Daily Cup of Jo

For the purposes of this post, I will use the abbreviation SOTU to refer to President Obama’s speech last night.  I realize time is at a premium and acronyms are so helpful.

I liked the SOTU last night.  I didn’t love it, mostly because he spoke so slowly and deliberately, I was having a hard time keeping my chin from falling into my chest.  I found myself snapping my fingers – c’mon Barack, we’re busy, what’s your point? – and then wondered if it was just the damn teleprompter not prompting quickly enough.

Some other thoughts/questions:

Gabrielle Giffords – what a sweet moment between her and the president.

Why do most of the women wear red, or at least bright colors?  It’s great to see them standing out, in contrast to the very dull, predictable blue and grey suits of the men.  Is there more to it?  Do they talk beforehand about what they’re going to wear?

Jackie, the woman who lost her job then reeducated herself at a community college on the company’s dime, looked quite pleased with herself, sitting next to Michelle Obama.  Bad hair, though.  Speaking of…

Why is Hillary growing her hair and resorting to headbands?  It wasn’t a good look for her back in the 90s and it’s not a good look for her now.  But if I was traveling the world doing the work she’s doing as Secretary of State, I’d probably look twice as tired as she looks.  I’m a fan.

This was an interesting statement thrown out last night:  “A great teacher can raise the lifetime earnings of a single class of students by an estimated $250,000.”  My reaction wasn’t “We need more great teachers!” but rather “How the hell did they come up with that statistic?”  Yawn.

Immigrants represent 47% of US engineers. That’s too bad.  I’m going to help my girls more with their math homework.

John Kerry looked like hell.  ‘Scary movie’ bad.  I Googled to find out he got whacked in the nose playing hockey recently.  Good for him that he’s still out on the ice but yikes.

This was one of my favorite parts of the speech: “There is no question that some regulations are outdated, unnecessary, or too costly. In fact, I’ve approved fewer regulations in the first three years of my presidency than my Republican predecessor did in his. I’ve ordered every federal agency to eliminate rules that don’t make sense. We’ve already announced over 500 reforms, and just a fraction of them will save business and citizens more than $10 billion over the next five years. We got rid of one rule from 40 years ago that could have forced some dairy farmers to spend $10,000 a year proving that they could contain a spill – because milk was somehow classified as an oil.”  One of my least favorites was what Obama said next.  “With a rule like that, I guess it was worth crying over spilled milk.”  Really?  He didn’t anticipate the total lameness of that sentence?

Another favorite part:  “I’m a Democrat. But I believe what Republican Abraham Lincoln believed: That Government should do for people only what they cannot do better by themselves, and no more.”  I’m not opposed to the general ideology of less government – but not for its own sake in the GOP mantra – rather if less government in a particular circumstance is better than more.  (See previous paragraph.)

I heard a lot last night that needed to be said – that bailing out the auto industry worked, that stimulus projects employed millions and continues to do so, that we need infrastructure projects as much now for the national psyche as our country needed during the Depression and after World War II, that we must figure out ways to support community colleges so more Americans can be trained for technical work where there is the greatest need – I heard a lot and I heard it all, just not in the manner I wanted to hear it.  That is, with exasperation, because the rest of us are exasperated.  We’re not cool, calm, and collected about it all like our president – none of us.  We relate to each other, even Democrat to Republican, because of our shared frustrations, our collective “Really?” when we learn that the very wealthy don’t pay their fair share, oil companies are more profitable than ever, and Wall Street is back paying out bonuses far larger than we 99% make in a year, and not for starting a small business and hiring workers, or for repairing a bridge, or for creating new ways to heat our homes – but for keeping promises to shareholders and servicing financial projects that few of us understand or reap any benefit from.  Mr. President, you’re a passionate man leading a passionate people.  Don’t be afraid of emotion.  We’re not.

As for the Republican response shortly after the SOTU, Indiana Governor Mitch Daniels did the honors.  My face kept twisting up listening to him spew forth untruths and contradict precisely what we perceive to be happening in Washington – that is, two parties hell bent on destroying the other while forgetting about the job at hand.  I quote Mr. Daniels: “The problems are simply mathematical, and the answers are purely practical.”

Ah, if that were true.

