What kind of dog are you?

This isn't going to be a link to some quiz that tells you what dog you are based on what junk food you eat or where you went to college. You have to do all the work yourself. 

I was just in a brainstorming session a couple of weeks ago where everyone was asked to introduce themselves and then tell what kind of dog they might be, if in fact they were to ever become a canine. 

I, on the other hand thought that it might be more interesting if those of us sitting around the table told each person what kind of a dog we thought they were.  So we did both.  People introduced themselves and revealed their secret dog identities.  And then I told them what kind of dog they really were. 

The moderator started out.  He said he thought his responsible personality was best suited to a collie.  I took one look at him and said, nah, he was a boxer, not a collie.  Lots of energy.  Very athletic. And so it went.  All the way around the table. One lady who thought she was a chow was actually a flatcoated retriever in my book. A very exotic brand manager type from Pittsburgh by way of India said she was a labrador retriever. I couldn't have agreed less. Nope, you're a Saluki, I said. She didn't know a Saluki from a Kabuki dancer, but I think she was pleased with the breed once she heard more about it.

So, what kind of a dog do you think you are?  What kind of a dog do other people think you are?

I am an afghan.  When you first see them they can go diva and look very elegant and beautiful. But it's all a front. Because the next minute they're clowning around. As in totally goofy. And they never stop.

That's me. And everybody agreed. 

 

What Happens When You Google Death

I didn't do this in honor [memory? frustration?] of Terri Schiavo, but her demise got me thinking about my own. As expected, I found an interesting web site when I typed in DEATH.  Fill in the blanks and they'll give you the day you're going to die. 

Excuse me while I pick out something to wear. 

http://www.deathclock.com/index.cfm

Terri Schiavo Dies.

GAME OVER.

 

Ask Mrs. Linklater Bachelor Party Edition

Mrs. Linklater loves to wallow in other peoples' misery. So once again she lets some hapless victim of conjugal consternation beg an advice columnist for help.  After which she butts in, as usual.

 

ASK AMY

Forbidding him won't strip away party problem

Published March 30, 2005

Dear Amy: My husband's good friend is getting married in May. The other good friends are planning quite the bachelor party for him, including an array of strippers and strip clubs. I'm not naive, and I know that a little green gets you much more than some removed clothing.

My husband has been invited. I am having an incredibly hard time with this. I cannot believe for a second the girls will not touch him or vice versa.

I can't help but feel I'm being asked to swallow him cheating under the "acceptable" guise of a bachelor party.

If I were to not "allow" him to go, I know it would cause months of tension between us. I also would have to listen to his friends rib him about how I've got him on a pretty tight leash.

I'm also a little jealous of him. It's occurring to me that he has several unwed friends, so for the upcoming years, my husband will have the opportunity to go out and have sexual fun with beautiful women. I, on the other hand, must bring the potato salad to the bridal showers. Any hints on how to make this easier?

-- Double Standard in Denver

Dear Denver: Your husband could visit strip clubs while on business trips or during lunch breaks. He could cheat on you without the benefit of a bachelor party. I don't know if he would do these things, but you seem pretty sure of it.

I'm on your side here, really I am, and if controlling and "not allowing" your husband to go to a party would fix things, then I'd say go for it. But forbidding him won't fix your problem.

You need to talk. I know it's a lot simpler to forbid something than to express how you feel, but if you two talk this out calmly, then you might be able to outline some very real compromises. For instance, I'll bet your husband doesn't consider visiting strippers to be cheating, and wouldn't you like to hear his reasoning?

I receive lots of letters about bachelor parties, and I don't know if I'll ever truly understand how men justify celebrating a marriage by visiting strippers.

In terms of women being stuck with bridal showers and potato salad, if the only alternative is strippers -- male or female -- I'll take the salad.

Mrs. Linklater is reminded of former president Clinton trying to answer questions at press conferences, during his difficult days following the Monica Lewinsky debacle.  Nevertheless, she feels compelled to ask Double Standard in Denver, "Just what in the world do you mean by "swallow him?" 

Why does Columbus Ohio exist?

Does this town have a purpose except to annoy me?

So far flying to Columbus for work has been an expensive disappointment.  The taxi from the airport to the hotel started at $3.00. And cost about two bucks a mile after that. Who do they think they are, New York?  Chicago? The piece de resistance was when the taxi meter added TAX. Freaking tax on a taxi ride?

My dinner at the hotel was palatable only because I was reading Bill Bryson's hilarious book, "A Walk in the Woods," about his trek on the Appalachian Trial. I haven't had a chance to sit down and enjoy reading it for several weeks now since a friend recommended it. Laughing out loud at his amusing observations of life on the AT helped me not notice the salad with blackened salmon that came without dressing, or the iced tea which tasted like it had been left out to rot, the soup which had bits and pieces of chicken from the Jurassic era, and the chocolate mousse dessert which was drizzled with Hershey's syrup and a side order of not whipped cream, but Cool Whip.

Yeah, I ate it all.

Better Late Than Never

This is Mrs. Linklater in one of her favorite locations, Montana, in her favorite clothes, polar fleece and hiking boots, wearing her favorite hairdo, natural with no product, with two of her favorite kinds of friends, dogs, Lucy and Frances [not hers], on her favorite holiday -- her birthday -- last October. You can look for the pictures she took on Easter sometime in September.

Baby You Can Drive My Car

This will not be a long trip down memory lane.  My short term memory is just that -- short.

Bosoxblue6993w, who writes the hilarious Dating Tips for Psychopaths [see Other Journals because I can't create journal links on a MAC] wrote about his favorite car from yesteryear.  And it reminded me of my 1965 Mustang.  My favorite car ever. Wish I hadn't let my ex-husband trade it in for that boat of a Cadillac. The 'Stang was my college graduation present from my parents. Bronze.  Stick shift. And, like Vietnam, the Beatles and Rolling Stones, dropping acid, smoking dope, the pill, protesting as a profession, and doing your own thing, I think it became the wheels for an entire generation.

Okay that car and a psychedelic VW bus.

Just for the heck of it, I googled 1965 Mustang and found dozens of them in various stages of repair.  The best looking one was a tricked out convertible that looked like Pimp My Ride had restored it after a night of partying.  The most remarkable feature was the cost: $79,000, Not bad for a car that cost around $2400 fully loaded back when.  

I hear guys in their thirties [my daughters' generation] talk about the old Mustangs with incredible reverence. And a faraway look in their eyes, like mountain climbers wondering what Everest must have been like in the old days. When I tell them I used to have one of the original Mustangs and it was a stick shift, I suddenly feel a little like one of the three people who still has an actual ticket stub from Woodstock.  "You were THERE?" "You actually OWNED one?"  Hot pants, false eyelashes, mini skirts, hip huggers, disco dancing, go go boots, and a '65 Mustang. Yep, that would be me.

Ah, well. Back to reality. And picking up groceries in the Jeep.

Patrick's Saturday Six Easter Bunny Edition

You, too, can play the Saturday Six -- just go to Patrick's Place [see Other Journals].

So...let's have a new set of questions, shall we?  This week, the case of Terri Schiavo has been dominating news headlines from coast to coast.  The first four questions will pertain to this theme in general.

1. Do you believe that Terri Schiavo should be allowed to die or that she should be kept alive?

"Allowed to die" assumes that she has a choice. And you're giving her permission to go ahead with something she wants to do.  Her husband wants us to think he knows what she wants.  He doesn't know what she wants. He knows what HE wants. He wants her dead.  He can't prove she would want to die.  There's nothing in writing. Her parents and her family want to keep her alive at their expense.  Her husband may have reasons for her to die that have nothing to do with her actual wishes.  Let her live.


2. Has the Schiavo case made you take any action towards creating a living will of your own?

I've told my children what I want.  A DNR [Do Not Resuscitate] order.  Donate my body to medical science after they have a chance to say good bye. Then scatter my ashes when they come back from the medical school. Geez, Patrick, these sure aren't the jolly questions we know and love.

3. Let's forget what we know -- or more likely, what we think we know -- about Schiavo's condition.  If you suffered a brain injury that would leave you in a non-responsive vegetative state (whether Schiavo is in this state or not) and your doctors said that there was so much brain damage that there would be no hope of recovery, would you want to be kept alive no matter what?

Pull the plug.  Use the money being spent to keep me alive to have a great party after my memorial service.  

4. Has anyone outside of your immediate family ever asked you to be their "personal representative" to make such a decision on their behalf if they ever suffer a severe injury?  Do you think you could really make the decision?

Nobody has asked me.  Nobody should ask me.  Except my children.  But at this point they need to be MY personal representatives.

5. Do you have a special outfit ready for Easter Sunday?  Does your family have any special Easter traditions?

I have a very expensive Easter Hat.  In storage.  I went to church Saturday night accidentally.  I thought my niece was being christened in a private ceremony. Surprize -- it was not only public, but it was an evening candlelight Easter service with a full choir plus a girl on a trumpet for a whole group of baptismal celebrants.  

