Apparently last week John McCain said that he would send his closest economic advisor to Belarus.
Here's a transcript of a conversation on this week's Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me! between Peter Sagal and Andrea Mitchell, the chief foreign affairs correspondent for NBC News.
Peter Sagal: This was, of course, after Phil Gramm former governor of Texas said that the only problem we have in America is that people were depressed.
Andrea Mitchell: He said it was a "mental recession," that we are a "nation of whiners."
Sagal: When McCain was asked his reaction, he promised to make him ambassador to Belarus.
Mitchell: Yes, a country that is such an outlaw state, we don’t have an ambassador there.
Sagal: And it is still vaguely radioactive.
Mitchell: More than vaguely. I was there in 1994 with Bill Clinton we had to wear dosimeters to make sure we weren’t getting too much radiation from Chernobyl.
Sagal: Gotta say, it’s colorful!
A few comments from me because I’m important and the world should care. First of all, Belarus is far from being the most depressing place in the world. Having lived in Lithuania—the country with the second highest suicide rate in the world—for 4 years, I think I’m safe in saying that. Second, if McCain keeps talking like that, he might soon beat George W on the amount of ridiculous things that come out of his mouth. Finally, the Clintons have been known to exaggerate on the reports of danger they’ve been through. Remember the whole deal about Hillary having to run under sniper fire in Bosnia? This 1994 deal with Bill sounds a lot like that. Besides, the radiation levels are fine. My elbow hair is shiny and brush-able. The scales on my feet come off after scrubbing a little in the shower. And that horn on my head is easily covered by my Belaru-fro. Come on!
Let me preface this by saying that “let me preface this” is
a horrible introduction for anything.(And, yes, I am aware that I have used it in the past.)It’s as if I was asking permission to say something that might not immediately be connected
to the body of my story but that nonetheless plays a crucial part in understanding
it fully.If this is indeed the case, I
am fine with it.I still don’t
understand the function of the “let” in that sentence, but I can live with
it.The way I was just about to use it (and the way many people use it),
however, “let me preface this” would serve as a mere cheap, useless
introductory statement that in no way enhances my story.So, I’m moving on and I publicly declare that
I will never again pretentiously ask my reader permission to “let” me do
something I have set my mind on doing anyway.
I spent this beautiful sunny day in a hospital.Yale has asked me to send them my vaccination
records.To get a hold of those, I had
to go to two different doctors, then back to the hospital to which I was
assigned as a baby, then to my high school nurse, who promised that she would
search the archives and have them ready tomorrow.I’m hopeful.
As I was waiting in line for about two hours to see my
doctor, I sat on a horribly uncomfortable bench listening to a terribly
unsettling conversation.The
conversation took place between two teenage boys, fresh out of high school, and
about to go into the big, grown-up world.That is, either to find a job or go to the army.Health care in Belarus is free, but don’t let
that lead you to believe that we don’t pay for it in other ways, the mandatory
18 months of army service for men being one of them.As the two boys discussed their futures with exhilaration,
they joked about their possible careers and what they would have to do to
advance in those.They also brought up
the subject of avoiding going to the army at all costs.Lying about their health was one way.Getting Natasha knocked up, marrying her, and
then leaving her to raise the child on her own upon reaching the post-army age
was another.
All this was said with a lot of cuss words and that awkward
loud teenage-boy laughter that followed every few phrases.Don’t get me wrong, I believe that cuss
words, when used appropriately and poignantly, can be quite effective and
helpful.This wasn’t the case with the
boys.Not only were they loudly cussing
in front of a bunch of strangers, including small children, but they also did it
in such crass and unrefined manner that made my stomach turn.
Now to the meaning of what they were saying.Mixed with the language they used and the
array of topics they discussed,—getting drunk and trashing their girlfriends
being just a few of them—in my mind, they evoked a terrifying prediction of the
future of Belarus.Having been taught by
their fathers, brothers, mothers, and their society on the whole that to be a
man means to curse, drink, and abuse women, they are striving for that
ideal.They don’t have many resources to
be all they want to be yet, but one day, through lying and cheating their way
through (just like in the case of avoiding the army), they are hoping to get
there.And when they do, they will, no
doubt, teach their sons that to be a man means to spit on the ground, smoke cigarettes,
pass out drunk on the living room floor, and treat women as objects.This, of course, has gone on for
generations.Why should their lives be
any different?When all they see on TV
and read about on the Internet is that kind of life, is it not only natural for
them to want just that?