The husband and I nearly named two of our girls SOPA and PIPA oh those many years ago, unaware of how controversial they’d become in 2012.  Fortunately, we opted for names more traditional, in the Irish vein, and avoided the embarrassment of having to explain the coincidence with this week’s congressional legislative brouhaha.

By now you know that SOPA stands for Stupid Online Piracy Act and PIPA breaks down as Poopy Internet Piracy Act.  Their purpose was to stop the stealing of copyrighted material on the great big World Wide Web.  Yeah, good luck with that.

At the dinner table Thursday evening, Goldie said one of her classmates told her Facebook and Twitter were going to shut down.  That allowed me a rare opening to demonstrate I was smarter than my children.  “He’s wrong,” I said simply, then proceeded, in even more facile terms, to explain what was going on.  Beyond a rudimentary dissection of SOPA and PIPA, I explained that Congress was incompetent and, while their intentions were good – pirated movies and music is bad business and illegal – their solutions were not.  Fortunately, smarter folks in the private sector, spurred on by Silicon Valley, took matters into their own hands, staged a highly successful internet protest shining light on the poorly written legislation and its sickening side-effects, and forced Congress to scratch their heads, sharpen their pencils, and get back to work writing laws that make more sense.  In the case of online piracy, that might not be possible.  Beside the point, I wondered why we can’t be more successful with other idiotic legislation Congress enacts.  Or heck, can’t we all agree now that the SOPA and PIPA debacle was proof that many of our elected leaders proceed with governance even though they don’t know what the f*** they’re talking about?  And yet most intelligent individuals with leadership qualities generally shy away from politics.  I wonder why?

Have you been paying attention to the GOP presidential candidates and the fight to become their party’s nominee?  Iowa miscounted and took Mitt Romney’s win there away from him, giving it to Rick Santorum instead.  As of a few days ago, Romney was poised to win South Carolina’s primary Saturday by a comfortable margin but that rascal Newt keeps gaining ground.  It’s shocking really – we’re talking about Newt Gingrich – but unbridled confidence goes a long way.  I keep shouting at the television, “Why is that man so sure of himself?!”  Faced with accusations this past week that he wanted an ‘open’ marriage with his second wife, and questioned first about the story in Thursday night’s South Carolina debate, Gingrich not only managed to deflect the discourse from his marital history and shine the light on a media he feels is biased in favor of President Obama (ha!), he closed the gap between himself and Mitt Romney and now stands a chance of winning today at the polls.

I don’t want to get into the marital details of the candidates – who really wants to imagine Gingrich naked with any woman – but this is the same man who helped lead the charge into impeachment proceedings against President Clinton after it was discovered Clinton unzipped for someone other than his wife.  Sure, they’ll all tell you it was about perjury but let’s be honest.  The Republicans smelled a fabulous scandal involving oral sex and marital infidelity that would help them politically, and so seized it.  Democrats would have done the same thing.  For the record, I wanted Clinton to resign so that many months later driving around in my car listening to the radio I wouldn’t hear a bunch of men in Congress – our leaders – discuss fellatio instead of ways to improve public education.  But hey, that’s just me.  Gingrich received a standing ovation Thursday night for the manner in which he handled John King’s question at the start of the CNN debate.  I think Mitt actually responded best: “John, let’s get on to the real issues, is all I gotta say.”

The real issues?  For me, it’s about rain and soccer and how the two are going to affect my football viewing Sunday.  Postponements today are pushing games until tomorrow, though I think I’ll be able to take in most of the early AFC championship game in New England as the Patriots host the Baltimore Ravens, and the later NFC game at Candlestick when the Giants visit the 49ers.  I’d love to see the Ravens take down pretty-boy Tom Brady and I-don’t-give-a-rat’s-ass-what-you-think-of-me Bill Belichick.  It would also be nostalgic for Californians to see San Francisco back in the big game after an unlikely and long-overdue return to quality football.  As always, we all hope for good games.

Enjoy the weekend.

