lighter fare

(Because M.Snowe feels like a good laugh . . .)

Here's some good stuff:

Dickerson on McCain scare tactics (because Obama will take your money, let terrorists invade, and let all sorts of liberal "perversions" run rampant across the country).

Just when you thought the Reagan era and all that came with it was over, here's a reminder that some horrible fads just refuse to die. Thanks, Xavier Roberts. For nothing.

Sometimes judging a book by its cover never felt so satisfying.

Electable

UPDATE: See comment about Direct Democracy. M.Snowe is no political scientist, so comments are always welcome to prove her assumptions wrong!

The elections are almost here, and M.Snowe senses the hush before the storm. The debates behind us, there's nothing much to do but hold our collective breath and wait for our turn in the booth (or mail in our ballots--which promises to be a complete nonevent, compared to the shiny metal levers and satisfying swoosh of a tattered curtain).

Then M.Snowe got to thinking about the electoral college system, and democratic republics in general. Any grade-schooler worth their lunch money should be able to tell you we do not live in a democracy. A direct, ancient-Greek-style democracy consists of all citizens (even if that term was a narrow one back then, eliminating many people) voting upon the laws of the state, in one location. Today, we elect those who elect for us, and in that way we are represented by proxy--because we as a nation are such a behemoth that direct democracy is just not feasible. People have complained that voting is pointless, that their individual vote "doesn't matter," especially in a state that is heavily tilted to one party. Well, they're right. And thank god. First, that's an asinine argument against voting, because if your one vote "mattered" in the sense it determined the election, well then the rest of us might all just sit home and let you cast your ballot for us. Seriously. Also, even though it is like a drop of water in the ocean, your vote does contribute something. If nothing else, it legitimizes your ability to criticize the government. It legitimizes your participation, and for once is something you can contribute that isn't a tax. If you're not that symbolically inclined, then it's understandable you don't care about the race. But you forfeit all rights to complain, in M.Snowe's book, even though your vote wouldn't have changed a thing, almost certianly.

There is a lot to be learned by analyzing one person's vote in a presidential election: you can campaign and vote for a certain person or a set of things, but ultimately the decision is a collective result of all the people around you, pulling the strings whether they know it our not. And that's the part that scares people away from the polls, in this blogger's opinion. You have no control over the outcome, and yet you are asked to take a gamble, invest your time, thought, and in some cases, your desire. It is the willingness to throw in your chips, bend your will, that makes elections a showpiece for life.

You might desire one outcome with all your insides, but sometimes it just doesn't pan out--you feel emptied, and aren't sure how to function in the face of this new state of being that isn't the one you were hoping to encounter. Life moves on--it must--but spectacularly it feels as if somehow you stepped off to the side, and slow motion is the only way to operate in the face of the spinning clocks and daily merry-go-rounds.

The fervor, the thrust of those last few electric months, or weeks even, still pulse faintly, and like a white dwarf, the density of thoughts can pile on and grow by degrees, even though outwardly you only flicker faintly to the casual onlooker. There is no longer any hope to energize you, the election over, no fusion reactions to heat the core. However, once the build-up of mass or pressure becomes unbearable, carbon detonation can occur. It's not surprising that our actions mimic the stars. We certainly didn't vote for it to happen this way.

Inside-Out (Where M.Snowe ponders clarity in a fog)

M.Snowe is often surprised by the wild extremes peoples' conjectures take. If there was some ultimate spectrum with the words "astronomically off-kilter" and "absolutely on point," written on either end, most conjectures/assumptions would fall close to one of those phrases, but almost never in the middle, between them. So it must be concluded that when M.Snowe (and perhaps a larger audience) tries to grasp the unknown, she is in fact grasping at thin air, and her chance of being spot-on is as likely as her chance of revealing her complete ignorance.

The problem that inevitably accompanies assumptions/decision-making is we are never allowed to be objective. We can never separate ourselves from...well, ourselves--which includes our hopes, desires, fears, angers, etc. And whether it's an attempt to lay these considerations aside, or use them to our advantage, each is a conscious effort that can never fully result in objectivity. For many decisions, this is a beneficial thing. We are rational beings after all..whatever that's good for. But it's when we try and piece together the thoughts and actions of those around us (with their own unique hopes, fears, conjectures, etc.) , that it becomes especially trying.

So if you're living in the confines of a frenetic Friday afternoon, take heart--your worries could be completely off mark, anyways.

Replacements (Or a post in which M.Snowe interjects some rambling and incoherent commentary)

The world is filled with replacements, stand-ins. We have vice-presidents, runners-up, understudies, bench-warmers, you name it. These are the literal and defined replacements, anyways. They serve acknowledged, and important (though sometimes under-appreciated) roles. In the absence or inability of the primary, they stride in and (hopefully) fulfill the duty vacated by their predecessor.

Not just people, but words, ideas, inanimate objects can serve as replacements. Language itself is a replacement of sorts--words serve as symbols for everything we decide to give a name to.

Replacements are often vital--they allow us to distract ourselves, come to conclusions not otherwise attainable, or maybe see things in alternate ways. And replacements are a healthy and necessary part of life--when they are defined and known. But there are also dangerous and distracting replacements, obviously. And sometimes there are quixotic ones.

Sometimes M.Snowe wonders if her favorite authors used writing as a replacement . . . for something. If that is the case, then it's possible that even the worst situations can produce beautifully prosed results. But then again, replacements are everywhere--and usually involve the same dichotomy: the replacement of a person or wish with something/someone else entirely.

The city has a bevy of replacement activity. People replace any number of real things with the superficial--money, clothes, status, etc. But in a microcosm as big as this one, it's also very easy to use stand-ins, or recruit second-stringers, without their full knowledge or consent. Many in New York have no problem substituting one person for another, or unfairly looking for limited, isolated things from a large swath of unlucky souls. It becomes difficult, if not near impossible to know, in such a large space, whether your presence registers as a primary, or just the least-offensive alternative. To assume primacy is egotistical, to view yourself as the replacement is damn-near depressing. So what does one do?

M.Snowe found herself running three miles, and had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't purely cardiovascular-health motivations that got her trainers moving around the fluorescent-lit track. She might be replacing one thing or other, but at least the only one she tread upon was asphalt.

Agonizing Agape

Visiting an apple orchard is a great way to pass the time on a sunny fall Saturday. There are rows and rows of trees, lots of sky and a sense that even now, small joys can be gleaned from something as low tech as a ladder and a wooden pail.

The big sky is clear and the air is fresh--not the stifled kind that hangs in the air around the city.

