I have one word for Sarah Palin: hypocrite. Make that two words: fucking hypocrite.
Look, I'm a hairy-legged feminist with more lesbian friends than straight ones. I believe that women can do anything men can do and better and faster, and without making a fuss about it. I work for a woman boss. My sister is a single mother who accomplishes more in one day than most men do in a week.
Sarah Palin is trivializing parenthood by her attitude: have kids by all means, but after you've got them there's no need for follow-up, even if they have Down's Syndrome or are a pregnant teen.
I'm not a parent. And maybe that's the crux. Maybe I'm jealous. Part of why I never had kids was because I was overwhelmed when I thought of how big a responsibility it is. Why then, do people who have kids irresponsibly, who make such dumb-ass decisions to run for office when their families are in crisis get to be lauded as symbols for goodness, motherhood and apple pie?
Look, I want a woman President. I hope I live long enough to see that day. But I don't want a right-wing nut job woman president with a four-month old. I've had friends and family members with four month olds. It's not prime time for anyone, okay? This is not a judgement on women's abilities. The four month old gets older, everyone starts getting to sleep through the night, and executive function returns, even better than before.
But if you're going to have a baby at age 44, and if you're going to choose to bear a Downs Syndrome child and if you're going to work against letting teenagers have birth control and instead promote "abstinence" and then your 17 year old gets pregnant...well maybe, just maybe, it's time to focus a little on the home front.
What really burns me is the way Hillary Clinton got punished by the right-wing media when she thoughtlessly said she wasn't going to be home baking cookies in the White House during Bill's first run for office. Hello? Chelsea was already a teenager by then, doing fine in school, and seems to be making her way in the world very well, thank you.
Sarah Palin on the other hand knows all the right things to say: "I'm just a hockey mom, gee whiz," but is anyone looking at her actions? She and her husband are encouraging (pressuring? forcing?) their daughter to marry a self-described "redneck" boy, who declares that all he wants to do is drink beer and hang with his buddies. And she gets points for being Mother of the Year?
I dreamed last night I was screaming "Hypocrite!! Hypocrite!!" into my pillow. Maybe I was.
All right I'm done with my political ranting. Here is the blog I wrote last night while waiting for C to get done with his shower (he takes hours in the bathroom, I have no idea what he does in there.)
I’m in love again—move over Tony Kushner. My new god is the playwright John Patrick Shanley, who wrote “Doubt,” this year’s Pulitzer Prize winning play. I read that one and thought it excellent; now I’m reading 13 by Shanley, a book of thirteen of his plays, mostly one-acts, and I want to eat the book.
Everyone! Go out and see or read a John Patrick Shanley play! It’s better than Prozac!
Carla said she loved a short little one-act called “The Red Coat.” I liked it fine, but my favorite so far is “Women of Manhattan.” I can’t believe how well he understands women—how can he so accurately record private women’s conversations that he could have no way of witnessing. I feel like he put a bug inside my brain and taped all my most intimate feelings and thoughts, then rendered them as art more articulately than I could myself.
I also met with Phil today, after a series of emails which I called “Jews R Us.” We met with Suz, and he invited her into Wing It! which makes two of us in there now. We said and listened to a lot, and the conversation is ongoing.
C is next to me in bed reading as I write this Wednesday night. “Are you blogging about what a great boyfriend I am?” he teases. Actually, for once I’m not, but for the record he still is. We’re lying here in our hot room with just a sheet on; a breeze is coming in through the windows and we can hear all the sounds of the street. I’m gonna make him stop what he’s doing so he can read more Hamlet with me.