Memos to the World

Dear World:

It has come to my attention that there are some issues we need to address. Please read this memo carefully, as you will be held responsible for the contents.

1. Regarding your attire: No matter what "fashion" appears to dictate or condone, any article of clothing tight enough to EMPHASIZE your fat-rolls is unacceptable. This includes t-shirts three sizes too small and made of spandex, especially when worn with jeans so tight as to cause the aforementioned fat rolls to hang over the waistband and under the hem of the shirt. (Teenage girl on the corner of 55th and Racine, I'm speaking to you especially. Seldom have I felt such a nearly-irresistable desire to stop a moving vehicle and remonstrate with a fellow human being regarding their choice of apparel, but...Honey, that was the biggest mess I've ever seen. Don't you own a MIRROR? And furthermore, WHERE is your mama, or any other sane human being with functioning eyeballs, who should have stopped you from walking out the HOUSE like that???)

2. Regarding the upcoming television season: Anyone caught watching that "Caveman" show will be subject to immediate and severe ostracism of undetermined duration. (The show is based on a freaking INSURANCE COMMERCIAL for G*d's sweet sake. I know Hollywood has supposedly reached the bottom of the barrel, but seriously: do we need such blatant evidence? Also, those things scare me.)

3. Regarding cuisine: A new benchmarking system has been adopted, as regards who will be allowed to prepare food. It is a very simple system, as it contains exactly one rule: If you cannot cook rice properly, you need to put DOWN your spoon and back AWAY from the kitchen. We are willing to concede that there are two schools of thought as to whether rice should be sticky or separate; however, the following rules are agreed-upon by most thinking peoples the world over: 1. Cooked rice is not CRUNCHY. 2. Cooked rice contains SALT. The amount of salt is open for discussion, but there must be at least a LITTLE. (Cafeteria at Wonderful-Place-Where-I-Work, I am looking directly at you. What you did to those enchiladas a couple of weeks ago was bad enough, but that rice on Friday was simply inhumane.)

The preceding policies take effect immediately, and will be added to as circumstances demand. Thank you for your cooperation.

Sincerely,
Gladys J Cortez, Ruler of This Blog.

Am I Crazy, Or...?

This is a story from this morning's Tribune.
The accident in question happened within a few blocks of my house; I saw the commotion around 6:30 AM, after returning from dropping Tim off at work. I could see the demolished car, but other than that there were no details available. There were, though, at least three traffic helicopters hovering over the scene for a long time--at least half an hour--to get pictures for the morning news.

It wasn't til I saw this story that I discovered the details:

Five teenagers--two 17-year-old boys, a 15-year-old boys, and two girls, aged 13 and 14--were driving eastbound "at a high rate of speed" at 3:30 in the morning.

I don't even HAVE kids, and I can already see about half-a-dozen things wrong with that sentence.

I even asked LJ, because I wanted to make sure I wasn't thinking like a puritanical idiot. I said, "You have a 13-year-old daughter, right?" "Yeah," he said. "Would you let her go out with two 17-year old boys at 3 in the morning?" He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "HELL no," he said.

SO:
1. Two VERY young teen girls out late...
2. ...in a car...
3. ...with two boys at least three years their senior...
4. ...at 3:30 in the morning...
5. ...speeding....
6. ...and not wearing seat-belts. (The story says the girls were ejected from the car.)
7. This is only my speculation, but I'll be really interested to hear the toxicology results on the driver.

I look back to when I was 14 years old. I had a crush on an older guy, true enough, but had I mentioned any intent of dating him, I feel sure that horsewhips would have been invoked, at the very least, as a possible consequence to any "older boy" who would dare to date my barely-teenaged self. And further, there was never any question of actually GOING anywhere with him; there was never any question of going ANYWHERE, in any car, driven by anyone other than a parent or a friend's parent. (As I remember, the one time my friend's 19-year-old sister was tapped to drive us to the mall, my parents freaked out so much that I ended up staying home. And SHE drove like someone's great-granny.)

Even had the unthinkable occurred and I HAD been allowed to associate with "older boys", there was no question, none at all, of whether or not I would have been out of the house at 3:30 AM. I would have been just as likely to have been on the moon, or playing wide-receiver in the SuperBowl, than to have been out after 10 PM--and it was a huge privilege, bestowed only on special occasions, to be allowed to stay down the block at Debbi's til 10. My parents knew where I was at all times; they had the numbers of all my friends' parents, and could call in a heartbeat to see if I had left on time, or if I was where I said I'd be. Knowing that, I never strayed; in fact, the worst thing I did in THAT line came long before my teenage years-- it was when I was in first grade and another little girl told me it was okay to come home to her house straight from school, without calling my mom first. I don't remember her logic, but it was very persuasive; the amount of trouble I got into, however, was FAR more persuasive.

But that was me, and that was almost 25 years ago. Apparently my life was a million miles different than those two little girls--for that's what they were, underneath all their 13-year-old sophistication--little girls. They were little girls who nobody, apparently, was watching out for; not in any way that matters, anyway. You can say what people always say, with stories like this: They were good kids; they just made a mistake. But thinking back to my own life: someone had seen to it, from very early on, that I would be far too terrified of my parents' wrath to even consider the actions that would lead me into such a "mistake". And nobody, apparently, did that for these girls, nor for the boys who survived. Nobody threatened, if those boys weren't back by 11:00 at night, to eat their drivers' licenses; nobody told them that the first time they got a speeding ticket would be the LAST time they saw a car until they were 30. (I got so hysterical, leading up to telling my mom about the first speeding ticket I'd received, that she said afterwards "God, is that all? I thought you were going to tell me you were pregnant.") Nobody told those girls that if they got caught hanging around high-school boys, they'd be locked in their rooms, with no phone and no TV, til their hair turned gray. Nobody sat them down and told them Look, I know you don't think it will happen to you, but that's what everyone thinks--so please, PLEASE wear your seatbelt. No one ever said to them Please, PLEASE, if you're in a situation you're not comfortable with, call us for a ride. I might not be happy about it, but I won't punish you for trying to stay safe.

I feel bad for these families. I don't know them, though the girls live close enough that they've probably walked down my street before; I've probably passed them on the sidewalk, or driven past them. They were way too young to be out that late, way too young to be in a car with high-school boys...way too young to die. I feel bad for these families, yeah--but I wonder, too, how it ever got this far. No parent should ever bury their child, true enough; but no parent should let the rules be unspoken, or leave their kids to fend for themselves. Maybe 25 years ago, but surely not in THIS world--not anymore.