M. Snowe, for the life of her (or more accurately for the life of her 9 month old nephew) couldn't then understand why such clear air could produce such polluted beliefs in her nephew's parents.

The actual words used to describe one presidential candidate were: "terroristic, socialistic, baby-killing bastard."

M.Snowe shuddered, thinking this is the language (and poor grammar) that her nephew is privied too daily.

Then someone let him suck on an apple, and he made a sour face the entire day.

One can only hope his ability to decipher the sour will adapt and strengthen with age.

How I Learned First Hand (literally) What Biden Should Not Do Tonight.

So last night, at a not so unreasonable hour, M.Snowe got on the subway at Union Square. Settling in to the normal routine of zoning out and ignoring those sitting around me as well as those who walked into the train with me, I failed to notice as someone attempted to get my attention walking through the subway doors. When he sat down next to me, I finally realized, it was a former coworker. He had moved to a different department and therefore a different floor of our building, so naturally, he was dead to me, aside from the occasional morning or afternoon sighting by the entrance to our building. What I could tell you about this man was that when I was working with him, he was intelligent and always on top of his work. While a hint of condescension was always distinguishable in him, it was never so much a bother for me not to respect and appreciate the work he did, which was thorough and on point. He is a middle-aged gentleman, with a mostly bald head and the slightest tuft of hair on either side, and he wore glasses. He might serve as a stand in for a Biden-like figure in terms of build.

He inquired how I was, and I asked the same of him. He then went on to tell me that "You probably don't know this, but I was fired from_____________. " Well, this certainly hadn't reached our floor, because as in most cases, the juicy gossip was too diluted by the time it traveled up the elevator to us. When he observed the raised eyebrows in response, he continued, explaining that his boss had either left or been pushed out of the company, and he was summarily told, without rhyme or reason, that his position was no longer needed. He stressed that they gave him no reason or justification for his termination. At this point, M.Snowe was disheartened and generally felt bad for the poor treatment Mr. Ex-Coworker had received, rather unfairly, from the looks of it. But something didn't sit right. When Mr. Ex-Co extended his greetings, he had said, "well, what are you doing down here at this hour?" as if it had been 1AM instead of just 9 or 10PM. But that was nothing out of the norm, for sure. But Mr.Ex-Co was much more relaxed-looking than I remembered him, perhaps because he no longer had to present himself as a professional acquaintance. He said some other things that didn't make the stale subway air any more breathable. But then, as he got up to go when we reached his stop, he rose and wished me the best, and I him. I was wearing a skirt, one that I had worn to work, which was professional and cut just above the knee, leaving just the knee plus a little bit more leg exposed while sitting on the train. As Mr. Ex-Co got up from the adjacent seat, he patted my leg with his hand, intentionally, and for a time period far too long for comfort. Keep in mind at work we were not close and I can't remember any time when he even shook my hand. At that point, all the respect, all the sorry feelings Mr. Ex-Co had been carefully cultivating were thrown out the train simultaneously as he exited. M.Snowe began to wonder if sometimes, the professional setting we've created is just a clever ruse that makes people think sexual condescension no longer exists, or only in extreme cases. Just because people behave themselves, doesn't mean the environment is completely free from bias and harassment.

Maybe (or even probably), M.Snowe is making way too much of a simple pat on the knee, but it was exacerbated by the fact that it was exposed skin, not trousers he touched, and for far too long. Maybe all that Catholic school education has gotten back at M.Snowe by making her too much of a prude while she simultaneously rejected the general idea of organized religion....who knows. But one thing is certain: a lesson can be learned, first hand if you will, from this that will help Joe Biden tonight... so listen up Mr. Biden: despite the fact that you are intelligent, qualified, etc., don't condescend, and don't appear sexist. Because as soon as you do that, even if it's completely unintentional, people will forget all of the good work you may have done. You can unmake years of hard work with a swipe of the knee, or pat on the head. Don't forget how idiotic Bush Sr. looked when he tried to "teach" Geraldine Ferraro about foreign policy in their debate, and how the crowd cheered her when she called him out on it. Senator Biden: be charismatic as you can, be strong and fight for your points when you can, but don't imply that Palin is dumb (even though she might be) and don't imply that you can teach her something (although you probably could). Also, don't ever, under any circumstances, talk or gesture to appearances. Like any good debater knows, once you hit the physical realm, you no longer have the power to make good theoretical arguments. Stick with theory, avoid physicality--because in theory, we're all created equal. It's when you come down to earth, you realize we're definitely not treated that way.

Mets, Mayhem, Magical Thinking.

M.Snowe admits she has no long-standing ties to Mets baseball. But the tickets are cheap, the games are exciting, and the location is prime and accessible. As any good baseball fan knows, a game is a game, and seats are seats, and if it isn't your favorite team, it's still something to get behind. But that's the thing with this Mets team--they suck you in when you were just looking for an entertaining afternoon with no strings attached. But then you're tethered to their foul pole, rapt into the play. Without knowing the players that well, without knowing the history, you can still be enchanted insanely quickly by their lukewarm pitching and haphazard methodology. Before you know it--you're hooked. You have no idea how, but this oft-losing team has caught your attention. They aren't exactly a beautiful team. They aren't gentlemen of the field. They usually signal a win and then fall spectacularly flat, promises broken. You can't figure them out--you feel they don't understand you, and how could they--you're just one fan in a crowd of way too many for comfort. It's as if they have another mistress, a coy Circe entangling them from afar, late at night after they leave the Flushing locker room, regardless of their protestations. But despite yourself, there the Mets are, and you cling to the idea that they could win and truly be your team, not just for one night, but for the big show. But why? M.Snowe has a few shrewd ideas...maybe.

Mets fans, like many other various groups and individuals, engage in what is usually referred to as "magical thinking." (Perhaps one of the best literary examples of magical thinking is the memoir by Joan Didion--a good and tragic read, though high on dramatics). Magical Thinking is the irrational belief that one can bring about a circumstance or event by merely thinking about or wishing for it. Outside of early childhood and schizophrenics, this kind of thinking is supposedly abnormal, or at the very least ill-advised. And yet, it has such a pretty, non-threatening name. The allure of it is undeniable. Mets fans hope and hope that their team will enter the playoffs, and yet it seems like the past couple of years, the team has feinted brilliance in August and September, only to dash the fans' hopes against the walls of Shea like the bulldozers in the coming months when it's demolished. The Mets had the appearance of winning it all--they acted like a team on the rise, and perhaps the fans were deluded into thinking that their ardent wishes would be enough to carry the team through--alas.

