On "Dear Mr. President": A Rant

The other day after I'd dropped the Niece off at work I was heading sedately down the twenty-five mile an hour streets of the base, and I heard the song "Dear Mr. President".

It isn't the first time I've heard the song, it is after all by Pink and has a permanent spot on at least one of my playlists. It's always held a spot in my heart not only as a Marine Wife, but as a person who has been involved in military life since I was born.

I've been a fan of Pink's for years, and I've seen her in concert. When she wrote and released this song, it raised my respect for her even more.

When I listened that day, a specific set of lyrics caught my attention.

"Let me tell you 'bout hard work

Minimum wage, with a baby on the way

Let me tell you 'bout hard work

Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away

Let me tell you 'bout hard work

Building your bed out of a  cardboard box

Hard work

Hard work

You don't know nothing 'bout hard work

Hard work

Hard work"

I understand the point behind the song, and I understand the message she's delivering.

It's a good message. 

It is, but it got me thinking. 

Should it be delivered by a person who has an approximate net worth of $70 million?

I find it incongruous at best when singers and actors speak of their understanding of the working class. Of poverty and doing without. 

Could they have come from the slums?

Yes.

Could they have at one point been poor kids from Urban America?

Yes. 

Have they been since Clinton was President?

No.

Am I glad she sang about it, regardless if she actually has any more experience with it than Bush Jr did?

Hell Yes.

Why?

How else will the message get out? 

I could write the same message on my blog, and maybe a hundred people would see it. She sings it in a song and thousands of people, including the President will know about it.

Is that fair?

No. 

It's complete B.S.

We have a National Debt in the Trillions, poor people line the streets in cities big and small, our country borrows money from China-- who will forever have us by the short hairs, and people who do little more than entertain us--both on stage and with their actions in the media--make millions of dollars a year.

The President might not understand hard work, but do they?

Really?

They don't worry about where their next meals come from, or whether they'll be able to afford their electric bill. 

They're worried about what designer gown they're going to wear to the current awards show, what they'll drink at the next launch party, and whether or not their newest album will go platinum. 

I'm sure they're wonderful people, humanitarians even... aiding the less fortunate in foreign countries-- but we're swimming in debt, and Congress is talking about cutting the military and their benefits.

Will Congress cut their own pay and benefits?

No, they'll continue collecting their six figure yearly salaries. 

How is this right?

How does this show an understanding of hard work, surviving and providing for your family on minimum wage, or any of the other things the uber rich and famous sing about?

Jennifer Lopez might still 'remember where she came from' and consider herself 'Jenny from the block', but she's looking through a pair of rose colored glasses that cost more than most people's mortgages. 

/Rant

Thoughts?

R.S.

On Anger

 What's tickling my ears: The Offspring-- Self Esteem


I'm a pretty mellow person.

 I don't break things, or call people names.

 I don't throw tantrums, because yes, even adults throw tantrums--I've seen many a grown man rival the Munchkin when 'upset'.

It takes a lot for me to get riled, but it hasn't always been that way.

When I was younger I always knew I'd inherited a few things from my father: My grey eyes, the inability to deal with the stupidity of most people, and a temper to rival a dictator of a third world country.

 It's possible at one time or another in my youth, we'd both been confused with Hitler when angry.

Time, education, self control, and emotional growth--or maybe just distance from my hometown-- have calmed my angry impulses, and have kept me out of the arms of anger management classes.

In fact: I hate fighting, and I hate altercations.

I'm not abusive, nor am I interested in making people feel small.

Tears are my weakness.

Not mine--others'.

They tear me apart.

But, I digress.

Even though I don't get angry often, there are times when enough becomes enough, and the mellow woman meekly recedes. The temper we spoke of earlier fights to the surface, and all those hard earned years of control strain to a breaking point.

It's days like that--like today-- when I feel gross inside.

If you've ever seen the movie Fern Gully the Last Rainforest you'll remember the antagonist was an oily, gloopy, shapeless mass of evil slithering around.

His name was Nexus, and I'm pretty sure he's renting space inside my body.

Probably not something an author looking to get herself published should be setting free on the internet, but it's who I am.

I'm a real person.

I have feelings, emotions, and plenty of issues to open a Magazine company.

I'm not usually good with sharing my feelings, and by the time I'm ready to, Nexus is redecorating my heart and soul-- and it's possible black tendrils are snaking out from around me.

What might be worse than having a nasty, oily villain co-oping my body...

Knowing even the men I've created in my worlds aren't good enough to get me free.

Have no fear. Tomorrow will be another day, Nexus will be evicted, his keys confiscated, and his mug shot hung up in the security office.

I'll be happy again, the streets will be made of gumdrops and lined with lollipop trees, and the sky will be dotted with marshmallow clouds... and men--real and fictional will no longer be on my shit list.






What do you do to combat your own Nexus?
Would love to hear.

R.S.