Tales of a Tired Road Warrior

Every time I drive my car, I notice that people are getting stupider. We are devolving, which seems the opposite of how our human journey should be going. I have witnessed automotive maneuvers which indicate either a collective false sense of security or a massive death wish. They all share delusions of invincibility which could only be attributed to the widespread wearing of superhero cloaks.

I have a theory. We no longer need the survival skills of our forebears, mainly because theirs were so acute. They had to be extremely clever and work hard every day to provide themselves and their families with things we take for granted: shelter, food and clothing. They had no time or energy for entertainment so it wasn't a big issue. As time went by, they invented machines to do the work of men and large animals, and eventually, stores to buy everything they needed so they would not have to labor to acquire them anymore.

When the wheel came along, life got much easier. It became the basis for vehicles that would be pulled by oxen or men, until finally engines were invented. The wheel had become the cornerstone of life in so-called "civilized" nations.

This was Progress.

Unfortunately, the less we were forced to exercise our brains, the more they atrophied. Most jobs could be performed by machines that were faster and more accurate than we were, which left us with huge blocks of time to fill with more pleasurable pursuits. Soon, we began to show signs of helplessness and confusion, traits which would have consigned our ancestors to abandonment by their clans since they could not contribute their share. While I would never advocate letting our helpless fend for themselves, I wish that we could have a wholesale reawakening of the magnificent powers that must still lie within us, our cellular memory of when using our brains was a life-or-death matter.

I wonder if there are spiritual consequences to not fully utilizing our excellent brains and extraordinary bodies. We go to gyms to work muscles that used to be active in the daily course of fighting off physical threats -- large, hungry animals, warriors from other tribes who wanted our share of the scant provisions offered by the environment, exposure to the elements, and to build shelters with our own hands, hunt and gather food, spin and weave fabric to make protective clothing, natural medicines... there was no leisure. There was only self-reliance and constant improvisation.

Perhaps the saddest loss of all in modern life is that so few people think for themselves but judge the merits of a thing by how popular it is, which is the kind of mob rule that should have been left behind in high school. Such prefabricated thought processes are junk food for the brain, readily digestible and so little effort that we barely notice how un-fulfilling they are.

We tend to believe that we are the pinnacle of Creation, the most powerful race of humans to ever walk the earth. We treat each other badly, and in every situation assume that we have the right of way. We have forgotten any semblance of fair play, of how to share the world with others. In our mindless arrogance, we see only our own objectives, regardless of who is standing in the way. Worst of all, we take our immense good fortune to be living in a time of such limitless possibility for granted. Instead of giving thanks for all those who worked themselves to death over many centuries so that we wouldn't have to, we feel entitled. When we could be using our excellent brains to develop ourselves further, most of us are content to do nothing but rest on laurels which are not even our own.

I think a little humility is in order. And a lot of driving lessons.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

As we pulled into a parking space at Safeway, I noticed that the driver of the car next to us was a man we see in the neighborhood regularly. I smiled and Flip said "hi" as we passed him but he didn't acknowledge us. He never does. He inhabits his own world which seems to have nobody in it but himself. It is not unusual to see him walking with his characteristic bent over but manic gait, gesticulating wildly as he talks loudly to himself while riffling the newspaper vending machines. Trust me, there is no cell phone in the mix.

"If that guy has a license and I don't..." said Flip. I knew where this was going. We assume that Flip's driver's license was revoked when his doctor reported his condition to the DMV. "Maybe they don't know about him," he said.

But I do. And knowing that Froot Loop is on the road does not add to my sense of security.

I glanced back at the other car, a decrepit Edsel station wagon that looks haunted. Our friend was conversing with aliens. Later, I got in line at the check stand behind him. He was eating a handful of cookies from the bakery. The cashier looked at the crumpled wax paper he showed her and said, "Cookies?" He didn't respond. "How many were there?" she asked. He stared fixedly out the window at the parking lot. She rang up something and he extracted a withered bill from his sock and silently handed it to her. Apparently, he only speaks to invisible people.

A few months ago, he sported an impressive shiner on his right eye. One can only guess whom he offended. It didn't slow him down. I saw him rush into a launderette and methodically open every machine and bang it shut, arguing with himself the whole time. At least arguing with oneself assures that you always win.

Last year, his foot was in a cast and then a surgical boot, the kind orthopedists issue when something is badly sprained or broken. I asked him if he was ok as he whipped by me on the sidewalk, pantomiming wildly, even though I knew he wouldn't answer. (I'm an optimist.)

Flip has decided to zoom around making chimpanzee gestures and talking to himself so the DMV will give him his license back. Stay tuned.