Some people (and some Mets fans included), might find this magical thinking disturbing--psychotic even. Why believe in a team so deeply, only to see your hopes stomped upon? How could you think that all those seeming "signs" of a winning record were anything but random or maybe slightly coincidental happenings in a chaotic world of sport? But then the question becomes, are the fans perhaps smarter to cling to something that ultimately does not directly effect depression levels, or at least subsides with the hope of a new season? Sometimes we all engage in magical thinking--and it can often be much more detrimental than the outcome of a baseball game. There will always be next year for the Mets. Will there always be next year for the other things we wish for irrationally? Will the other things be completely separate from our own actions? Will our individual choices effect the Mets' record? No. Will our choices effect our personal hopes and dreams that slide hazardously into magical realms? Probably. And even if the signs are read correctly, what if you find yourself still hoping for a wish that you know cannot come true?

Yes, you can wear your lucky t-shirt to the game and think it helped the cause--but there's no quantifying that, there's no direct link to your cotton and the players' mitts. But what about a misread sign or signal in your own life, and how you choose to interpret it? And we're not talking about a sign that a hitting coach gives to the player at bat. What about the subtle quirks, the indefinite gestures? Is it the magical thinking sneaking up on us again, or is it real? If only the exquisite pain of daily deciphering was more simple; if only it was more like a ballgame.

Tragedy, Catharsis, Economy.

M.Snowe watched a play yesterday. Not having been to one in ages, it was unclear what to expect. Entertainment was a cert, but as for anything else, who knew. The play ended up being jarring at times, and the acting was overall well done, except for the odd side character who's vague attempts to upstage were more pitiful than anything else. But the lead role performed wonderfully (perhaps due to getting the best lines, perhaps not). All of that aside, M.Snowe got to thinking about theatrical catharsis--that old Aristotelian noun translated roughly to mean identification and empathy with situations of theatrical human suffering, while simultaneously experiencing a feeling of joy/pleasure because the situation performed on the stage is not happening to you (as of yet). And Aristotle made some good points. It's nice to see the apocalypse on the stage, and watch it wiped clean with the swipe of the last curtain. But sometimes, a real good plan will not just make you vested in the lives of the characters. Sometimes your identification is so deep that catharsis is transcended. Sometimes, the vital truths illuminated in a play, however weirdly presented, stay with an audience member long after the final bow. This can happen with mediums of art. There should be a new term, a higher catharsis--a hybrid between catharsis and the death drive. It would be defined as empathy and pleasure at the experience of artful tragedy, but not pleasure because you are observing at a safe distance--pleasure because you too can see the beauty in your own tragedy, your self-same lament.
Speaking of tragedy, let's talk economy. What we are experiencing is not a main street event. The government decided to deregulate banks years back, and now, low and behold--the investment bankers played some dirty tricks with the books. Only now, we're the ones paying for it (in taxes?). Who is helping the poor people that were misinformed when they entered into bad deal home loans? Why are we more worried about men (because they're almost if not all men) who's incomes have gone from eight or seven digits to maybe only six? Saving the jobs of the people who got us into this mess is not the answer (ummm....can you say Moral Hazard???). These bankers know no shame and feel only entitlement. They earned the tragedy that is crouching towards them--and yet the Bush administration is eager to lighten the blow, or preempt it (go figure, Bush and a preemptive war?). It's harsh, but its hard to feel sorry for people who knowingly aimed at making deals and taking advantage of those who were strapped for catch, and just wanted a place to call their own. These people are responsible for the tumbling economy--they have faces, names, and are easily found. Bush likes to combat things, especially enemies. Yet in this case he is showing mercy to merciless people who are not exactly in hiding. Yes, banks being run into the ground is bad news for everyone, but there should be consequences for the people who ran them there in the first place--they deserve a bit of a tragic fall. And that would be a bit of tragedy we could all get on board with. Talk about cathartic.

What we deserve. Or do we?

Life is random. An amalgam of things.
This is commonly excepted by those who don't have any hard claims to the destiny often intertwined with religion, or some sense of self-fashioned karmic spirituality. So naturally, if you believe that randomness is a fact of life and that there are unexplainable and unplanned courses of action, your entire worldview is shaped by it. Yes, many things are intentional, but when it comes down to it, control (of others, of events, etc.) is often out of our hands. This can be at once liberating and frightening. There are things we can guide--things we can finagle, but sometimes things fall to the wet pavement spectacularly, or mend up amazingly, and we have nothing or no one to thank or alternatively berate for it. So when someone gets what "they deserve," it is usually chance and not anything else. We must exclude practical examples that would counter this assertion, like working hard for an achievable goal and reaching it--no--here we're talking about seemingly unrelated occurrences that end up making sense in the bigger picture--like rudely stealing a crippled lady's seat on the train, only to end up breaking your leg while rushing on another platform a few days later. For better or worse, poetic justice is such because, like poetry, it is abstract, often confusing, and outside reality or practical use (not that we don't love it, and wish it was applied daily). Unpoetic justice, as a friend called it, is just as possible (i.e. you could've given the cripple that seat and still broken your leg).

So why does it seem that sometimes, the world gives us all what we deserve? Could there be more poetry after all?

more to follow...

got problems with the election? : thatsyourtrouble weighs in

M.Snowe would like to share some very astute summations (below in blue) from her coworker/friend, thatsyourtrouble. This was birthed from a lively email debate...

Sorry for the ramblings below, but your blog helped to crystallize some of my thinking here:

Even I was a bit surprised that some have actually been using the term “catfight” to describe Clinton/Palin disputes that are not even occurring. I tried to measure this with my sexismometer, but all of a sudden it seemed to be broken.

The gender politics angle of the Palin nomination is very interesting. It is of course the duty of those on the left to defend her from sexist attacks but to oppose her on the content of the McCain platform (or her own opinions on the issues, if we find out more about what those are).

But what are we to think about her instant popularity among many conservatives and independents? We should not assume that a male candidate could not have attracted the same enormous support, but regardless of whether her gender is an essential component, her own unusual and particular identity is the key.