Yesterday, I apologized to a few friends for being five minutes late for lunch.  I then ranted about being sick and tired of offering apologies.  It feels as if, several times a day, I’m contrite about something.  Usually I’m late – not very, but never early and rarely on time – and so I greet friends and enemies, generally, with the words, “Sorry I’m late.”  On email, my responses usually start out, “Sorry for not getting back to you sooner.”  Too often, my tone of voice with the girls about a ‘situation’ isn’t gracious but grating, and so after taking a breath, realizing I don’t always have to be mean, I say, “Sorry I yelled at you.”  Perhaps I beep my car horn too quickly, unaware that the person in front of me isn’t moving their car because a very old, blind person in a wheelchair is trying to cross the street in front of them.  I hang my head and mouth the words “I’m sorry” and shrink behind the wheel.

I’m sorry, okay?!  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  Shoot me.  I’m flawed.

But what’s up with being late?  Time is quantifiable.  Sixty seconds in a minute.  Sixty minutes in an hour.  I’m old enough to understand how long it takes to get from point A to point B, even in Los Angeles.  I know it takes me twenty minutes to shower and dry my hair.  I have Sigalert.com to help me understand traffic, yet I believe I can wiggle my nose like Samantha from “Bewitched” and transport myself anywhere, with clean hair, in five minutes.  How morosely disturbed do I have to be offering apologies before I change my tune and leave earlier?

Regarding my anger as a mother, how do I remind myself that yelling at my kids, in the grand scheme of things, never moves the story forward?  Sure, there are circumstances when repeating the same request calmly four times is enough and so the fifth time is LOUD, but actually shouting at the girls with contempt only serves to create more chaos.  Afterwards, I generally feel hungover.  How many times do I have to express regret for my actions before they stop listening?  Maybe they already have.  Like the grown-ups in Charlie Brown: Wah, wah, wah.

Regarding the car horn – I don’t beep much, but I have the same reaction when I get into what should be the fastest line at the grocery store and it turns out to be the slowest (naturally) because the person in front of me is writing a check after they’ve stopped to question the price of the tangerines they just bought that were supposed to be on sale but they’re not because the person picked up the ‘organic’ ones instead of the reduced-price tangerines that give you cancer, and so now the produce guy has to exchange the good tangerines for the cheap ones.  Who writes checks?!  Okay, that’s not the point.

I think I need more time.  I might have to lower my expectations about what I can accomplish in any given day, or at least manage them more efficiently in order to stop apologizing more often than not.

I’m sorry for this post.  Sometimes Daily Cup of Jo is just me working out my neuroses.  Cheaper than therapy, no traffic to make me late.

I didn’t learn the correct pronunciation of the word ‘façade’ until I was twenty-two.  Don’t know why.  Cold water to get blood stains out?  That was about eight years ago.  I suppose if no one comes right out and teaches you certain, useful things like how to cook a baked potato or the myriad uses of baby powder, you just might go through your whole life not knowing unless you remember to Google your query.  A lot of people say ‘vicious cycle’ instead of ‘vicious circle’ because no one has been obnoxious enough to correct them.  Most people think Frankenstein was the monster when, in fact, he was the doctor who created the monster.

Do I annoy you?  Would you prefer I get to the point?  To the cheese dip?

Rotelle cheese dip made with Velveeta is something I only heard about from my

That's not my hand.

friend Elizabeth from Arkadelphia when we were living in New York in the early-mid 80s.  I don’t even know if it’s a Southern thing or not.  She taught me about hush-puppies and collard greens, too.  Anyhow, the recipe is right on the can of Rotelle tomatoes with green chilies, but if no one tells you… Consider it another one of my simple gifts to you.

There’s football this weekend – very important games.  I don’t want you to have a heart attack while you’re watching Bill Belichik and his Patriots slaughter Tim Tebow and the Broncos, though with the fat content of this dip you might and for that I apologize.  There’s nothing healthy about this first simple one, or the gourmet version after, but it’s football, ya know?  Who eats carrots and celery in front of the game?  I don’t.

Rotelle cheese dip

1 can Rotelle tomatoes with green chilies (‘the original’)

12 oz. Velveeta cheese

tortilla chips (I prefer Doritos brand for this dip – nice and salty)

Cube the Velveeta.  Place it in a microwave safe dish.  Add the Rotelle and microwave on high for 3-4 minutes, stirring halfway through.  That’s it.  Enjoy.  (You can also cook it on the stovetop, but with the microwave version, you can serve it in the same dish you cooked it.)