A Swan of Another Color

When I was first old enough to vote, I registered as a Socialist. I even got a Socialist Labor Party newspaper delivered to me. Of course, I soon realized that to maximize my power as a voter, I had to belong to one of the major parties, so I switched to Democrat. I have only rarely voted a straight ticket and try to consider the candidates and issues on their own merits, but my position usually aligns with the Liberal Democrats.

So imagine my surprise as I watched swans and seagulls compete for handouts from visitors at the Palace of Fine Arts lake this afternoon. One swan got a huge mouthful of something orange and was immediately set upon with beaks, wings and claws by an entire flock of birds who wanted his yummy. They even drew blood which leaked onto his white feathers as they tried to take it away from him.

I found myself rooting for the underdog because it was many against one, but also because that one was enterprising or lucky enough to come into a giant orange yummy. It didn't seem right that all the others should claim a piece of it when they did nothing to deserve it, even to the point of being in the right place at the right time.

And it occurred to me that I was witnessing the battle between the Capitalists and the Socialists. And what is more, God help me, I was rooting for the Capitalist.

In Which She Loses It...

I just got off the phone with Melvin from Allstate Insurance. Mel-vin. Melvin is a major dork.

The reason for my call was that for an entire week, I have been unable to reach my local insurance agent. I have left several messages and have also been told by a terminally perky recorded voice which doubtless sports a voluntary blond side-ponytail to call back during regular business hours, which is exactly what I thought I was doing. Today I did a drive-by and the agency door was gated, so perhaps they are a casualty of the economy and failed to inform their clients, which in itself does not engender confidence.

I called the company's 800 number and explained to Mel-vin that since Flip is no longer driving, we need to make changes in our auto policy. We have never been informed that Flip's license was revoked, but presumably it was since by law, his doctor was required to report his condition to the DMV. (This also happened three years ago; the DMV never informed us of his changed status and he drove for eight or nine months without a license. When we finally found out, Flip took a written and driver's test to get it back. He decided not to fight it this time because he had a hard time passing the written test then.) The situation is ironic as he is one of the best drivers in San Francisco, a city where bad driving is a creative art form.

I assumed that our premiums would go down with only one insured driver, but Allstate seems to follow a Lewis Carroll kind of logic which allows them to charge us MORE if there is only one driver.

"Married people get a better rate," Melvin intoned, "because it shows a certain degree of responsibility."

Responsibility THIS, Melvin. I thought I was being responsible by informing them that I was now our only driver.

"So I'll do better if I leave him on the policy even though he's not driving?" I said.

He repeated his one pathetic line. It was apparently the only one he knew. "Married people show a certain degree of responsibility." I really despise pomposity.

Does this not seem a tad archaic to you, to say nothing of discriminatory? A baldfaced policy of sticking it to those who for whatever reason are not married. This is offensive in so many ways that I could catalog them alphabetically, chronologically or haphazardly. Take your pick.

I responded that Allstate was not the only show in town, and that I would be happy to take my business elsewhere. And I will. But I wish I could stick pins in that blowhard Melvin first, and watch the weasel pop.

Its Ugly Head

While selecting peppers outside my neighborhood grocery, I overheard two men discussing "Jew Rosen." They kept referring to somebody as "Jew Rosen" and one of them said, 'He's another Madoff waiting to happen." The other sneered, "Like all Jews." They both snickered and chanted, "Jew Rosen, Jew Rosen." They seemed to find comfort in the taste of those words.

"Kill 'em all," said one of the gentleman. His friend replied, "They're all Jew Rosens."

I was livid.

I glanced at Flip, who said, "I know."

For a second, I wished the entire Israeli army was standing behind me with Uzis. Violent words beget violent thoughts which quickly escalate into violent deeds. I dismissed my imaginary soldiers.

Why do some people still perceive entire groups of other people as hateful and bad? How can we get past this limiting and hurtful belief system? What will it take to replace the rampant ugliness with the brotherly love we all subscribe to in theory, but often fail to practice?

One of the men was pushing a double stroller with two infants who are probably doomed to learn his prejudices along with their ABC's. When will it ever end?

My entire observance of Passover consists of buying a box of matzohs and eating them with butter and salt.

Flip noticed me partaking of my annual religious ritual and said, "That Nazi looks like wall board."

"Um, no. Nazi is not exactly what you want to call a matzoh," I said, "but I can see how you got confused since they both have 'z's in them."

So now I have a tiny window into how Alzheimer's works. Maybe. And no, he was not joking but sometimes, you just have to laugh anyway.

When Support Groups Go Bad

Yet again, I have confirmed that I am not a joiner. Today I attended my fibromyalgia support group for the first time in months. The normal procedure is for each of the members to tell what is going on in her life, and how it affects the disease. Although I like most of the women in this group, sitting for two hours discussing illness strikes me as counter-productive because what you focus on expands. I would rather ignore the disease and do more interesting things. But to be fair, I may have that luxury because I am not as severely afflicted as some of the others.