Her story as a regular person who has achieved tremendous success without the elitist taint of Ivy League education is a large positive factor in the populist tradition. Furthermore, the story of her own life as a woman and mother who has lived her pro-life principles is extremely validating for “values” conservatives of both genders. Conservative and apolitical women will support her fervently because they can stand up for women by doing so. They may even identify as pro-life feminists, but Palin has none of the “negatives” that traditionally accompany feminism in the conservative mind. Her feminism consists in her ability to accomplish anything she tries to achieve (and to do so while raising a family). Thus they agree with her stand against the old-boy network and her ability to break the glass ceiling. She does not embody a challenge to any “traditional” values, and her somewhat unusual (and yet still traditional) relationship with her husband is extremely reassuring in that it shows that she has no fundamentally “anti-man” views that most conservatives associate with feminism. Furthermore, her pro-life credentials obviously cannot be doubted. I would argue that her physical attractiveness is also extremely important. The Rush Limbaugh conservatives truly believe that feminists (feminazis) turn to this ideology in part because they themselves are physically (and thus spiritually, one suspects they believe) ugly, and I suspect that Palin’s physical attractiveness (and youth) are as important to mobilizing enthusiastic support in both men and women as a child star’s cuteness is to eliciting sympathy from a movie audience. I think that even in this allegedly more enlightened age, the attractiveness/likeability connection continues to be as huge a factor in politics as in life. Kay Bailey Hutchison would not have elicited enthusiasm, partly because she is not new to the scene and a rising star, but also because her physical appearance makes her less likely to be liked. The same can apply to male politicians, I’d say, though the bar is set far lower and the effect is probably much smaller.

So in the end Palin is an instant hero(ine) to female voters because of her impressive personal accomplishments while also validating the views of conservative women and (perhaps especially) conservative men. At the same time she also claims the status of a maverick; her maverick status and McCain’s probably reinforce each other in increasingly positive ways. Furthermore, she is threatening only to “old boy network” male politicians, and men and women alike will generally cheer the success of anyone (especially someone who is as instantly charming as Ms. Palin) who has unseated the undeserving establishment (of which the old boy network is an example).

The backstory of the Democrats and the fate of Hillary Clinton helps further, because Republicans and independents can feel that they are standing up for women while the Democrats dissed them. Furthermore, Palin’s place on the ticket allows Republicans and independents to be enthusiastic about an historic candidacy of their own—ground that was formerly necessarily ceded to the Obama people. This eliminates the enthusiasm gap, and, for any Republicans or independents who think about race, it probably wipes away any race-related guilt.

Of course, there are some wonkier conservative voters out there who will worry about Palin’s lack of experience, but comparison to Obama’s lack of experience makes this easier to overlook. Some will also see the pick of Palin as a cynical ploy, but the feel-good story seems to be winning the day. It’s still possible that external events could knock Palin from her current popularity, but unless that happens, I think this gives the Republicans an advantage that the Dems will not be able to overcome.

Metaphors for Stagnation (not change)

This morning M.Snowe decided to flip through some network news programs (against her better morning judgment that usually dictates sticking to the ipod). The stories on all three major networks (as if you would even consider FOX part of the repertoire!) were extremely Palin-centric. This was to be expected with the current hype, and was part of the reason it was turned to in the first place. Despite all the reading, M.Snowe was looking for some television news stories--to see how they were covering it all.

There's nothing like that unedited commentary you sometimes get in the morning from pre-caffeinated television pundits. The stories are always hokey, and this morning was no disappointment--the reporting centered on the projected bump in women supporters for the McCain/Palin ticket--a jump of 20% among white women voters. This seems astronomically high, but let's just pretend it's true. Also, it was surmised that this bump was solely due to the addition of Palin to the ticket (although historically, after a convention, the polls get a natural bump, and we're not talking about Palin's daughter's new baby bump here, either).

Then, the accompanying story focused on Clinton's response to the Palin pick (because you always have to check what each of those bitches is saying behind the back of the other)--and more than one pundit or newscaster had this comment to make: That Clinton was viewed as not being tough enough on Palin. In other words, they blamed Clinton for not attacking Palin more fiercely and personally, and said that her inability to attack Palin was lingering luke warm sentiments for Obama, a.k.a. bitterness of her own failed campaign--a wily attempt to intentionally disrupt his campaign.

Somehow, the campaign has shifted from focus on McCain and Obama to Palin and whomever looks like the best democratic stand-in, be it Clinton (either one of them) or Biden, or someone else to hit the scene. And this can't be blamed completely on the media--people have had months, even years of analyzing McCain and Obama. They're looking for new material--and boy have they found some. This might be perfectly benign, but the force with which the media coverage has become misogynistic, or at the very least rice-paper-thinly-veiled sexist is downright distressing, and anger-inducing.

Example: When multiple newscasters/pundits described the relative quiet of Clinton on the topic of Palin's controversy, one phrase was commonly shared amongst the new stations. Each interviewee said that if the two criticized each other, it would be a "cat fight." When men like Obama and McCain bicker over policy, it is a "political debate," or at worst maybe a "mudslinging." A normal cat fight, in the literal sense, is two cats shrieking at the top of their lungs and alternately backing away and scratching at each other. No real damage is usually done, and no real winner takes the spoils--all is for naught, and the cats stalk away to fight another day, with all the people in earshot mildly annoyed by the raucous. They barely raise a paw, compared to being mauled by a bear, or bitten by a shark (or a "barracuda"). Although the accusations of Clinton's indifference or purposeful avoidance of attack are ridiculous, this characterization also implies that a fight between the two, if initiated, would be irrelevant. Also, M.Snowe hates to have to point out the obvious, but the pundits, in their use of "cat fight" are, at the very surface, making sure that the audience remembers these two political figures do indeed have pussies. When was the last time you heard an Obama/McCain argument escalate into what the pundits labeled a "cock fight?" Hmm. Thought so. No one ever accused McCain of wanting to scratch someones eyes out, but that's where we are now.

Also, from the most recent New Yorker, we get statements like this from people at the Republican National Convention:

A republican delegate "had been wearing a pin that said “Catholics for McCain,” but swapped it for one that said “Hottest VP from the Coolest State.”

"She’s tremendous. I’m gonna scream, ‘Marry me,’ if I can just get up the nerve.”

Juxtapose these statements with the ones Clinton received during her campaign, like the signs that said "Iron my Shirt."
Both types of messages are the same: We are not comfortable with where you are politically, so let's bring the debate down to the level we can handle: either critique your body, your supposed lack of femininity, or abundance of it. One scholar of gender and racial studies said that your subjection can be measured by a simple mirror test. When you look in the mirror in the morning, how do you identify yourself? If you just see you, or see yourself as a human being--then you are relatively unaware of social class and racial bias. But if you identify a race, or class or sex with your image, it is that constant acknowledgement of difference that follows you throughout the day, and is reinforced by the people and social practices/behavior taking place all around you. It's a sad but true statement that women (similar to other races and sexual orientations), when they look in the mirror, are constantly reminded they are women first and people, second.

Electric Affect

"Home is so sad. It stays the way it left,

Shaped to the comfort of the last to go

As if to win them back. Instead, bereft

Of anyone to please, it whithers so,

Having no heart to put aside the theft

And turn again to what it started as,

A joyous shot at how things ought to be,

Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:

Look at the pictures and the cutlery.