Communion.  Followed by a champagne reception.  All the lights in the church were turned off.  The choir led everybody outside where the pachal candle was lit. Then everyone walked back into the darkened church.  Once inside the pachal candle was used to light the candle of the first choir member who lit the second choir member's candle, and so on and so on and so on. The candles were all we had to see with.  I nearly set my program on fire.  I did drip wax all over my slacks. And the baptism part was a little like bathing by candlelight.  Only I'm not usually doing that in church.

6. What room of your house is the absolute messiest?  Would you ever let a house guest see it?

The basement.  Okay, my computer room.  Let a houseguest see it?  Too late.  

Happy Easter Poem

 

There once was a Cistercian abbot

Who longed to look like a rabbit

But he re-tooled his kiester

One unfortunate Easter

And now he's a nun with a habit

 

New Era of Spelling

I wonder how long it will take for the DNA of our language to evolve from its current usage, with capital letters and an array of spelling rules from other languages, to no capital letters at all and pure phonetics. Before the internet it might have taken centuries.  With text messaging and a whole generation of "creative" spellers already out there sending IM's, a millennium of change may be reduced to a nano second.

lik wen u want to tel me that ur tiard of riteen mi naim az Mrs. Linklater and u want to spel it misus leenklatr.  

Just a thot.  

In Harm's Way

One of my daughters received an appointment to the Air Force Academy. It took a year for all the physical tests, visits, luncheons, interviews, and applications to be processed.  
          The bar she used for practicing the pull ups required of all incoming students still hangs in the entry to her old room.  
          Her father was the one who encouraged her to get an appointment. Not for any idealistic reasons. It's a free ride. Regardless, when the letter announcing her selection arrived from one of our senators, it was quite an honor.
          Still, she didn't make up her mind about going until the last minute. She waited and waited. As the deadline got closer, she still hadn't decided whether she would go.  
          Finally the night before the decision absolutely positively had to be made, she chose a mainstream university, not a war college.
When I asked her why, her only reply was, "Because it felt right."  
          In retrospect she made the right choice, as far as I, as a parent, am concerned. Being a pilot might have meant deployment to the Middle East now. Also, as a woman she might have been one of the victims of the egregious sex scandal that rocked The Academy during the time she would have been there.
          But it turns out that she's not the daughter I should have been worried about. While I was breathing a sigh of relief that my one child was going to remain a civilian, my other daughter turned out to be the one who chose to put herself in harm's way.  
          She is the one who is in a profession that makes her risk death every time she gets up in the morning.  She is the one who takes her life in her hands, walking the ground under her command unarmed and unprotected.
          She is deployed as part of a small army of volunteers who enter territory where attacks occur on a daily basis. Where there is rarely any warning to protect her from a maniac determined to commit suicide. She has no body armor. She doesn't carry a weapon. She isn't trained in martial arts.  
          Just last week at another facility like hers, seven people were killed by a fanatic who chose to die rather than surrender. There are hot spots like that all over. But there aren't enough tanks and weaponry to secure all of them. And those who are required to do their work under these stressful circumstances get no hazard pay.
          Weapons of personal destruction are confiscated every day from any number of people entering the facilities where she works. Metal detectors are the only defense against these perpetrators of evil. And my daughter walks among them with nothing but pepper spray in her purse.
          She isn't a soldier. She isn't a police officer. She isn't a guard in a maximum security prison. But lately hers has become one of the most dangerous jobs in the country.
          She's a high school English teacher.

Saturday Six from Last Saturday

1. You know company is coming:  do you panic and immediately begin cleaning house or do you sit back and relax because your place is already clean?

Company?  

2. Which was a bigger surprise for you:  
a) Robert Blake was acquitted
b) Martha Stewart did jail time
c) Scott Peterson was sentenced to death
d) The Michael Jackson trial began at all  

Robert Blake was acquitted?  That man is so guilty. Even though Scott Peterson was convicted with similar evidence, i.e., circumstantial, apparently this jury wanted more CSI evidence like you see on TV.  It was also the first loss for the prosecutor in at least thirty cases.

3. What was in the last package you received in the mail?

Something from Amazon -- books or DVD's.  That unmarked package in the brown wrapper wasn't for me.

4. What commercial annoys you the most at the moment?

Just because I write them doesn't mean I have to watch them.  The phrase "annoying commercial" is redundant.

5. What charity was the last one to call you to solicit a donation?  Did you give them money?  Why or why not?

The American Cancer Society.  No.  I don't talk to people reading from a script.

6. What common household product do you hate to run out of the most?

Besdies toilet paper, napkns and paper towels, because that's what I use when I run out of teepee.

ASK MRS. LINKLATER HEADBANGER EDITION

Mrs. Linklater was hoping some battered woman would step up to the plate and consult with an advice giver this week. Well, at least someone's sisters did.  Read the heartwarming tale of the abused woman followed by Prudence's by the book reply.  Naturally, Mrs. L butts in to save the day. She's like that, you know.


Dear Prudence
Sleeping With the Devil
Handling a loved one's decision to stay with an abusive mate.
Posted Thursday, March 24, 2005, at 4:48 AM PT

Dear Prudie,
I have two sisters, and we're all in our early 30s. One sister went through a divorce a couple of years ago, and she's dated a few men since. She met someone last year and told us she was in love with him. We all met him, and he seemed very nice; they had a lot in common. She moved in with him a few months later. Not too long after moving in together, they had a huge fight, and he beat her up. I took her to the hospital, and I helped her file a police report. She was resistant, but my sister, mother, and I convinced her to get rid of him for good. We since discovered he'd been violent toward her in other situations. She recently decided that she wanted him back and said it didn't matter what we thought; all that mattered was her happiness. We feel we should not have to forgive him for what he did. She feels we should stand by her and her choice of mate. My sister and I never want to see him or be around him. Should we stand by our sister, no matter what her decision? Or should we stand our ground, even if it means losing our relationship with her?

—Younger Sister

Dear Young,
It is always a good idea to keep the lines of communication open—in this case, so that you can be available to help your sister when/if she comes to her senses, hopefully before he hurts her again. Prudie's suggestion is to strongly convey your point of view, and give her some information about battered women and the prognoses of these damaging relationships. By all means, begin a paper trail of his transgressions, and call in the police when necessary. Tolerate the guy in a superficial sense, so that you're not cut off from your sister, and she'll come to you for help.

—Prudie, historically


Mrs. Linklater sticks her butt in like a dumptruck getting ready to unload. Enough of this namby pamby keep the lines of communication open CRAP!!! Big Sis is on the recklessroad to OJ Simpson land. And there's no return with that ticket. The time for your empathetic support is OVER!!  Here's what Mrs. Linklater would do if this were her sister:

She would purchase a headstone.  Yes, she would spend the money and buy a grave marker.  You read that right.  Then she would put her sister's name on it. Maybe with "Our Beloved Sister" above it and a couple of angels with harps. Underneath her sister's name, she'd add "BORN" and the date of her sister's birth. When all the lettering was finished, she would drag the marker to her sister's house, put it in the ground, surround it with lots of fake flowers, including one of those huge floral sprays with RIP on it, ring the doorbell, get her sister to come out and say to her, "Hi, Sis.  I hear you're back with What's His Name.  So I took the liberty of getting your gravestone in advance. You can see I've had your name and the date of your birth put on it.  I just need to know when you think he's going to kill you so I can add the date of your death."

And then leave.  Boy, will she be pissed.  But trust me, she will finally get the message.  Then call her every day, for as long s it takes, to ask her if she knows the date of her death yet. Always use the word, "Death." You might want to ask her what music to play at her funeral. "Do you want the Mormon Tabernacle Choir at the service, or should we save them for the burial site?" She probably won't talk to you after awhile, but still leave the message.  Until she gets out, gets help, and gets on with her life without HIM.

For those on a budget, Mrs. Linklater recommends a trip to the Hallmark store and the purchase of several tasteful Sympathy Cards. Then, over lunch with your sister you could bring them out and ask her which ones she likes best.  And when she inquires whom they are for you just say, "Oh, I'm going to give them to Mom and Dad after HE kills you.  Nice, don't you think?"

Mrs. Linklater is not kidding.  If there's one thing she's learned working with battered women, it's that the longer a woman stays in an abusive relationship the more she becomes deaf to the concerns of her friends. Until he beats her up so bad she almost dies.  Or, in fact, she wakes up one day and she's already dead. So you have to do something that makes the point LOUD AND CLEAR.

Mrs. Linklater is nothing if not helpful.

Scalzi's Weekend Assignment Anniversary Edition

According to Scalzi, this weekend assignment, the fifty-second, marks the first anniversary of weekend assignments. I knew that.

Weekend Assignment #52: Congratulations! Hollywood is making a movie of your life, and you get to choose any actor you want to play you -- yes, even if they're dead (the things they can do with special effects!) Who do you choose and why?

All righty then.  I want Jim Carrey to play me in drag.  What?  You have a problem with that? 

Okay then, how about  Oprah?  Just because I'm a white person doesn't mean a white person has to play me.  She is a fine actress.  She can capture that certain je ne sais quoi that is central to who I am. And that has nothing to do with color or weight or anything.  It's all about soul.  And I think we're on the same page there. 