There is a new woman in the group whom I had never met before. Leslie has a glass-shattering voice which caused my nervous system to accelerate from neutral to full bore migraine in 60 seconds. She hijacked the conversation to inform us that she has traveled the world extensively, that she has been a fixture for many years on the 100 Most Beautiful Single Women in San Francisco list, but that she has no boyfriend although she had stated earlier that she'd spent the night on her boyfriend's yacht in Sausalito. She inflicted a shtick routine on us about getting a bikini wax, announced that she has not had full toenails for years because of a fungus, and demanded the answer to all her life's problems, but when anyone made a suggestion, she yelled "NO!! I already tried that."

I didn't make any suggestions because I was lost in wonder that there is a list of the 100 Most Beautiful Single Women in San Francisco, and that she is on it. I was mildly curious about her ranking on that list, but chose not to engage her in any more conversation than necessary because her voice was like cracking black ice on a winter pond, the kind that kills people.

I only went to the group because Shirley, the leader, has a new dog, a Belgian Shepherd, and I wanted to meet her. The dog, who is beautiful and sweet, has been debarked. I would have preferred that if anybody permanently lose her voice, it be Leslie. Life is unfair.

Yesterday, Flip and I attended our weekly Alzheimer's meeting at which the diagnosed parties are separated from their caregivers into two groups which meet in different rooms. When I rejoined Flip afterward, he told me that Heather, the woman who leads his group, had yelled at him. He was unable to remember exactly what she said, but he was very clear that she tore into him, broke his balls and it was humiliating. He stated that he would not return as long as she was there.

It seems that he welcomed a new attendee, and Heather's agenda did not allow for "side conversations." I think the meetings should be more flexible as these people are already dealing with a horrible disease, and perhaps her ego also needs an adjustment. I don't know exactly what happened since I wasn't there, but protecting Flip is my main concern. Nothing should be added to his huge and unfair burden which can be prevented. Plus, they don't have any dogs at the Alzheimer's meetings.

I suggested that from now on, we be each other's support group. He agreed. "They're just bitch sessions anyway," he said.

"So how are you doing this week?" I asked, dangling my reading glasses over my book.

"Shitty," he said as he idly thrummed his guitar. "How are YOU?"

"Crappy." I put my glasses back on and found my place. "Ok, meeting's over. As you were."

I feel so supported now, it only took ten seconds, and we didn't have to go anywhere. I think we may be onto something.

Please Help!

As some of you know, I am a wolf enthusiast. This link tells a little about my Gray Wolf, Baby. who lived with me for 13 years and who still owns a large piece of my heart. So I am extremely upset that Interior Secretary Ken Salazar has just approved the Bush Administration’s plan to eliminate Endangered Species Act protections for wolves in Idaho and Montana ~ a decision that could lead to the deaths of nearly 1,000 wolves, including those in the western Greater Yellowstone ecosystem.

Delisting wolves is contingent upon two things that have not yet been achieved: The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service's plan must be based on current, credible science that ensures a healthy, sustainable and well-connected wolf population level. All of the states in the delisting area must have wolf management requisitions that provide for such a sustainable wolf population after Federal protections are lifted.

Salazar's decision fails to adequately address biological concerns about the lack of genetic exchange among wolf populations in the Northern Rockies. These concerns led a Federal court to overturn the same delisting rule late last year when the Bush Administration issued it. This decision also fails to address concerns with Idaho's state wolf management plan and regulations that undermine the goal of a sustainable wolf population by killing massive numbers of wolves.

If this dismays you as it does me, please make your voice heard.

Call the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service at 1-800-344-9453, select option "3" for "endangered species" and hit "O" to speak with the operator. Once you are connected, deliver this simple message:

I am calling to express my extreme disappointment in Interior Secretary Salazar’s decision to eliminate Endangered Species Act protections for wolves in the Northern Rockies states of Idaho and Montana.

If his decision is allowed to stand, nearly two-thirds of the wolves in the Northern Rockies could be killed. I strongly urge Secretary Salazar to stop the implementation of this awful rule and reconsider his approach to wolf conservation in the Northern Rockies.

I added that when we elected President Obama, we expected broad-spectrum change. Secretary Salazar is implementing a discredited Bush Administration policy, so I hope that President Obama will step in and urge him to reverse his decision which violates the Endangered Species Act and allows more than 1,000 out of the roughly 1,500 wolves in the region to be killed.

Wolves are not only highly intelligent, magical animals, but an extremely important part of our ecosystem. They cannot speak for themselves, so I hope that as many of you as possible will take the time to speak for them, and for all of us who share the natural world. I had to wait 13 minutes to speak to someone who was polite but clearly bored. Still, they are required to log all messages they receive so I am hopeful that if enough people call, Secretary Salazar will reverse this brutal policy.

Thank you for caring!