The music in the piano stool. That vase."

--Philip Larkin, Home Is So Sad

M.Snowe visited with relations living in the wilds of Eastern Pennsylvania over this past weekend. Of course, the wilds mean a country town on the edge of a valley, looking down at the vast green expanses of rolling plains and gently sloping hills, up until the hills hit the tree-burdened mountain ranges surrounding it all with their jagged finality. The mountains, in the early blue-gray of morning, faded into the sky by gradations, and looking at them you couldn't tell where the earth stopped and the sky began--there was no horizon. It seemed too easy an enterprise to get lost in this mess of nature.

Like other parts of other states, this had been home for a long part of life. Not just the outdoor architecture, but the indoor infrastructure as well, including those who made it tick. Things/people have aged or changed, but most, like the scenery, has remained the same. So why is it so different now? Why does this huge mess of nature, and slower living seem unrecognizable, or at the very least, alien? Or perhaps the more apt question is: what is so alien about the visitor?

Talking to a friend while sitting on a regularly-haunted rock in Central Park (which has a clearly-defined horizon and much less greenery than the mountains), it became clear that city life suits some people very well. It also became strikingly evident that sometimes when we find a habitat with which to adapt ourselves, we loose the ability to react to the ones we previously lived in--and that's the harsh reality of urban evolutionary theory. Perhaps, suddenly you find that you don't like the person you are when you go "home"--perhaps people back home just don't understand (or care to understand) the ferocity or intensity, or new found electric mundane-ness of your city life, or maybe it's something completely internal--or a combination of all things. But the cliche abruptly comes to fruition, and you find yourself unable to come home again.

Within a span of forty-eight hours in the PA mountains, M.Snowe was baring her fangs at what might've been viewed as polite requests, and steely grinning with strained efforts in hopes of warding off the perception by relatives that M.Snowe might be annoyed by the remark that walking home at 7:15PM in the city is a "highly dangerous pursuit," when the nighttime is much safer than the morning (a proven fact). The avoidance of snapping a clever yet sparklingly ill-intentioned retort when being asked for the fifth time if the tickets home were purchased took a valiant effort of self-control. All these things would normally not have bothered M.Snowe, at least not so long ago. They might vaguely vex, but never induce fangs.

Is it the city that puts us on edge? The city, with it's electricity, seems to up the voltage on our conceptions and emotions. Without realizing it, the bright lights, public transportation, and general way of life have charged the senses--and while in the city, things can seem electrified, things can run skyscraper-high or subway-tunnel low. What might have served as a passing idea in some other mode of life can latch on in the city and follow you around like a pushy street solicitor. So when we leave the electric environment, perhaps we are so charged that other places seem dulled, or they don't conduct the energy we have learned to feed upon; sparks fly as the differing voltages amalgamate. We might not be able to go back home again with the same outlooks and the same emotions, but at least we can prepare ourselves with the appropriate converter switches.

G & G's awesome literary analysis

Having read The Madwoman in the Attic multiple times, this article grabbed M.Snowe's attention for its originality and integration of Gilbert and Gubar's stunning, grandiose treatise on Victorian female writers, and their respective fictional characters into the Clinton candidacy aftershocks. Not sure if M.Snowe completely agrees with the exact tract of the author, but applauds her efforts nonetheless, and does agree that the female constituencies have been treated with the same freakish disregard as Bertha Mason.

Where have all the politics gone? (Limerick Recap)

Perhaps M.Snowe suffers from a perpetual summer fatigue. But more likely, the political news outlets are the ones suffering vernal weariness. And you can't entirely fault them--the primaries were more exhausting than listening to the overly laudable sputum currently ejaculating from the Olympics announcers' mouths. We have our two candidates, and they have been weighed and measured. The outlets seem to have decided that it's time now for some relaxation and an easy transition from the primary chaos to the official party nomination pomp and circumstance. Chances are, the real stories won't pick up again until we have some VPs to criticize and over analyze with flow charts, pie graphs, measuring tapes and fertility testing (got to be careful there, Mr. Edwards [not that you have a shot in hell]).

That's all well and good, but M.Snowe still wants the news--and stories about "whale calfs bonding with yachts" and "strange microwave death" cases just aren't up to snuff. (Mind you, these stories get top billing, over the protest situation in Kashmir.) But in the meanwhile downtime, let's settle for looking at some stilted world news instead of McCain/Obama.

Georgia and Pakistan: Five Second Limerick Recap

Georgia
It once was a Soviet satellite,
now independent--it was just alright.
But the Russians came in
--we won't enter the din.
apparently they're not worth the fight.

Pakistan
Musharraf used to be the man,
now his rule is summarily banned.
We wanted him in,
though he's been quite a sin--
most think we've got nary a plan.

On Silences

(M.Snowe wrote this silently, at least.)

Silence, as a term, is over-used, misapplied and under-defined. It's misapplied because many people think silence means the same as "quiet," or "the absence of sound." But this is not silence. Stopping your ears with plugs or corking yourself in a sound-proof room does not produce silence either.
As counter-intuitive as it might seem, silence is a part of social interaction. In fact, some (this blogger included) believe silence is more communicative than speech. Silence involves the deliberate absence of speech. Silence, in itself, carries neither negative or positive connotations--but it can be utilized to transmit either.

Back when M.Snowe dabbled in linguistic theory she learned all about the concept of the "signifier" and the "signified." Basically, words are signifiers, in that they point to something else; they are representatives of actual people, places, things, emotions, etc. The things words refer to are "signified" in language. Example: we use the word "dog" to represent the idea of a dog. But the word itself is not a dog (well, of course!).
Also, language must exist as a whole unit in order for individual words to have relevance. Explanation: every word is defined by its difference from every other word's meaning (kind of like colors). Without an extensive vocabulary, individual words would lose their meaning, just like without other colors to compare it to, one color would loose its meaning.

Silence is vital to communication--language just can't make the cut sometimes. Silence is quite possibly the best way to say what you mean, with no words to get in the way. Silence also leaves an incredibly blank slate upon what could turn into an overly wordy situation. Sometimes M.Snowe wishes that she could walk through NYC and not hear any speech while being silent herself--just amble up sidewalks and communicate with the streets in silence--and try to better understand it all. Sometimes trying to say what you mean gets you further away than where you started.