I can hear the catcalls already.  Really.  You people. No imagination.

Okay, I'm so old if we're going to do my life story I have to have a bunch of people. So I want Diane Keaton when she was young to play me in my 20's.  Kind of how she was in Looking for Mr. Goodbar. Aside from getting younger, she'll have to get taller for the part, too.

Next Cindy Crawford can play me in my thirties. Yeah I was looking good then. Maybe not that good, but good. Except she has to learn to act, first.  Puh-lease. At least she's tall enough.

Then Glenn Close can play me in my forties -- with her curly blond hair from Fatal Attraction.  Although she'd have to stand on a chair to be my height. 

Susan Sarandon can play me in my fifties.  We look nothing alike.  But that's who I want. 

Now that I've hit sixty, who's left?  Of course.  Cher.

And I want Russell Crowe to be all my boyfriends.

 

Extra credit: Name the musician/band who will play the theme song to the movie.

Pointer Sisters' "Dare Me", the theme song of my life.

 

  

 

 

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

NOTE:  Manolo, yes THE Manolo, has a shoeblog. It is very funny. In his own inimitable fashion, Manolo has created a web page called The Gallery of The Horrors.

And UGGs are only one of the many shoe horrors he describes as you will see. Mrs. Linklater will get around to linking it when she can find a vacant PC. Meanwhile she is on her MAC which doesn't allow much of anything in her journal, so please be patient.  Oh, here's the URL at least: http://shoeblogs.com/horrors.html.

Manolo says, as the public service, the Manolo he has put together this permanent exhibition of the worst of the shoes, so that you may know what to avoid. Their crimes against fashion are great.

The Uggs

Manolo says, here you see the Ugg Classic Short in the baby pink. The only peoples who should be wearing this boot are the pre-teen girls who love the Hello Kitty.

With this boot there is no of the glamour, or the sex appeal, or the style. It is comfortable, but that is all. Worse, this boot, it is the trend that has outlasted its charm.

Once, the Manolo, he saw the aging minx the Shannon Doherty coming out of the Malibu Country Market, and she had on the Uggs and the miniskirt of the denim.

Perhaps she saw the Manolo frowning at the ugliness of her feetwear, for she scowled at the Manolo as if to say "you are the insect who is not worthy to gaze upon the shoes of the Shannon Doherty."

The Manolo, he was all whatever biotch, I am the Manolo, and your shoes, they are ridiculous. You are the woman approaching the middle age, but you insist on dressing like the 12-year-old.

Manolo says, do not be the Shannon Doherty. Do not wear the Uggs.

The Birkenstock

Manolo says, here you see the Birkenstock Boston, perhaps the ugliest, most unstylish shoe ever manufactured. This shoe, it looks like it was put together by the blind medieval monks, for wear by the peasants of the mud.

For some of the reason, unknown to the Manolo, this shoe it has the cachet with the bohemians and the pot-smoking hippies of the crunchiness. Indeed, you would have to be high to wear this

Like many of the worst of the shoes, it's defenders they trumpet the comfort of this "shoe".

Ha! The Manolo he laughs!

There are many shoes that they are perfectly comfortable without making the wearer look like the dork.

Manolo says, if you insist on wearing these ugly shoes, be certain to wear the wooly socks of grey for the full effect.

The Earth Shoe

Manolo says, here you see the Kharma from the Earth Shoe. Feast upon its defiant unstylishness!

The Earth Shoe it has the famous, "negative sole" which puts the toes of the wearer higher then the heels...perfect for making every girl look like she has the kegs for calves.

Also, this it is another of the favorite shoe of the hippies.

Query: why do the hippies and the crunchy bohemians insist on displaying their solidarity with the peasants by wearing the peasant shoes that cost $100 the pair?

Manolo asks, if they are indeed serious about wearing the comfortable footwear of the peasant should they not be sporting the shoes made out of the recycled treads of the steel-belted tires?


The Betsey Johnson

Manolo says, this shoe from the Betsey Johnson, it has changes the way the Manolo he thinks of the Betsey Johnson. Before the Manolo he thought she was the fun designer who knew when to draw the line on the kitschy crap. Now, the Manolo, he knows she clearly does not.

The Manolo he has the two questions about this:

1) Who did the Betsey Johnson think was the audience for this monstrosity? It is not just gimmicky, it is gimmicky at nearly $300 of the American dollars!

2) Okay, the lips and the domino the Manolo he gets, but what is the up with the rings? Are they to be the earrings?

It is the attention to ridiculous details such as this that makes this shoe a horror for the ages.

The Dansko

Manolo says, here you see the Dansko Teton, the shoe that its makers describe as the "men's sport clog".

Perhaps, like the Manolo, you are wondering what is the sport that the mens play while wearing the clog? Undoubtedly it must be something that it requires the ability to quickly kick off the shoe.

As far at the Manolo knows, there is no sport that is best played with the clog on the foot, and so it is most likely that this description, it was given in the hopes that the potato of the couch, as he clomped the aisles of the Wal-Mart, or sank into his Boy of Laziness for the protracted TV viewing, would feel good about himself.

The fact that he would not have to bend over, past the groaning waistband of his sweatpants, to untie the laces would be the other point of selling.

Manolo says, the very idea of the "men's sports clog" it makes the Manolo laugh. Ha!

It is ridiculous, and only the most gullible of the persons could be tricked into paying $125 of the American dollars for these glorified, heavy-duty house slippers.


The Crocs
Manolo says, this above it is the shoe for the man. Notice how it differs from the shoe for the woman, below.

Manolo says, exactly. They are the same shoe!

The Crocs people they seem to belive that the womens and the mens they deserve the exact same shoe.

Perhaps, this it will be true in the socialist utopia of the future when the differences between the genders they have been eliminated by the selective breeding, but not yet. We, happily, still live in the world where the shoes for the man and the shoe for the woman they are different.

Yet, in the fact, the Crocs people they are not only stubborn in their misguided insistance on leveling the differences between the sexes, but they are stubborn in their unstylishness.

These they are indeed the shoes of a hypothetical distopian future, one in which the inmates they must be dressed in the footwear least likely to be useful in the popular uprising against the regime.

Yes, the defenders of the Crocs they will speak, as the defenders of the ugly often do, of the great comfort of this "shoe". Manolo asks you, why must the "comfort" always be the warcry of those who would lead us into the bad shoes?

Manolo says, comfort and style they are not incompatable, one does not obviate the other.

Finally, the defenders of the Crocs they will tell you that the Crocs they cost only $35, which seems cheap, until one realizes that they are manufactured out of the plastic rings used to hold the packs of six. Not the good value at half the price.




Manolo says, if you believe another maker of the shoes deserves inclusion in this Gallery of the Horrors, email the Manolo giving your reasons why.

Manolo's Shoe Blog -- Manolo For The Men -- Manolo's Prada Blog -- Manolo For The Brides

HELL ON EARTH

Having read the accounts of coma victims who have returned from the "living dead,"  it occurs to me that Terry Schiavo may have spent the last fifteen years in a similar kind of personal hell.  

Her new diagnosis, which elevates her to a level of consciousness instead of a persistent, vegetative state, could mean that she has spent all this time well aware of her circumstances, but helpless because of them.

It is within the realm of possibility that the Terri Schiavo, the one who can speak and talk, lives on trapped inside her brain. The same way people who are having memory problems can be acutely aware of their loss, she, too, may be aware that she is in a mental prison, her soul locked in a dungeon of fog and incomprehension. Anyone who has tried to wake up from anesthesia knows how it feels to be in that twilight. Struggling for clarity. Struggling to communicate. And feeling helpless to do anything.

What if all this time the Terri who was left behind fifteen years ago really is alive, but assigned to a dreadful exile, trapped in a place where no one can see or hear her, locked behind a door she can never open.  Now that she no longer gets food or drink, she lies there, dying of thirst and hunger, conscious of all that is happening to her.  And, if her husband is in any way responsible for her plight, she also knows why. At least when her body finally dies, she can be free.  

Terri Schiavo Timeline

There are two timelines for Terri Schiavo.  The countdown to her death from dehydration began last Friday. 

And this article, which takes a linear approach to the Terri Schiavo issue with footnotes and a timeline of its own to back up the information it offers. 

 

FROM FOCUS ON SOCIAL ISSUES at www.family.org

What You Need to Know about Terri Schiavo
March 7, 2005

by Carrie Gordon Earll

Terri Schiavo's fight for life has been widely publicized in the media but do you know the facts?

Terri Schindler Schiavo is a 41-year old disabled Florida woman at the center of an on-going legal despite between her estranged husband, Michael, and her parents.

In 1990 at 26-years of age, Terri collapsed in her home when her heart temporarily stopped, cutting off oxygen to her brain and leaving her severely brain damaged.