If you can’t bring yourself to buy Velveeta (what’s that stuff made of anyhow?), go ahead and make this version that I grew up eating.  It felt as if every party my parents threw included the little red chafing dish with the wooden handle, propped over Sterno, keeping this dip warm even though it only lasted a few minutes as guests hovered, chowing it down.  I made it this afternoon and nearly finished half the batch myself.  (That’s not going to go over well when I set out on a long training run in the morning.)  I don’t know where my mom got the recipe, so as far as I’m concerned, it’s hers.  It’s simple to make and requires cheddar cheese – the real deal.  Make sure you don’t run out of chips.

Mom’s chilies con queso dip

2 T. vegetable oil

2 medium onions, chopped (at least one cup)

1 T. flour

½ cup chicken broth

½ cup sour cream

4 oz. mild diced green chilies (one small can)

4 oz. diced roasted red peppers (also known as pimientos – I bought a jar of whole roasted peppers and diced them myself)

3 cups shredded cheddar cheese (I always use sharp)

In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium.  Add the onions and cook until transparent.  Stir in the flour and mix well.  Add the chicken broth and sour cream, continue stirring until the mixture starts to bubble.  Mix in the chilies and roasted red peppers and heat through.  Stir in the cheese and cook over medium low, stirring until melted.  Serve immediately with salty chips.

I predict New Orleans over the 49ers, Baltimore over Houston, obviously Green Bay to eliminate the Giants, and the aforementioned Patriots to crush Denver.  I’m not saying this is how I want it all to play out; it’s how I think it will.  Place your bets.  Eat your cheese dip.

I have a confession to make.  Actually, it’s a fact, not a confession.  Two days before New Year’s, I received my AARP card in the mail – or at least the temporary card they give you until you capitulate and accept the truth that you’re turning fifty sooner than you anticipated and buy into the opportunity of getting hotel, movie, and restaurant discounts for being not as young as you used to be.

I threw the card in the trash.

Here’s the deal: I can’t be turning fifty in 2012 because just yesterday, I was dissecting a frog in Mrs. Hasz’s biology class.  And glancing through my junior yearbook to get the correct spelling of my science teacher’s name, I realized that in addition to feeling as I did in high school (emotionally anyway), I look the same, too.  Exactly the same.  Sure, some of you might disagree but this isn’t your blog.  It’s mine and I’m seventeen.  AARP can kiss my ass.  Speaking of…finishing up Mary Karr’s memoir Lit right now, I laughed out loud when she described getting in the shower one day and feeling something on the back of her legs only to realize it was her butt.  See, the image makes me laugh.  Potty humor slays me.  I’m way too immature to carry around a card that refers to Retired Persons.  Nobody I know retires.  Hell, I’m just getting started.

Let’s get serious for a moment.  Or wait, let’s not.  I hate being serious, more proof that there’s been some kind of chronological mistake in terms of what year it is.  The only example of maturity on my part is that I sometimes put my children’s needs before my own.  For instance, just last night I gave each of the girls four Trader Joe’s chicken shu mai dumplings with dinner to my three, even though I was hungrier and wanted them more.

Retire?  WTF?  Without a lottery win, the husband and I will be looking for ways to pay bills until we die.  Sure, I could look to save more money, like reusing coffee filters (I’ve heard of this) or getting an AARP card so my bill at Denny’s is 20% less, but I don’t eat at Denny’s.  I did in high school.  We’d go at night after play rehearsals and I’d order a piece of cherry pie.  Would’ve been nice to pay $2.40 instead of $3.00.  I could’ve invested the difference (yeah, right) but no one offered me that kind of discount then.  What a vicious circle!

It’s another ten months until I turn fifty.  What should I make of 2012?  Read fifty books, lose fifty pounds, gain fifty friends?  Learn the fifty ways to leave my lover?  (You don’t know about him, honey.  He’s a bum.)  Visit all fifty states, except those ten in the middle that all look the same?  Try fifty new yoga poses?  Fifty gelato flavors?  I already drink 50/50 coffee.  If you have any suggestions, there’s about a 50/50 chance I’ll listen.  I saw the movie “50/50” the other day.  Maybe I should shave my head.

After 9/11, my cousin insisted we should celebrate ALL of our birthdays and appreciate our lives in honor of those who lost theirs.  It’s a great thought and I’ll keep it in mind throughout the year, but I am not carrying around that f***ing AARP card.  You can’t make me.