Silence (as a communicative tool) can be confused between people, to be sure. But M.Snowe would like to propose that speech is actually more tricky than silence to comprehend. There are outright liars, fibbers, and people who like to consider themselves as innocently "bending facts." Then there are people who want to say the right things, or communicate directly, but they just don't execute. It's a spectrum of all shades, a rainbow of spoken confusion with no gold at the end in sight. People spend incredible amounts of time puzzling out what people mean from the most mundane of statements. Chances are they will never know from studying the words. The fact of the matter is: the words you say (or can't say) will never fully do the job. The signifier will never be the signified. What "you mean" and what you say never quite meet. And we wonder why things are so disconnected, on a global or a personal scale.When all this becomes clear--that's when we should turn to silence. Not only because it transmits multitudes, but because it leaves an aspect of untarnished mystery--it respects the fact that we can't communicate perfectly--unlike language and it's futile attempts at lucidity.

Some people in the city find silence unnerving, or uncomfortable. Beware these people. It suggests that they are unnerved or uncomfortable with their thoughts (or with your thoughts) and impulses. But if you can find people who are secure and comfortable with silence now and then in this city of verbosity, and can read the silences...

Diagrams, Subways, and extro-introspection.

M. Snowe was riding the subway home last night, and got on a delayed train that waited five to ten minutes at every stop, "due to an earlier incident" of which there was no further information other than the cagey subway announcements. To make things hairier, while in transit, the trains slowly crept through the tunnels, as if the driver was being overly cautious. The conductor intermittently blew the loud, jarring horn as the train jostled down the dark tunnels of topographic, gray-black concrete etching past the windows.

After some attempts at focusing on a book, it became clear that observing the other passengers was the far superior alternative. Feeling slightly forlorn about how the world likes to play hooky with your hopes and dreams, and maybe attend to them another far-off day, M.Snowe was open to a distraction. The train wasn't overly crowded, so it was hard to focus on someone in a direct line of sight, for fear of being spotted as a voyeur. Resolutely glancing to both sides, one woman was absorbed at the ads above the windows, and the other, in the seat directly to the right, was reading from a rather heavy-looking textbook, with stark white edges. The book was open to somewhere in the middle of the roughly 800 pages, and though the actual text was a bit too far away to make out, the headings and the pictures and diagrams were clear.

The woman so engrossed in this book was studying psychology. The author and name of the book was indistinguishable, as the cover was firmly resting against her lap, but the headings on the open page referenced clinical signs of mood disorders, and the attributes and signals of their appearance in young adults and adolescents. Nothing too out of the ordinary, to be sure. But a diagram/picture on the page opposite M.Snowe was at once hilarious, saddening, and some form of divine kismet. It had to be kismet, because out of the 800-plus pages this woman could have turned to, here it was, staring M.Snowe in the face. There was the outline of a woman (decidedly a female form, due to the hair length, and slight outline of a bust). It was just a lavender shape--no actual face or features--kind of like a stick figure, or the sign on a bathroom door. This was the image slightly obscured, featured behind the actual diagram. The diagram consisted of three different-colored pastel circles. One was hovering by the woman-shaped left shoulder, the other on the right shoulder, and one below at the woman-shape's feet. Each circle was connected to the other with an arrow, pointing to the next circle, in a clockwise direction, forming a slightly drunken-looking triangle. Inside the first circle to the left shoulder of the woman, the word "shyness" appeared. Then, the arrow crossed over the woman's clavicle to the next circle, which simply said "loneliness." The arrow from that circle pointed to the bottom circle, at the shape's feet. One word was here: "depression."

Well, this diagram has a lot to say in three words, and M.Snowe thought it was making quite a few presumptions. Some people plot out the problems contained in this simplistic chart with more philosophical, metaphysical, or intellectual intricacy than a Joyce novel or Aristotelian text. M.Snowe's revelations upon glimpsing this chart induced more laughter than most would view as appropriate, and the woman looked over, momentarily quizzical, then turned her attention back to the book. M.Snowe thought to herself: "What a diagram! So, that's how it all works!...If only there was a chart that allowed us, the undefined, lavender, shadowy shapes riding on trains, to move counterclockwise, and achieve an opposite result." But perhaps M.Snowe just needs to be riding next to this woman on a different day, while reading a different page. And perhaps the editors of this book formulated this diagram for just this purpose (or momentary subway revelation): to make sure that we're not taking ourselves so seriously, and perhaps the grim ideas we entertain introspectively just need to be snappily simplified, preferably in pastel circles and drowsily looping arrows.

Hinges

The Missing All — prevented Me
From missing minor Things.
If nothing larger than a World's
Departure from a Hinge—
Or Sun's extinction, be observed —
'Twas not so large that I
Could lift my Forehead from my work
For Curiosity.
-E. Dickinson

"First you need a good job. You need to be ambitious. You need to find a good apartment. You need to look good. Then you need to find someone, and they must also have all these things. Then, you need to get a raise, so that you can save enough for ...." --Random street talk.

Overhearing random conversations, it has become apparent that these aspects of life in the city seem to be paramount, and one hinges upon the next like cardboard paper dolls attached at the hand. Then, M.Snowe started thinking about hinges.

Hinges, by definition, are not autonomous--they can exist by themselves, but for them to perform their function, fulfill their humble nature--they rely upon other completely different, yet intertwined parts. Hinges are vital for opening and closing doors. They often are multiple--at least two or three to an object, used in tandem. They have fixed axises, and connect two solid objects together in order for the whole contraption to operate smoothly.

That's the literal hinge at least. Figuratively, to have something "hinged" by something else denotes that for one thing to occur, something else must also happen in order for a desired result (Hence, the connection of two objects). Hinging can occur with solid objects of the human form as well. For someone to "hinge" their emotions or actions on some event or person is a dangerous, but ultimately unavoidable and frequent practice. Usually, hinging you life or even just aspects of your life on or around something or someone else is an unwise and fitful pursuit. The universally given advice is thus: "don't hinge your happiness upon some thing/person."

Making sure that you don't hinge your livelihood on someone/something else is compelling advice, to be sure. Unfortunately, like so many pieces of advice, the message provided is multitudes easier to convey than to actually put into practice. But how is it that the opposite of figurative hinging is also a negative? To be "unhinged" is perhaps even worse than to hinge--in that it implies you've lost touch, lost your sense of reality. Perhaps the truth is that when we hinge, we actually become unhinged.

How? Because, similar to door hinges, if someone/something does not perform the way we desire it to, (and we've hinged upon it), then we are stuck--stuck feeling low, stuck feeling unaccomplished, stuck feeling incomplete. Incompletion is perhaps the best description out of that bunch. There is a disturbance, and we can't go forward. For a world so obsessed with the Cult of the Individual, attached to ipods and blackberries and distracting devices that place us all inside digital bubbles--suddenly--we are only half of ourselves...and we're not sure how to cope. And so we get desperate. We try to patch things up.