Terri is not dying or terminally ill; she is not brain-dead or in a coma. She is an otherwise healthy mentally disabled woman. The diagnosis that she is in a “vegetative state” is disputed by many medical experts, including neurologists. Some neurologists believe it’s possible that Terri is in a “minimally conscious state” (MCS)— a neurological diagnostic criteria first defined in 2002. 1 Researchers are beginning to test this criteria against that of “persistent vegetative state” (PVS) with other patients. 2

Terri breathes on her own without the aid of a ventilator. Her only dependency is on a feeding tube into her stomach for liquids and nourishment. 3 She swallows her own saliva, a fact that leads some experts in speech pathology to believe that with sufficient time and therapy, she could regain her ability to swallow fluids by mouth. 4 As recently as 1997, nursing staff who cared for Terri testified that she could swallow fluidsand Jello-O, follow people with her eyes and even speak. 5

An attorney for Terri’s parents, Barbara Weller, has posted narratives on the Internet describing her recent visits with Terri. During these visits, Weller witnessed purposeful interaction between Terri, her parents and other visitors. 6

At the time of her collapse, Terri did not have a written advance medical directive. Since her disability, medical decisions have been made by her husband, Michael Schiavo.

Michael Schiavo won a medical malpractice case on Terri's behalf in 1992, pledging to use the money for Terri’s rehabilitation and care for the rest of her natural life. 7 The court awarded more than $1 million: $300,000 directly to Michael for his loss and additionally, more than $700,000 for Terri’s care. 8 Terri’s parents, Bob and Mary Schindler, claim that prior to the settlement a neurologist recommended progressive therapy for Terri and that Michael agreed to provide such therapy, only to deny it and confine Terri to a nursing home after receiving the jury award. 9

It was after the settlement that Michael first claimed that Terri had previously stated that she didn’t want to be kept alive by artificial means — a statement he never mentioned during the malpractice trial. 10

As guardian, Michael Schiavo controls the $700,000-plus trust fund awarded for Terri’s care. 11 As of fall of 2003, Michael Schiavo’s attorneys reported that the trust fund was down to $50,000, with more than $430,000 going to “pay for court costs associated with her husband’s legal battle to remove his wife’s feeding tube.” 12 Meanwhile, Medicaid helps to pay Terri’s $5,000-a-month nursing costs at a hospice in Pinellas Park, Florida. 13

Since 1995, Michael Schiavo has lived with a girlfriend, Jodi Centonze, with whom he has two children. 14 Michael remains legally married to Terri, as well as her guardian.

In 1998, Michael Schiavo petitioned the court to have Terri’s feeding tube removed.

Terri’s parents have offered to take care of Terri at their own expense, allowing Michael to keep all money remaining in the trust fund. To date, Michael Schiavo has refused, insisting that Terri die from dehydration.

Florida Sixth Judicial Circuit Judge George Greer has set Friday, March 18 at 1:00 p.m. EST as “date and time” certain to remove Terri’s feeding tube — an act that will cause the painful death of an otherwise healthy disabled person whose body processes and benefits from the nutrients and fluids she receives daily.



TIMELINE: 15

On February 25, 1990, 26-year old Terri Schindler Schiavo collapsed in her home when her heart temporarily stopped, cutting off oxygen to her brain and leaving her severely brain injured.

In November 1992, her husband, Michael, won a medical malpractice lawsuit after claiming that doctors failed to diagnose the chemical imbalance that caused the heart attack. The court awarded approximately $1 million in damages with $300,000 to Michael for his loss and another $700,000 to Michael for Terri’s guardianship and care.

In July 1993, Terri’s parents, Bob and Mary Schindler, petition the court to have Michael removed as Terri’s guardian — a request that is denied in August 2001.

In May 1998, Michael Schiavo petitions the court to have Terri’s feeding tube removed, claiming that Terri told him that she did not want life-sustaining intervention in the event of her incapacitation.

In February 2000, Florida Circuit Judge George W. Greer rules that the feeding tube can be removed.

After several court appeals, it is removed on April 24, 2001. Two days later, Florida Circuit Judge Frank Quesada orders doctors to reinsert Terri’s feeding tube.

In October, 2001, the Florida 2nd District Court of Appeals indefinitely delays the removal of Terri’s feeding tube pending the examination of Terri by five physicians: two selected by Michael, two by the Schindler’s and one by the court. The two doctors selected by Terri’s parents tell the court that she can recover; the remaining three stated that she is in a vegetative state with no hope of recovery. The following month, Judge Greer again orders the feeding tube to be removed again. More court appeals follow.

On October 15, 2003, Terri’s feeding tube is removed for a second time.

October 20-21, 2003: the Florida State Legislature passed legislation (dubbed “Terri’s Law”) allowing Governor Jeb Bush to intervene, ordering the reinsertion of Terri’s feeding tube — six days after it was removed.

May 6, 2004 — January 24, 2005: Various courts, including the Florida Supreme Court, strike down “Terri’s Law” as unconstitutional; the U.S. Supreme Court refuses to hear the case.

March 2005: Members of the U.S. Congress and the Florida State Legislature introduce legislation to intervene on behalf of Terri and other medically vulnerable patients.

1 Affidavit of Neurologist Beatrice C. Engstrand, M.D., March 3, 2005; Affidavit of Neurologist Jacob Green, M.D., February 22, 2005; Affidavit of Neurologist Lawrence Huntoon, M.D., March 3, 2005. Affidavits may be accessed on-line at www.terrisfight.org
2 J.T. Giacino, et al., “The minimally conscious state: Definition and diagnostic criteria,” Neurology, February 2002; 58: 349-353; Melanie Boly, et al., “Auditory Processing in Severely Brain Injured Patients,” Archives of Neurology, February 2004, 61:233-238.
3Abby Goodnough, “Governor of Florida orders woman fed in right-to-die case,” The New York Times, October 22, 2003.
4Affidavit of Speech Language Pathologist Sarah Green Mele, July 25, 2003; Affidavit of Carolyn Heron, M.D., March 3, 2005; Affidavit of Neurologist Beatrice C. Engstrand, M.D., March 3, 2005; Affidavit of Speech and Language Pathologist Jill Joyce, PhD, March 3, 2005. Some affidavits may be accessed on-line at www.terrisfight.org
5Affidavits of Certified Nursing Assistant Heidi Law, September 1, 2003; Registered Nurse Carla Sauer Iyer, September 1, 2003.
6Narrative by Barbara Weller on visit with Terri December 24, 2004, accessed on March 1, 2005 at www.terrisfight.org/press/BJWnarrative.html; Narrative by Barbara Weller on visit with Terri February 24, 2005, accessed on February 25, 2005 at www.alliancealert.org/2005/20050225.htm
7Vickie Chachere, “Michael Schiavo says money, activists motivate in-laws,” Associated Press, October 28, 2003.
8Patrick Kampert, “Parents or husband: Who decides?; Courts to choose victor in battle over woman’s life,” Chicago Tribune, October 12, 2003.
9Interview with Robert and Mary Schindler, Larry King Live, September 27, 2004.
10Kampert, Associated Press.
11Hugo Kugiya, “Decision for Death; Florida woman’s feeding tube pulled after court okays action, Newsday, October 16, 2003.
12William R. Levesque, “Schiavo’s husband says he’ll fight back,” St. Petersburg Times, October 24, 2003; Chris Gray, “Both sides in Schiavo fight point to control of money,” Philadelphia Inquirer, October 29, 2003.
13Mary McFachlin, “Schiavo case a growing legal, moral morass,” Palm Beach Post, October 26, 2003; Levesque, St. Petersburg Times.
14Rich McKay and Maya Bell, “How to deal with Terri Schiavo’s tragedy splits family,” Orlando Sentinel, October 26, 2003; Warren Richey, “Can state intervene in medical decisions?” Christian Science Monitor, August 3, 2004.
15With assistance from “Key Dates in the life of Terri Schiavo,” Associated Press, January 24, 2005.

HALFTIME SCORE

Michael Schiavo  1

Terry Schiavo     0

Schiavo Versus Schiavo

 Terri Schiavo, before

Here is my question:

Why can't Michael Schiavo just be allowed to divorce his wife?  And get on with abusing other women.  Like the girlfriend he had right after Terri's "accident."

If you're going to create legislation to get Terri back on the feeding tube, why not just grant Michael a divorce, so her parents can assume all responsibility for her the way they want to.

That would solve a lot.  I'm sure the answer is found somewhere in that murky legal quagmmire of responsibility when one spouse can no longer write his or her name on a document and no one has power of attorney. 

But back to Michael. I am intrigued by the possibility that Terri was strangled to the point of asphyxiation and subsequent brain damage by a husband who was probably upset that she wanted a divorce. Ever since, he's been trying to say she had an eating disorder and that's what brought on her coronary problems.

Oh, and if she dies he's not allowing an autopsy of her body.  Straight to cremation.

By the way did you know there is a $750K medical fund that Terri acquired via a medical malpractice lawsuit which is payable to her inheritor when she dies. Gee, wonder who that would be?

Michael Baden, the eminent forensic medical examiner who often appears on AUTOPSY for HBO, felt Schiavo should have been arrested for trying to kill his wife, based on X-rays he reviewed of her body following her "heart attack," which showed multiple traumatic injuries.

Can't somebody come up with a way for this creep to get on with his life.  And spare his wife an unpleasant death.

