shocked! Shocked to find that gambling is going on here!" So said Captain Louis Renault in Casablanca, as he pocketed his winnings from the illegal gambling going on in the back room at Rick's Cafe Americain. Sorry, wrong movie.

I listened to several talking heads on news programs beginning Friday night after the latest jobless numbers were released. Until I became thoroughly bored with everyone saying the same thing, I couldn't help but laugh at the protestations of shock and awe from the politicos in Washington. OMG, the sky is falling. Jobless numbers went up. Only 18,000 jobs created. OMG, no one saw this coming.

Ah, come on. Cut me some slack. Everyone should have seen this coming, that the June numbers would be bad. July is going to be worse. Why? Because many states balanced their budgets on the backs of layoffs. They had to cut services. They had to cut education. And those cuts had to come from somewhere. They came through layoffs and attrition.

Anyone who professed shock that the numbers were bad were smokin' something funny. Anyone who even tangentially follows the news should have seen this coming. There will be more layoffs when the full impact of state budgets is felt.

Wanna bet we have another round of shock and awe when that happens???

And whose fault will it be? Why, Washington's, of course. Yeah, right.

Ear Worms

I can't get rid of my latest ear worm. You know what those are, don't you? The annoying songs that echo through your brain every waking moment.

I remember years ago catching a new-fatal ear worm on a cross-country from between SFO and LGA. Five rows in front of me was an adorable child who sang an unadorable song for the entire flight. It took weeks to get "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" out of my mind. You can't ask a mother to make her child be quiet. I wanted to, but it wouldn't work.

A couple of weeks ago I linked a nine-minute video to my Facebook account. No cuts, no splices, just nine minutes of Don MacLean's "American Pie." Yup, took a week to get rid of it. How did I do it? I bumped "American Pie" with the latest ear worm.

I'm reading an advanced reader copy of Sharyn McCrumb's newest ballad novel. When I said I'd review it, I never, ever thought that "Tom Dooley" would about drive me nuts. Don't get me wrong. The book is excellent, and I'm a big fan of my old Kingston Trio song. Just not all day.

I played a great joke on an elevator full of obnoxious strangers in midtown New York once. A group of tourists violated the elevator code: No talking. Locals in New York ignore everyone else in an elevator. You could be standing next to Paul McCartney, and you wouldn't say a thing. Just not done. Several locals hissed at the tourists, but nothing stopped their incessant yapping. When I got off, I left them an ear worm. I started singing "It's a Small World After All." Off key. Loudly. And I leave you with that little ear worm, because it is a small world, after all.

Friendship

I've been listening to many people complain about how their friends are treating them lately. Friends don't call or stop by anymore. They turn down dinner invitations. They don't come to group events. Few if any spontaneous potluck suppers on a deck overlooking the lake. And then they complain about not knowing anyone.

Take yesterday, for example. Our homeowners association has an annual meeting/potluck barbeque every June. Fewer than 25% of the owners and their spouses turn out. This year, several new owners came to the end our our cul-de-sac. They got to meet other neighbors and found they had a lot in common with many of them. One owner, however, didn't show up. I was surprised, since she had been looking forward to the meeting, looking forward to connecting with her neighbors. I called her to see if everything was all right, and left a message on her cell. Nothing yet, although I know she's fine. She was out walking her new puppy this morning. Sadly, an opportunity missed to talk with neighbors.

One woman recently told me that we would probably be close friends if this were a different time and place. Puzzling statement, since we live barely 25 miles away, share many of the same literary passions, and love a good cup of tea or coffee. Still, with all we have in common, we have tried -- and failed -- four times in the past four months to get together for girl talk. We are supposed to meet tomorrow, but since she hasn't responded to my latest e-mails on where to meet, I've made other plans.

Two dear friends of many decades tell me I'm one of their best friends, yet when I need something, they are "busy." When one suffered a loss earlier this year, I dropped everything to be at her side, but when I needed a bit of consolation weeks later, she was too busy. Bridge, golf, you know how it is. Yes, I know. And I'm afraid this friendship may have run its natural course. The other invited himself up to visit, only to forget he asked to come. Fortunately, we know not to "hold his room" if someone else wants to drop in for a weekend.

I wonder how many people think they are being friends when they forward jokes all the time, but don't take time to drop two lines into an email. At least the jokes tell me they are alive. And how many other people think they are being good friends because they post what they are doing on Facebook. I see Facebook as a public broadcast service. I love it when someone likes what I post, or responds.

And I was very grateful to all those who sent condolences when my cat died. It meant a lot. It would have meant even more if some of my closest friends had called. But, hey, that would actually involve personal contact. Ooooh, maybe we have become a society where our human interaction is filtered through our keyboards. As a writer, I filter life thought my keyboard, but I still like sitting with someone and chatting. Face to face. Not Facebook to Facebook. I like being old school.

Summer Solstice

Ah, the summer solstice came yesterday. I'd planned my normal Druid dance to celebrate. Because I was working all day, I wanted to dance at dark, several hours after the true solstice.

I could have been dancing at 5 pm. Why? On the longest day of the year, it was almost completely dark by 4:30. Overhead was a thunderstorm. I don't dance when there is lightning. I thought I'd wait. Two and a half hours and two and a half inches of rain, later, it was still dark, still rainy, and still too dangerous to dance outside.

So much for the summer solstice. So much for dancing. Pooh.