I felt a Cleaving in my Mind —
As if my Brain had split —
I tried to match it — Seam by Seam —
But could not make it fit.

The thought behind, I strove to join
Unto the thought before —
But Sequence ravelled out of Sound
Like Balls — upon a Floor.

New York is full of hinges--the literal, and the figurative. Every door squeaks with a grim finality of overused determination, and every choice made seems to have more, larger hinges on it than the all doors to St. Patrick's cathedral combined--Some people are looking for money, others, success--and still others, a relationship or an apartment. And it seems that happiness and fulfillment hinge on an individually-defined amalgam of all these things. Our minds are cleaved in so many fractions of "needs," hinged one upon one another, pell-mell, with the hope of wholeness thrown in at some undetermined end, for good measure. As we hinge all the circumstances and conditional phrases together, we lose all sense of where to let the happiness reside in the partitioned, hinged mess of what we hope to be. It seems like Dickinson wasn't writing poems for the pastoral peoples of Massachusetts, but for the harried harpies of New York City, circa 2008. Do we have too many balls in the air, and (to rather ungraciously mix some metaphors), are all those balls hinged together into a hodge-podge of unnecessary and unattainable goals?

To be fair, we have been trained to see things linearly--cause and effect, actions and karma, one year after the next--all in sequence. There is always a precluding factor, and no one can really be sure whether it was the chicken or the egg. Everything is one giant matrix of "if, then" statements. No wonder we adhere to hinges, which normally only swing in one direction, and restrict the ability to take an alternate path. You can go one way, or another, and each has a different set of consequences.

But it's important to remember, as people with emotional and physical needs, some hinges are a good and necessary part of life--no one is asking you to disregard those who you love. In fact, it is the determination of which limited set of hinges you cannot live without that makes life worth living.

We met as Sparks — Diverging Flints
Sent various — scattered ways —
We parted as the Central Flint
Were cloven with an Adze —
Subsisting on the Light We bore
Before We felt the Dark —
A Flint unto this Day — perhaps —
But for that single Spark.

Melancholy Moods and Wandering While Waiting

Despite how many people constantly try to define the City as one thing or another, it's obvious that to any one person, at any one time, the city can and will inspire differing emotions.

Once, a friend who was familiar with the packed streets of Hong Kong and other Asian cities made the offhand comment that New York was the best possible place to be "surrounded, packed wall to wall with people, and yet feel completely and utterly alone." Well, keeping all razor blades at a safe distance from your wrists--we regret to inform you that in some circumstances this can ring true. It is, however, a short-lived experience of loneliness, if that helps. Despite the best attempts to stay in a sorrowful or forlorn mood, the city is almost asking you to get out of yourself while you walk the street. The city is not like your life-long friend, offering condolences, but more like your pushy aunt or crazy neighbor--annoying you just enough so you're too pissed or distracted to remember just exactly what you were too pissed or distracted with five minutes ago. The subways stall, someone steps on the back of your shoe, a street advertiser for the comedy show around the corner heckles you. The question to be asked is whether life is lived when you're contemplating your life, or when you're telling off, under your breath, the guy who budged you in the coffee line. Once and a while, you'll meet a friendly stranger, or someone who actually gives to the poor, or helps out an elderly person. But those experiences are few and far between, and because they are so, they are often met with shock, contempt, or even a conniving sense that something must be "in it for them," when in fact the exact opposite is probably true. Amidst all this outer chaos, the coffee stains, and contemplation, you can never really be alone.

The city is also a great place to roam while trying to forget that you are, in fact, waiting for something. Now, not all the time--but in those instances when you have plans, or are walking from one place to the next. Some might say that the city is in fact a large, concrete distraction--but it's better and simultaneously worse than that. Waiting is, by definition the suspension of some hoped-for event. The hope might be the positive, anticipatory kind, or the egregious hope that comes with wanting something to be over quickly.

More waiting is done on a regular basis than the events themselves waited for, if they occur at all. Of course, the worst form of waiting is done when the hoped for event is sincerely wished yet completely and undeniably unlikely to ever occur. The funny part of such waiting is that we, as a species, still have the genetic predisposition towards a triumvirate of combined gumption, fortitude, and stupidity that makes us able to wait. Our tendency to accept the dilatory days, weeks, and years is an accomplishment, but one tinged with regret and futility. Once every now and then, we are given what could be described as the "Heideggerian Wake-Up Call"--We are smacked with the reality of the possibility that everything can and will be taken away. Perhaps someone dies, or nearly dies--and suddenly a new sense of purpose is added, like a sweetener to our life-drink, and everything we do is heightened, analyzed for it's purpose, disregarded for it's superficiality, etc. Heidegger judged death not as a single event, but an event of nearly unlimited moments. In other words, he believed that every passing moment was the equivalent of a "little" death, and that what lay in front of all people was not some unknown future of life, but nothing...a blank space that people hope contains future life, when in actuality, it contains a void. Heidegger's scholarship on "Being" is some of the more difficult out there, but it's well worth the trouble. Because once you realize that the blank space is blank, it instills a sense that what you are now, is all you can bank on, scarily enough. But people can't live their lives in a way that only acknowledges the present--at least most don't attempt to. But there has to be some less-precarious medium, where we are allowed to bank on a future while knowing that we must do our best to make the most of the present. It is the feeling that we are unable to steer the present or nearly-present that gets everybody in a twist, whether they are aware of it or not. So we've made Waiting a noble sport. And where better to play than New York?

Wild Bill

South Dakota. Land of Mount Rushmore, that famous granite sculpture of four of the most recognizable American presidents. They look down upon their dominion with austere ease--they're not going anywhere anytime soon. It's a national treasure (if you ignore the slight snag about stealing Native American lands originally granted to them in perpetuity). It is an immobile tribute to the American people's ability to actually carve the American landscape into submission. Well, South Dakota has been carving more than its granite strata--it's been chipping away at the constitution, and seeking a viable candidate test case to challenge Roe v. Wade. Apparently, the mentality of rock-solid men looking down upon their subjects with paternalistic/patronizing stares has seeped into the state legislature's guiding mentality.