 

 

 

Gives New Meaning to Moon Over Miami

Mrs. Linklater got bored again and just for the heck of it typed NAKED into Google's search engine.  She found a naked singing llama site, but she also found www.naked-air.com. Complete with nude pictures of the passengers on this inaugural flight.  Like she's going to post them here.  Judging by the date, there haven't been many requests to do it again.


2003 Naked-Air Flight Report

It wasn't the Wright Brothers but at least it was newsworthy.

Ninety intrepid adventurers, passengers and crew enjoyed the first nude flight on a commercial airliner May 3 from Miami to Cancun, Mexico. A chartered Boeing 737 carried the first ever NAKED AIR flight sponsored by Castaways Travel of Houston, Texas. The professionally dressed crew remained clothed throughout the flight, adhering to standard operating rules of the Federal Aviation Association (FAA). Only the passengers disrobed after "take off" and remained nude for level flight until the captain called for clothes and landing procedures upon approaching the Cancun International Airport. Length of the NAKED AIR flight from Miami to Cancun was one hour fifteen minutes. Most passengers were on their way to the El Dorado and Hidden Beach Resorts for NUDE WEEK, also sponsored by Castaways Travel from May 3-10.

RANTINGS FROM MY EMAIL

Mrs. Linklater has a friend who is pissed about everything BUSH.  Here's his latest:

I can't believe it. This is the same guy who couldn't interrupt his vacation to respond to 150,000 people dying in a tidal wave. Who couldn't get off his ass when he was told the United States was under attack, and didn't interrupt his vacation when told that Osama Bin
Laden was planning to attack the U.S. He's got the blood of tens of thousands of Iraq civilians on his hands and yet saving the life of one brain-damaged woman is now the most important issue on earth to him?

Did I miss something?

An Interesting Point of View in the Terri Schiavo Case

Mrs. Linklater found this article from The Conservative Voice online.  NOTE:  Readers of this journal may recall that Mrs. Linklater has a thing about men with hair on their face.  She can't help thinking they're hiding something.

www.detnews.com

Terri Schiavo's Husband Fits Profile of Wife Abuser, Per Psychiatrist

Posted by Senior Editor on 2005/3/20 12:13:11

“As Terri Schiavo starves to death, it is time to alert more lawmakers to the truth: the wrong person is being ‘punished’ for Terri Schiavo’s current state,” says Carole Lieberman, M.D. a Board Certified Psychiatrist on the Clinical Faculty of UCLA. Having interviewed Terri’s father on her radio show (“Dr. Carole’s Couch” on voiceamerica.com), Dr. Lieberman uncovered the fact that Terri’s husband, Michael Schiavo, fits the profile of a wife-abuser – the same profile that fit O.J. Simpson and Scott Peterson.

At Terri’s father’s request, Dr. Lieberman put her opinion in writing (see below) so that the family could provide it to their attorneys, Governor Jeb Bush and Florida DCFS – who subsequently have begun investigating the possibility (supported by medical records and witnesses) that Michael Schiavo may well be the one responsible for the collapse that Terri suffered 15 years ago. Even offers of $1 million were not enough for Michael to take the risk of Terri being around ‘to talk’. “Since writing my preliminary opinion, further information has come to light that continues to support this position. Unless this travesty of justice is stopped, the answer will truly lie where the bones are buried,” warns Dr. Lieberman.

July 12, 2004
PRELIMINARY THOUGHTS ON HOW TERRI SCHIAVO’S HUSBAND, MICHAEL, FITS THE PROFILE OF A WIFE ABUSER

Based upon my interviews of Terri’s father, Robert Schindler, and my research into media accounts of her case, I can provide the following preliminary opinions at this time:

--As the author of the book, Bad Boys: Why We Love Them, How to Live with Them and When to Leave Them, I have studied men who exhibit pathology in their relationshipswith women. Profiles of the twelve different types of bad boys are explained. Michael Schiavo fits the profile, described in the book as the Prince of Darkness (see chapter 13). O.J. Simpson was cited as a classic example of this type, and there are indeed similarities between the two men. It is especially significant to note that O.J. flew into a homicidal rage when he realized that Nicole was totally abandoning him, as is characteristic of these impulsive men who most dread being abandoned by their woman. Similarly, Michael Schiavo was likely to have known that Terri had begun making plans to divorce him, since she had told a coworker and family member. Stalking is characteristic of this type of man, as well. And a girlfriend of Michael’s, Cindy, accused him of stalking her in 2001.

--Terri’s personality fits that of a woman who would have been attracted (and attractive) to such a man. She was a loner as a child. In high school she was overweight and not popular with boys. She had low self-esteem. She was extremely compassionate, nurturing and subservient. They met when Terri was 20 years old, and married by the time she was 21. Such whirlwind courtships are typical of these men, who are able to spot a vulnerable woman they can dominate, and eager to seal her commitment to him.

Terri was frightened to object to Michael’s pathologically controlling behavior. For example, he would monitor her odometer to control where she went. He tried to isolate her from her friends and family. She had to account for every penny, though they often lived on her income, since he would be fired, sometimes only after two weeks. He would splurge on $400 suits for himself, while she had to economize. He called her at work 3-4 times a day, often complaining of hating his job because no one appreciated him. He was often observed scolding her.

--Terri’s family observed black and blue marks on her before the incident that plunged her into her current state. Medical records and/or experts have revealed that her neck injury was consistent with strangulation. A bone scan revealed multiple fractures occurring within 1-2 months before or after the incident, which has been described as equivalent to her being “hit by a mach truck”. Michael has given three different explanations of how he found Terri after the incident.|

--Michael has had Terri’s jewelry re-set into a ring for himself. Terri had two beloved cats that she adopted from an animal shelter, where they’d landed after being mistreated. When he moved in with his girlfriend, Cindy, he had Terri’s cats euthanized. Psychologically, this is symbolic of what he is trying to do now to Terri.

--Michael has been under psychiatric care, including being prescribed several psychotropic medications. One of his treating therapists, Dr. Peter Kaplan, told Terri’s father that he should have called the police after Michael argued with Terri’s sister, Susanne, and Michael tried to attack her. This occurred right after Terri’s collapse, when they were all in a house together. Terri’s father told Susanne to lock her door and keep a hammer nearby.

--As a psychiatric expert witness, I have had experience performing psychiatric examinations of men like Michael Schiavo, and testifying in court about similar cases. The above is simply meant to illustrate some of the indications that Michael fits the profile of an abusive husband. He should most definitely be investigated as the perpetrator of the ‘incident’ that caused Terri’s collapse and her current condition. If Terri were to be allowed to die, as Michael has been desperately struggling to achieve for years, it could help him escape detection. This would be a grave miscarriage of justice.

Dr. Lieberman is the psychiatrist who instigated the investigation into Michael Jackson’s current accuser.

Stupid In A Good Way

www.stupid.com

Wondering what she could do to avoid working on a weekend assignment, Mrs. Linklater decided to type STUPID into Google. It went with her mindset. Wouldn't you know she ran butt up into www.stupid.com -- as stupid a place as they get.

Along with Stupid Gifts, Stupid Toys, Stupid Jokes, Vintage Stupidity and even Other Stupidity, just in case your particular brand of stupidity wasn't covered by all the other stupid stuff, she found Road Kill Candy, the Crazy Cat Lady Action figure, and her personal favorite, the Pizza Clock.

She loves the Pizza Clock because it actually looks like pizza.  And it comes in a lovely gift pizza box.   

How stupid is that?

The Brackets Are Busted

Don't you love the language of March Madness? This year they're calling it Arch Madness. Or the March to the Arch [Get it?  St. Louis Arch?]

I particularly like the concept of Bracket Busters. Especially when they happen early. All those office pools are just reeling from the shock of an early upset.

No. 193 Vermont beats No. 4 Syracuse.  Even I thought Syracuse had a chance to take it all. Ver-Freaking-Mont?!!!  What have they been smoking?

Less than Zero Bucknell beats No. 3 Kansas.  Wowser. David knocks out Goliath.

Bruce Weber is the coach of Number One ranked Illinois. His record so far is 30-1 He's in the second round of the NCAA championships.

His brother Dave also coaches in Illinois. For a high school team. His record is 30-2 so far. He's downstate with his team, playing in the semis of the Illinois state championships.

In a very short time we'll find out if their family can bring home two championships in the same year. A third brother, Ron, coaches high school in Wisconsin. He also had a winning season, but his team has already been knocked out of the cheesehead championships.

UPDATE:  Dave Weber's high school team just won the Illinois State High School Boys Basketball AA Championship last night.  The top bracket. Ranked eighth, they knocked off fourth-ranked Carbondale. 

Three brothers.  Three winning programs. Kinda cool. I bet Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners are very interesting.

HE'S BACK

After nothing since November, Mrs. Linklater just got this alert from What The Hell, Jeffcomedy's journal:



Shhh!!!

-Have you heard?

-Maybe a little, but there are too many rumors flying around.

-Do you think it's true?

-I hope so.

-What do you know so far?

-Not much.  What I do know is this....