As I thought about these things waiting for my appointment,
I tried to reason with myself and calm myself down.A few times, I considered asking the boys to
at least stop cussing in front of the two-year-old sitting nearby.After all, I’m a little older than they are
and if their Soviet-style education taught them anything at all, it should be
to blindly obey authority figures out of fear.I did not say anything.Instead,
I sat there burning with hate—the kind of hate Democrats might feel towards W,
or Christian Republicans, no doubt, feel towards those who refuse to live by
their confused moral code.
If you know me at all, you know that I’m not a hateful
person.I try to give people the benefit
of the doubt, and, while I have few close friends, I certainly don’t hate those
who don’t make it into the circle.Far
from it!I generally wish people
well.I feel for the oppressed and the
suffering.I quickly become an advocate
for those who are marginalized and misunderstood.In a way, I suppose, that’s exactly what
these boys are.As Gloria Steinem often
says, patriarchy does as much damage to the man as it does to the woman.Yet, being a woman, it’s hard to look at a
young man who wants to oppress other women and see a victim in him.I wonder what Gloria Steinem would say to the
boys if she had a chance.I know I have
nothing constructive to say to these boys.Not yet.
All this is to say that with every day I am getting more
excited about my program at Yale.I’ve
been afraid of becoming a man-hating “femi-Nazi,” but the more I read and think
about the issues I will be studying, the more hopeful I’m becoming of being somebody
who can do something to make sure that in the future there are fewer men and
boys, as well as women and girls, who make this kind of unenlightened society
possible.Wish me luck.
My hair is the reason people often take me for a boy when they first meet me. Or it could be my height (I’m short, obviously). Or my twelve-year-old-boy-like body. Or my refusal to wear terribly uncomfortable "girly" clothes. Or the fact that I don't wear make-up. Ever. But I digress.
Because I'm going to Yale in the Fall, I haven't gotten a haircut since early March. That's right, I blame it on Yale. I have no money because I can't get a summer job and my parents can't help me a whole lot since they are obviously already helping me as much as they can. Right now my hair is the longest it’s been in two years. Recently I started thinking that I kind of look like one of the Beatles.
These two pieces of junk "art" are currently hanging in my apartment—one in the hallway, the other in the kitchen. I am forced to look at them every single day because my grandmother (whom I love dearly but who has no taste whatsoever, obviously) believes that they are "adorable." Whereas the cat calendar pages are occasionally turned and there is a brand new scared/scary kitten amongst ridiculous Jehovah's-witnesses-style flowers every month, the terrifying demon-possessed praying girl never leaves. In fact, as you can see in the picture, she has been here since 2007! I blame her for all my nightmares.
A couple
of weeks ago NPR’s Wait Wait… Don’t Tell
Me! “Bluff the Listener” segment featured the following news story by P.J. O’Rourke. It turned out to be true, too!
It’s the
rapture! When you born-agains all
disappear and Catholics like me, and Jews like Peter [Sagal], and all Democrats
except Jimmy Carter get left behind to face
a fate worse than reading those Left
Behind books.
And now
the rapture has gotten even better! Sing
up with youvebeenleftbehind.com and heaven-bound you can send email messages to
your stuck-with-the-Antichrist friends. You can tell them where you left the car keys,
or when to feed the dog, or just say, “Na-na-na-na-na-na!”
The emails
will be sent when the website’s key Christian staffers fail to log in for 6
days because they are gone. But this
leaves us with a big question. I mean,
who keeps the website up and running after its webmasters vanish? Well, who’s called “Satan” by everyone on the
Internet? Bill Gates will be sending me
my email from Mike Huckabee.
From the
actual youvebeenleftbehind.com description of the project:
We all have family and friends who
have failed to receive the Good News of the Gospel.
The unsaved will be 'left behind' on earth to go through the "tribulation
period" after the "Rapture". You remember how, for a short time,
after (9/11/01) people were open to spiritual things and answers. (We are still
singing "God Bless America" at baseballs' seventh inning stretch.)
Imagine how taken back they will be by the millions of missing Christians and
devastation at the rapture. They will know it was true and that they have blown
it. There will be a small window of time where they might be reached for the
Kingdom of God. We have made it possible for you to send them a letter of love
and a plea to receive Christ one last time. You can also send information based
on scripture as to what will happen next. Each fulfilled prophecy
will cause your letter and plea to be remembered and a decision to be
made.
Priceless! It doesn’t even require a sarcastic
comment. One thing that you should know, though, is
that the service isn’t free. I mean,
even the late George Carlin said that the almighty, omni-potent God always
needs money. So, the service costs $40
per year.
I just hope a certain Uzbek friend
of mine sends me a letter when this happens to her. And I hope I get to ride on KC’s unicorn
after I die…