If you don't think this is a fair judgment of that noble Midwestern state, then you probably haven't read the 8th Circuit Court of Appeals' latest decision on the matter of abortion procedure within South Dakota, which is detailed in the SD House Bill 1166. Here is the list of requirements for a physician performing an abortion and a patient that is contemplating or has scheduled a abortion procedure:

The provisions of § 7 relevant to the preliminary injunction are as
follows (emphases added by the court):

- No abortion may be performed unless the physician first obtains a
voluntary and informed written consent of the pregnant woman upon
whom the physician intends to perform the abortion, unless the physician
determines that obtaining an informed consent is impossible due to a
medical emergency and further determines that delaying in performing
the procedure until an informed consent can be obtained from the
pregnant woman or her next of kin in accordance with chapter 34-12C
is impossible due to the medical emergency, which determinations shall
then be documented in the medical records of the patient. A consent to
an abortion is not voluntary and informed, unless, in addition to any
other information that must be disclosed under the common law doctrine,
the physician provides that pregnant woman with the following
information:
(1) A statement in writing providing the following information:
(a) The name of the physician who will perform the abortion;
(b) That the abortion will terminate the life of a whole, separate,
unique, living human being;
(c) That the pregnant woman has an existing relationship with
that unborn human being and that the relationship enjoys
protection under the United States Constitution and under the
laws of South Dakota;
(d) That by having an abortion, her existing relationship and her
existing constitutional rights with regards to that relationship will
be terminated;
(e) A description of all known medical risks of the procedure and
statistically significant risk factors to which the pregnant woman
would be subjected, including:
(i) Depression and related psychological distress;
(ii) Increased risk of suicide ideation and suicide;
* * *
* * *
(2) A statement by telephone or in person, by the physician who is to
perform the abortion, or by the referring physician, or by an agent of
both, at least twenty-four hours before the abortion, providing the
following information:
(a) That medical assistance benefits may be available for prenatal
care, childbirth, and neonatal care;
(b) That the father of the unborn child is legally responsible to
provide financial support for her child following birth, and that
this legal obligation of the father exists in all instances, even in
instances in which the father has offered to pay for the abortion;
(c) The name, address, and telephone number of a pregnancy help
center in reasonable proximity of the abortion facility where the
abortion will be performed; . . .
* * *
[¶ 2] Prior to the pregnant woman signing a consent to the abortion, she
shall sign a written statement that indicates that the requirements of this
section have been complied with. Prior to the performance of the
abortion, the physician who is to perform the abortion shall receive a
copy of the written disclosure documents required by this section, and
shall certify in writing that all of the information described in those
subdivisions has been provided to the pregnant woman, that the
physician is, to the best of his or her ability, satisfied that the pregnant
woman has read the materials which are required to be disclosed, and
that the physician believes she understands the information imparted.

M.Snowe will make the following concessions, in order to show that she is trying to look at this legislation from multiple sides:
1. It is important that anyone undergoing any medical procedure understand what they are getting into, and most medical procedures do require written consent. Fine.
2. Sadly, there are people out there who need to be informed of certain options available to them that they would otherwise not have known about. Okay.

But here's the problem: Abortion is a unique procedure, in that it is a female-only procedure performed for a plethora of reasons, with implications not only medical but social, ethical, religious, etc. That is not to say that other procedures don't combine these larger considerations (such as stem-cell research or cochlear implants), but we are truly rubbing up against some of the largest questions we all must address sooner or later: what is life, how do we define it, and given our knowledge of it, what form of dominion or control can we claim upon it? These are heavy questions worth the debate that is given to them, despite the ultimate futility of ever reaching a conclusion (M.Snowe would be weary of someone who claims they've got the right answers).

But here's the problems with this bill:
First:
It uses the idea of informed consent to legitimize overemphasis in hopes of "spooking" the women seeking an abortion. When someone goes in for, say a heart transplant surgery, they should be told by their surgeon about the method of the procedure, the possible risks, etc.--this is important. But the doctor is not required to explain what will happen to the patient's old heart, or to make a claim that you are violating nature by taking out what was given to you by your creator (or your parent's DNA). There is no informed consent clause about "your unique heart, and the possibility of forever losing a part of yourself oft connected with emotion in sonnets and romances." A woman knows that an abortion is the end of a pregnancy--that is why she is there. She does not need to be lectured with: "the abortion will terminate the life of a whole, separate, unique, living human being."
Also, this statement is insanely inaccurate--like the example of the heart transplant, both a heart or a fetus separated in the early months from the body of the patient has no chance at being "whole" or living a "separate" life of it's own. You cannot count the life as a separate one at this point medically--you could conjecture that should the mother deliver the child, the intended life would be lived, but that is not the sense of this statement.
Second:
A sad attempt at scare tactics:
"That by having an abortion, her existing relationship and her existing constitutional rights with regards to that relationship will be terminated;"
This is what M.Snowe calls the "eye for a fetus" punishment scheme. It basically says, rather snarkily, that: "you better not abort, or we're going to abort one of your constitutional rights...though this right really isn't relevant, and we're not even sure if we understand what we're saying." Basically, the phrase means that once you abort the fetus, that fetus is no longer protected by the Constitution, and therefore neither are any rights you might try to claim for it. Well, not to be simplistic about this, but: Duh. Once something is inanimate, or no longer living, or no longer has the possibility of being a living person, it cannot be protected constitutionally. This sentence of the bill spirals and is intentionally cryptic--trying to "fool" people into thinking that they are missing out on some much-needed protection, when really, it is moot.
Third:
Depression and Suicide Warnings.
Number one: is this verifiable...quantifiable? Does anyone do any studies on the number of women out there who possibility considered abortion, then had a child and ended up with post-pardum depression, or committed suicide? M.Snowe finds that unlikely. This is another scare tactic--and so thinly veiled that M.Snowe can see the hanging noose and lone chair behind the curtain.
Fourth:
The possibility of pre- and post-natal care, and the legal requirement of child support from the father.
This rather horribly assumes the monetary greed/concerns of those women choosing to abort. It basically screams: "You're going to destroy your fetus because you don't want to deal with the monetary burden, but we're going to try and stop you, because greed and avarice is your motive and life force--we're surprised your fetus isn't made entirely of greenbacks." Not only is this incredibly condescending and distressing, the so-called "assistance" being offered is not even comforting, or truthful. Even if, on the off chance you took monetary needs into the consideration of abortion, the state of South Dakota offers no assurance that they will indeed deliver either health care, or the child support. The bill says care "may be available," and it says that fathers are "legally responsible" but never says they would help you track down the father, or help to make him fulfill his legal responsibility. But at least you could rest on your laurels, I suppose.
Fifth:
"...that the physician believes she understands the information imparted."
What the legislators really wanted to say:
"Dear Physician: you best make sure these women-folk know what they're getting into, those ignorant louts."
- Obviously, this assumes that women are incapable of understanding the most simple of terms, although, come to think of it, the bill did just say that a woman was terminating the life of something completely whole and separate, yet it cannot sustain life outside her womb. Maybe it is confusing...