Jeffcomedy is coming back!

-When?

-Soon.   But mum's the word.

Yeah, baby.  It's all going to be gravy very, very soon.  Can't WAIT to start sharing stories again.  Hope you guys look forward to hearing them as I am to sharing them.

See ya soon.

The Excitement Continues. . .

PHOTO: Just one of the many celebrants enjoying Mrs. Linklater's First Anniversary



BY THE WAY -- MRS. LINKLATER IS NOT LATE TO HER OWN CELEBRATION. IT'S JUST 9:00 AM HERE IN THE MIDWEST.
Mrs. Linklater was gratified to receive this email today.  She'll post yours too, because she's into contragulating herself.  NOTE:  That was supposed to be CONGRATULATING.  She is not drunk. She is typing impaired.


Happy anniversary!

I am one of your silent and dedicated readers.  I also work for a living and can't be around at 9 O'clock to help you celebrate.  Here's hoping you have many more of these celebrations.
Cheers!

Sam

THANKS, SAM.  AND CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU ON YOUR EMPLOYMENT!!! MRS. LINKLATER LOVES THAT YOU ARE THERE, LURKING, BUT IN A GOOD WAY.  AND SHE NEVER KNEW IT.  LET'S DRINK TO THAT!!!  [MRS. LINKLATER WANTS TO BREAK OUT THE BAILEY'S, BUT GAG HER, IT'S ONLY 9:00 AM. SO LET'S WAIT UNTIL 9:15.]

HERE'S SOME COMMENTS THAT SHE MOVED FROM AN EARLIER ENTRY -- ANYTHING TO FILL UP THE SPACE HERE.  


Congratulations to you Mrs. L....~jerseygirl aka consultant ;-)
Comment from cneinhorn - 3/16/05 4:53 PM

HEY JERSEY GIRL -- WISH YOU WERE HERE TO TAKE MY PICTURE!!!!  MY DIGITAL CAMERA IS OUT BEING CLEANED AFTER A CAN OF CRANBERRY JUICE GOT PUNCTURED AND EMPTIED ITS CONTENTS ALL OVER IT.  DON'T ASK.  MRS. L  
     

Congratulations early Mrs. L on your 1 year anniversary.  I took Thursday and Friday off to spend some quality Spring Break time with my kids... but tonight I'm going out with the girls.... maybe I should just stay up and come straight to the party instead of sleeping in.  I can always nap later, right?  
Happy Anniversary!
Tracy
Comment from tdain2003 - 3/16/05 3:51 PM

WOW! YOU TOOK THURSDAY AND FRIDAY OFF!!!  SO I'M KIND OF LIKE A NATIONAL HOLIDAY, HUH?  MRS. L.

     
CONGRATULATIONS MRS. LINKLATER ON YOUR JOURNAL'S ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY!!!! During that time, you have made us smile, laugh, and cry. You have tweaked our conscience, and made us realize that we are not the center of the universe. You are Maureen Dowd, Rona Barrett, Helen Thomas, Matt Drudge, Peggy Noonan, Arianna Huffington, Dr. Ruth, Dick Morris and Anna Quindlen all rolled into one. I congratulate you, I thank you, and I wish continued success!!!
Comment from jocko8189 - 3/16/05 2:26 PM

RONA BARRETT?   MRS. L

   
I'll bring a pitcher...or2...or 3of green beer to share!
Comment from salemslot9 - 3/16/05 1:42 P

REMINDS ME OF AN OLD IRISH VERSE I JUST MADE UP:

GREEN BE THE BEER THAT YOU'RE DRINKING
BROWN BE THE CURB WHERE YOU FALL
ORANGE YOU GLAD YOU ARE STINKING
DRUNK IN FRONT OF US ALL

THANK YOU THANK YOU -- I'M HERE ALL DAY.  MRS. L

EMAIL FROM SCREAMINREMO303: Subject: Happy Anniversary  -- Troy Aikman, my ass. That looks like the guy that played "Flounder" in Animal House.

WOW -- WAIT TILL HE HEARS THAT!!!  MRS. L

 

 

PAR-TAY!!!!

One year ago today Mrs. Linklater posted her first entry.  Here it is.  What was she thinking?


The answer of the day is: Pop Tarts. In fact, Mrs. Linklater believes that Pop Tarts are the answer to any question.  How did David Letterman father a child? Pop Tarts. Why did Digger Phelps pick Texas to win it all? Pop Tarts. Why did we go to war in Iraq?  Pop Tarts. Why do people eat over the sink?  Pop Tarts. What made me choose pictures of two college boys in drag?

Pop Tarts.

I was in a meeting this morning where they actually served Pop Tarts. I had never had one. So I tried the French Toast flavor. It tasted like French Toast. The syrup is inside, but it sits there and doesn't drip. I also tried the chocolate with those bright green pink and blue stars on top.  I would like to see if they glow under black light.

The experience got me to wondering about the sandwiches you could make with Pop Tarts.  Spread some Marshamallow Fluff and cherries in between. Or sliced bananas and peanut butter.  Cool whip and strawberries. Melted caramel and apple slices. I also wondered about mashed potatoes and peas, but got over it. What about Pop Tarts dipped in chocolate fondue? Or Pop Tart-Ka-Bobs? I smell Zantac.  

Finally, An Intelligent Take On The DNC

MRS. LINKLATER PLAYED POLITICAL PUNDIT FOR A MOMENT LAST YEAR.  NOT VERY WELL.  BUT CONSIDERING SHE USUALLY VOTES DEMOCRATIC, THIS RANT LAST JULY WAS A HARBINGER OF THINGS TO COME.

The Democratic National Convention? What crap. Sorry. What I meant to say was -- what a disappointment to anyone with a f**king brain. [I want to make sure this doesn't get posted on AOL Music Talk].

This year's DNC was to politics what sex is with Howard Stern -- not much.

Let's call it the Spectacle without Testicles. Vetted, rehearsed, and as spontaneous as dead body at a funeral.  Did the earth move for you?  Not likely.

Conventions have always been about flexing power in public. The ultimate in scalawag TV. Who's got it. Who flaunts it. Who wants it. Who's SOL.

Not any more.  No wonder the mainstream networks were willing to pull the plug on gavel to gavel coverage. We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you much ado about nothing. I haven't seen so much b.s. floating in space since Apollo Thirteen had an equipment malfunction.

Not for lack of trying. You could tell every effort was made to turn these nattering nabobs into something -- anything.  Just look at all those battery-powered hats. WTF? The place was like a gay pride parade in a old people's home.

Hundreds of elderly men and women wearing hats that spin, whistle, and flush the toilet. Nothing like people with questionable bladder control to remind us of our cherished American values and traditions.

The Democratic convention was supposed to be a chance for the party to demonstrate its inclusiveness. Its center of the roadness. Okay, maybe we're just a little left of center. But not too much, just a radio station or two.

Please don't call us liberals or conservatives. Nope, we're Americans, just like you. We have car payments and mortgages, too. Well, John Kerry doesn't. And John Edwards doesn't either.  But you get the idea.

We want to embrace everyone. Come on, group hug!  But the only people I saw embraced were white guys in suits. And a couple of white women in designer suits.

To their credit, the vett-meisters did let a few people of color entertain the crowds.

That includes Al Sharpton whose wit, wisdom and great impersonation of James Brown on Saturday Night Live whupped the asses off the other candidates during the primaries.  Naturally, he went off his "vetted" script a bunch of times to stick it to Dubya -- you go, Al.

How dare Kerry's people "vett" the speeches anyway. This is the Democratic convention.  It's supposed to be the one time you can slander anyone in the Republican party with impunity.

And how can you not take shots at George W. Bush? There hasn't been a bigger target since George Wendt bent over to tie his shoes.

And then there is the man who has become the Democratic Party's wet dream. Could anyone represent inclusiveness better than the charismatic Barack Obama, our newly anointed Tiger Woods of politics. Nigerian father. White mother. Everybody's so excited about him -- he's smart, he's African American, and best of all, he didn't screw up his keynote address.

But he might be the most elitist -- Columbia undergrad and Harvard law school are hardly two of our country's leading bastions of sympathy for liberal causes. I'm sorry, center of the roadness.

Mind if I say his name again -- Barack Obama. He's no Estes Kefauver. And for that, everyone is grateful. Once you finally learn his name, you will never forget it.

The PBS station here in Chicago is so enamored with Barack Obama that they have been running his keynote address more often than a baby has diarrhea. I woke up at 2:00 AM, last night, turned on the tube and there's Barack talking about being a skinny kid with a funny name. AGAIN. Okay, Barack, we get it. You're the THE ONE.

Not since Michael the Jordan was in the house has Chicago been so amped for anybody. Talk about starved for local heroes.

Apparently, not everyone is charmed. Congressman Jesse Jackson, Jr, an accomplished politician himself, started pouting about half way through Obama's speech. During an interview the next day he virtually accused Obama of pirating Dr. King's I Have a Dream speech. You mean, like you, Junior?

With Obama, Illinois finally has someone who isn't stinking up the place -- like his former opponent Jack Ryan, who was chased out of town when his divorcedecree was made public. The tall, pretty, rich boy was formerly married to Jeri Ryan, the impossibly voluptuous actress who played 7 of 9 on one of the Star Trek spin offs. It turns out that one of the reasons for the divorce was that Jack likes sex clubs. And Jeri didn't.

Apparently, when Jeri began to cry because she didn't want to have sex in front of lots of people, he told her that crying was not a turn on. Really? Okay, I'll stop.

"Hey," he said, in a lame attempt to defend himself, "We walked in [the club] and we immediately turned around."  So, Jack, how did you get in there in the first place? Because you thought all those mattresses on the floor meant it was, what? A restaurant? A bowling Alley?  A sperm donor reunion?

But Jack Ryan pales by comparison to another Ryan -- George, the most recent former governor of Illinois.  He was nominated [by himself, I'm sure] for a Nobel Peace Prize for commuting the sentences of over one hundred deathrow inmates. This was followed by his recent indictment [finally] in a license for bribes scandal that began before he was governor, when a couple lost all six of their children in a car accident involving an improperly licensed [i.e., he bribed somebody] truck driver.

So, to sum up -- the DNC sucked the air out of every living room in America. AL Sharpton got some laughs. Barack Obama didn't screw up. And John Kerry -- was he there?

TOMORROW IS THE BIG DAY!!!!

Not St. Patricks' Day. Anybody can do St. Patrick's Day. But only Mrs. Linklater can celebrate her journal's First Anniversary.  I know, try to contain yourselves.

See you at 9:00 AM - those of you who don't work for a living or call yourselves consultants.

Bring your own Irish whiskey.  

The Tide Car -- Like Tits on a Bull

HERE SHE GOES AGAIN, POSTING ANCIENT HISTORY.  AS WE GET CLOSER TO HER ANNIVERSARY, MRS. LINKLATER CONTINUES TO REACH INTO THE WAYBACK OF THE VAULT. THIS OLD ENTRY IS FROM JUNE, 2004.  AND IT BEGS THE QUESTION -- WHEN WILL THERE BE A TAMPAX CAR?


Answer: Because nobody asked, "What were you thinking?"  Question: Why is Tide a NASCAR sponsor?


Mrs. Linklater uses Tide. But even though Tide is probably the best detergent out there, she thinks the Tide people are taking advantage of their customers. And not giving them anything in return.

Yes, these are shocking allegations. But stick with her.

She just knows that somebody in marketing research for P & G was putting numbers together one day and discovered that a whole bunch of women were watching NASCAR races.

In between chasing kids, cleaning house, making dinner, washing dishes, doing clothes, and holding down a job, women love to watch NASCAR apparently.

Do you know what that means? the marketing research person shouted. That means we can advertise a woman's product, Tide for instance, on the hoods of the NASCAR muscle machines.

We'll have females fixated on our logo like they were watching the Chippendale dancers. For hours at a time. Not just for a piddly thirty seconds in a commercial.

Here's how the logic goes. Mrs. Linklater will type slowly so you can follow along: Women buy Tide. Women watch NASCAR races.

Women will buy way more Tide after they see the Tide logo in a NASCAR race. The way men rush out to buy Cialis.

This is so beautiful, why didn't we realize it earlier? Mrs. Linklater bets there was a lot of celebrating around the office when marketing realized what a gold mine they had stumbled onto.

The marketing people love it when research discovers a new way to suck money out of their customers.

They love it even more when research comes up with something that'll get them some good freebies. Particularly for the marketing people working on Tide.

Because when you're stuck working on a women's product there aren't as many off campus perks as working on say, a beer product.

No trips to bowl games, final fours, all-star games, the good stuff.

The excitement must have been enormous. Wow!! Now that we've got a good reason to put the Tide logo on a race car -- think about it -- we can travel to NASCAR races all over the country.

Hey, somebody has to keep the logo clean and shiny.

And we can hang out with Jeff and Rusty and all the guys. For a wholeweek sometimes. Lounging in the pits. Getting our own race jackets. I love this job!!!

And you say research has the numbers to justify these boondoggles? Give that person a raise.  How soon can we paint the car?

Hold on to your paint brush for a minute, marketing slut.

Those of you who follow NASCAR have probably noticed something about the drivers. There is nobody named Sue, Sally, Muffy or Nancy driving those cars.

Nobody who worries about helmet hair. Or whether her butt looks fat in her racing suit.

And the pit crews don't have any females changing tires and pumping gas that Mrs. Linklater can recall.  Nope.

NASCAR is to testosterone what monthly bloat is to a box of chocolate.

Mrs. Linklater thinks that the Tide folks have conveniently ignored a pretty obvious fact of NASCAR.  

Women have just two chances to break into that good ole boy network.  Slim and none.

No chance to share in the millions of dollars that float NASCAR's boat every year.  No chance to have their tawdry lives played out in the tabloids.

No chance to hire somebody else to take care of the kids, clean the house, make the dinner, wash the clothes, you get the idea.

So, given that the Tide folks are making a ton of money off women who use their product and watch NASCAR, you would think that they might consider saying "Thank you" in a more meaningful way, besides the usual coupon or two.

Mrs. Linklater thinks it's high time they did the right thing. And sponsored a car with a female driver. Or started a school to train female drivers.

Put some of the money they get from the hardworking women who keep this country clean and pressed and put it toward getting them out of the laundromat and into a race car.  So they can make enough money to buy their own washers and dryers.

But Mrs. Linklater isn't stupid.  She knows that won't happen unless enough people email P&G [www.pg.com] or call them at (513) 983-1100 to complain.

On the other hand, women could just stop using Tide.  Or stop watching NASCAR.

I'm Loud and I'm Proud!!!

Mrs. Linklater just followed the link for John Scalzi's elementary test -- What element are you [click on By The Way over in Other Journals and scroll down the page].

Mrs. Linklater is Pt -- not for the Cruiser, but for Platinum.  

"Platinum is a rare breed, and one who's reputation as a stalwart bastion of virtue is well-earned. You stick up for what you believe in, never change, and get along well with others. I would recommend that you become a politician, but the sad truth is that you don't understand us lesser and less-confident beings all that well. With a couple good Carbon advisors to keep you in touch with the scuzzy non-metals I'd vote for ya though. You are loud, be proud... keep it up."

A Girl Picks the NCAA Final Four

Mrs. Linklater steps out on a limb here and picks Illinois, Washington, UNC and Duke.  Or if you don't like that bunch, how about Syracuse, Wake Forest, UConn, and Oklahoma State. Last year the precocious pickmeister selected three of the final four.  Problem was her fourth pick, Stanford, which she said would win it all, got tossed early.

Dark horses include Georgia Tech Michigan State, Florida, Boston College. One prognosticator has picked Southern Illinois.

For fun, check out the amusing and little known facts about the NCAA Tourney at a female AOL sports blogger's site:

http://journals.aol.com/monponsett/HighAboveCourtside/entries/1199  [CUT AND PASTE]

HERE'S A SAMPLE --
Farleigh-Dickinson turned down a seven figure offer to rename themselves "Harley Davidson."

How Many Lab Mice Does It Take To Change A Lightbulb?

WHAT THE HECK, MRS. LINKLATER DECIDES TO POST TWO OLD ENTRIES IN ONE DAY. BECAUSE YOU CAN'T STOP HER.


Today's answer: How do you mean affection?.  Today's question:  Do you feel affection for lab mice?

There was something in an old issue of Science News that caught my eye. It wasn't a long article, just a summary of a recent study of brain injuries in lab mice, the animal equivalent of No. 2 pencils in the world of important scientific discovery.

Anyway, Mrs. Linklater remembers the underlying premise was as simple as what happens in the brain of a lab mouse (which corresponds to the eraser end of a No. 2 pencil) after it has received a blow to the head.

Mrs. Linklater feels it necessary to note that this blow to the head would not be hard enough to kill the mouse.  On the contrary, there would be just enough force to inflict severe trauma, you will be relieved to know.

No doubt, the scientists were provided with a top of the line set of stainless steel German tools to calibrate where severe trauma ends and death begins. Unlike other experiments, where mice are expendable -- that No. 2 pencil analogy comes to mind again -- the goal in this thoughtful study was for the mice to survive. Granted no details were provided to explain their quality of life afterward, but is that really the point?

Like anyone who has ever contemplated a severe blow to the head under any circumstances, scientific or not, Mrs. Linklater is grateful that there are mice who are willing to step up to the plate for us humans. She feels strongly that we ought to breathe a collective sigh of relief that the scientists were not recruiting human volunteers for this project.

Because, frankly she's not too sure she would do the same for a mouse.  

Mrs. Linklater Sinks to Swimming

AS THE ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION OF HER JOURNAL NEARS [MARCH 17TH -- DID YOU WRITE IT DOWN?], MRS. LINKLATER POSTS YET ANOTHER OLD ENTRY.  DON'T YOU JUST LOVE HER LITTLE ANSWER FOLLOWED BY THE QUESTION AFFECTATION?  YEAH.  ME, NEITHER.

Answer of the evening: Sink.  Question of the evening: What will Mrs. Linklater do when she finally dives into the pool to start swimming laps?



Swimming is the only sport Mrs. Linklater has left. All the other ones she used to enjoy require more working body parts. The excellent thing about swimming is that you don't need high quality joints and cartilage to get from one end of a pool to the other.

But Mrs. Linklater already misses her other sports -- the uniforms, the spandex pants, the padded shorts, the kaleidoscope colored shirts, the high socks, the low socks, the different shoes for tennis, softball, cycling, volleyball, bowling, jogging, hiking, and cross training, along with the helmets, hats, headbands, wristbands, kneepads, ankle braces, rackets, bats, balls and the bags that carried them,

Now she's only got swimming.  No shoes.  No socks. No wristbands. No offense to swimming, but it isn't a costume sport.  With tons of gear and your name embroidered all over the back. At least that's what Mrs. Linklater thought until she went to a store devoted to nothing but stuff for swimming.

A store devoted to everything you need for one sport is not unusual in her town. This is hallowed ground for athletes. Gale Sayers, the great Bears running back lives here. Jim McMahon, the great Bears quarterback lives here. too. Doug Collins, the emotional Bulls, Pistons, and Wizards coach and calmer NBA commentator lived here. Most of the other Chicago pros aren't more than a suburb or two away.

Mrs. Linklater's suburb has not one, but two swimming complexes. That's not counting the high school pool, the YMCA pool, the health club pools and the pools at the private country clubs. There are three racket clubs with eight to ten courts each in this town of 35,000 and three more tennis clubs within three miles. And that's not including all the public tennis courts. There is a huge public golf course with a super driving range. The Bulls practice facility is in the next town, so there are also a boatload of indoor and outdoor basketball courts, too.

But all those facilities are not what really sets Mrs. Linklater's town apart athletically. You knowyou're in a jocktown when you've got a velodrome for short track bicycle racing. And a curling facility. Does your town have a velodrome or a curling facility?  Mrs. Linklater thinks not. This place rocks for world class jocks. If there's a sport, from speedskating to platform tennis, there's a team playing it here.

So it's only right that a town like this would have a store devoted to nothing but swim stuff. And, luckily for Mrs. Linklater, it turns out that swimming has lots of stuff she can wear besides a suit. She can purchase goggles to prevent her eyes from turning green, a snorkel so she won't have to turn her head to breathe and risk inhaling green water, a cap to prevent her bleached blond hair from turning green, and fins -- bigger than any sport shoes she's ever owned.

Mrs. Linklater chose a pair of green fins to match the two green Speedos she bought. Go with the flow, don't you know. She would have purchased nose plugs, ear plugs, a watch and a kick board, but it would have taken her all day just to put everything on.

Too bad you can't be there at the pool for her unveiling today. The first time Mrs. Linklater straps it all on and dives in, she's going to give new meaning to "heavy water."

I Look Like Somebody Else

From the time I was five years old I have looked like someone else. It's never the same person twice, either.

When I was in kindergarten my best friend was Patsy Hartman. We had matching hats that we wore all winter long.  Everybody thought we were sisters. And couldn't remember who was who. The same thing happened in high school. My best friend and I looked alike. The confusion continues to this day at reunions. Not because we look alike anymore. Because people our age can't keep anybody's name straight. Let alone remember who it belongs to.

In college, things changed. I started getting confused with people I didn't know.  

At the end of my freshman year at Duke I got a phone call the day after the yearbook came out. Some guy was calling because he looked me up.  He claimed we sat together in English class. Except I wasn't in that class. He swore I was and just thought I was lying so I could blow him off. After convincing him that I had never sat next to him he promised to tell me who I looked like when her found her.

What a disappointment that was. I didn't think she was very cute at all.  

Sophomore year some guy followed me all the way into the reference room at the library and told me I looked just like his sister. Then he asked me out, so I didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

My senior year at Northwestern University I was confused with a famous celebrity who had graduated from the same school. Paula Prentiss had just made a movie called Where the Boys Are and we looked a lot alike back then. From our tall thinness and sixties flip hairdo to the sound of our voices -- we could have been sisters. Everyone in the speech department remarked about the similarity. So did Alvina Krause, the legendary teacher of many famous actors and actresses who attended Northwestern.

We couldn't look more different now.

After college I was at a party when some guy came up to me and continued a conversation he had been having with someone else earlier. I realized that he thought I was someone else when she walked up and his jaw dropped because we looked so much alike.  

A couple of years later I was walking to my apartment on the near north side of Chicago when two guys came up all excited, yelling, "Sheila, Sheila, Sheila from the beach!"  They swore I had spent the summer hanging out with them.  

Then after kids marriage and divorce I returned to work only to discover that I had a double working at the same company. In fact there was a third woman and the three of us became interchangeable as far as some people were concerned. "Hey, I just saw you downstairs. How did you get upstairs so quickly?" was something I heard more than once.

It's still not over. During my curly blond days people said I reminded them of Bette Midler. Even though I may be foot taller. And one of my nicknames, Big Bird, sums up my celebrity lookalike career. Just tonight at my healthclub, some woman did a double and then a triple take as I sat in front of the mirror doing my hair in the locker room. "Is your name Valerie?" No.  "You look just like her."

The flip side of all this is that I reinvent myself so often that if you met me five years ago I probably don't look the same anymore. My hair was curly. Now it's straight. It used to be reddish brown. Now it's blond.  

The irony is that even though I pass for other people a lot, I don't looklike myself for very long. Although my laugh will always give me away.

Ask Mrs. Linklater St Paddy's Day Parade Edition

Jeanne Phillips is Dear Abby. Her mother was the original Dear Abby. Dear Abby's sister was Ann Landers. Mrs. Linklater doesn't know what any of this means, but, as usual, that won't stop her from butting in whenever she pleases.  


Dear Abby: I just found out that I'm pregnant, and I'm thrilled. I'm getting married in September -- and that's the problem. At the time my wedding is scheduled, I'll be nine months pregnant.

The day we're being married has special significance to my fiance. I don't know how to tell him I don't want to waddle down the aisle. I have told him about the baby, but I don't know how to bring up changing the date of the wedding. I don't want to ruin it for him -- but I don't know if I can handle a formal wedding when I'm about to pop.

Am I being selfish, or would it be a good idea to ask him to change the date?

-- Scared In Oregon

Dear Scared: For heaven's sake, speak up. To do so is not selfish; it's practical. Remember that babies don't always arrive exactly on time -- sometimes they decide to come early.

When you're standing at the altar exchanging your vows, you should not have to worry about your water breaking.


MRS. LINKLATER STOPS DOING HER KEGELS FOR A MINUTE TO INTERRUPT HERE WITH AN OPINION THAT WILL NO DOUBT SHOCK AND DISMAY MOST PEOPLE.  

FIRST, SHE ACKNOWLEDGES HOW DIFFICULT IT MUST BE TO PLAN A WEDDING BETWEEN CONTRACTIONS. MEANWHILE, IT SOUNDS TO MRS. L LIKE THE GROOM WANTS TO REAP THE BENEFITS OF A TWO-FER -- HAVING HIS CAKE AND A BABY. TOO.  

WHILE SHE IS WELL AWARE OF HOW EVERY BRIDE WANTS TO LOOK HER BEST [THE THIN THING] FOR HER NUPTIALS, IF SHE'S KNOCKED UP ALL BETS ARE OFF. OH SURE, SHE CAN WAIT UNTIL THE BABY IS BORN AND HAVE THE CEREMONY LATER. OR GET MARRIED EARLIER, SAY BEFORE MAKING BABIES, BUT ANYONE CAN DO THAT.

MRS. LINKLATER THINKS WE ALL OUGHT TO CONSIDER THE UP SIDE OF WALKING DOWN THE AISLE AS YOUR WATER MAY BE BREAKING. ONCE YOU GET PREGNANT THE REASON FOR GETTING MARRIED BECOMES PRETTY APPARENT. WHY NOT CELEBRATE IT!!  

KUDOS TO THE MAN WHO IS WILLING TO TELL THE WORLD THAT HIS GIRLFRIEND IS PREGNANT BY THROWINGHER A FANCY WEDDING RIGHT WHEN SHE'S ABOUT TO DELIVER. IT WASN'T TOO LONG AGO THAT THESE WEDDINGS WERE ACCOMPANIED BY AN ARMED AND DANGEROUS FATHER.

HERE WE ARE A GENERATION LATER AND THE BRIDE CAN NOT ONLY WALK DOWN THE AISLE ON HER WAY TO THE DELIVERY ROOM,  SHE CAN WEAR THE TRADITIONAL WHITE GOWN, ALTHOUGH SOMETHING WASHABLE WOULD BE SMART.

SO IF YOU'RE GOING TO FLAUNT TRADITION, DO SO WITH PRIDE. THE ONLY SUGGESTION MRS. LINKLATER OFFERS IS TO MAKE SURE ALL THE BRIDESMAIDS ARE PREGNANT TOO, SO THE BRIDE WON'T BE UPSTAGED BY ANY SKINNY GIRLS.