Wednesday, October 1, 2014


            Once upon a time the words “Secret Service” conjured up images of virile, responsible men, dressed in suits, packing pistols, and wearing ear pieces and sunglasses, and charged with the formidable task of protecting the President of the United States.  Like I said, that was “once upon a time.”  Now “Secret Service” evokes images of middle-aged fraternity boys, drinking, whoring, and snoring on the job, the 21st’Century’s take on the bungling Keystone Kops.
When did that imagery begin to change?  In 2009, a year after President Obama took office, when Secret Service agents ignored security protocol at the White House, and Tareq and Michaele Salahi crashed a private party.  Actually, they did more than crash.  They got close enough to the President to shake his hand. Good thing they hadn’t greased their palms with poison.  Secret Service bungling was later discovered only because Michaele Salahi posted photos of herself taken at the event on her Facebook page.  The Salahis were not the only gate crashers that night.  Carlos Allen, a party promoter, also got past the government’s so-called “security.”
Then, in April of 2012, twelve Secret Service agents were sent to Cartegena, Columbia to secure routes and sites before President Obama’s arrival for the sixth “Summit of the Americas.” For the week prior to the Summit, the twelve agents mounted their own summits with local prostitutes. 

It’s possible their dereliction of duty might also have gone unnoticed if one of these brawn but no brains agents hadn’t decided not to pay his lady love the $47 he owed her for the sleepover.  The lady – smarter than the agent -- filed a report with the local police, and the police notified the U.S. Embassy. All of this transpired just twenty-four hours before the President arrived in Cartegena.  These agents not only set themselves up for possible blackmail (all were married) but could have jeopardized the President’s safety.   When news of the orgy reached Conference delegates, agenda topics  -- trade, energy, and regional security -- took a back seat to joking and jiving about American’s fittest and finest.      
What could these agents have been thinking, I asked myself – rousing and carousing while on assignment?  In truth, they hadn’t been thinking at all.  As my wise old Grandmother used to say:  “When the prick is up, the brain is down.”   
Following the Columbian fiasco, the President replaced the then-Director of the Secret Service with Julia Pierson, a thirty-year administrative veteran with no field experience.  Her assignment was to clean up the Agency and “rehabilitate” its reputation.  But in April of this year, three elite members of the Secret Service, sent to Amsterdam to set up security systems for protecting the president during an upcoming visit, drank heavily for a week and were still drinking the day before Obama’s arrival (Agency rules strictly forbid agents to drink alcohol in the hours preceding official assignments).  One of the agents got so drink that he passed out in the hotel hallway.  A hotel employee notified the U.S. Embassy, and the three agents were sent home.
Despite continued evidence of the Agency’s kindergarten behavior, Obama continued to applaud Ms. Pierson’s management, but that may soon be changing.  On September 19, Omar Gonzales, a veteran of three tours of duty in Iraq and diagnosed with PTSD, scaled the fence on the North side of the White House, ran 70 yards across the lawn to the executive mansion, opened the unlocked doors, and entered.  He knocked down a Secret Service agent and got as far as the East Room, which is close to the stairs leading upstairs to the Obama family’s residence, when he was finally tackled by an Agent and handcuffed.  A folding knife was in his pocket, and in his car -- parked nearby -- were machetes, hatchets, and 800 rounds of ammunition.
            That wasn’t the first time Secret Service agents had “interviewed” Mr. Gonzales.  Two months earlier he was arrested in Virginia for possession of a sawed-off shotgun and resisting arrest.  Police found a cache of rifles and handguns in his car, plus a map of the City of Washington, a line drawn to the White House steps.  Yet Secret Service agents determined that Gonzales was not a threat, and he was released.  
A month later, in August, Gonzales was again stopped by a Secret Service Agent when he was seen near the White House south fence, a hatchet adorning his waistband.    The mental giants at the Agency again concluded that Gonzales was “no threat.”  
You have to wonder what the Agency considers a threat to national security if it’s not 800 rounds of ammunition, knives, sawed-off shotguns, machetes, hatchets, and a map marking the pathway to the front door of the White House.  What kinds of tests – if any -- do future agents have to take before being admitted to the Secret Service?  Probably something like: Can you find the one image from below that represents a clear and imminent danger?  
   You also have to wonder where our biggest and best were when Gonzales jumped that fence and entered the White House through unlocked doors.  You might also wonder where the watch dogs were, and why the Secret Service, in all its infinite wisdom had muted the alarm system.  Most of all, you have to wonder why Ms. Pierson, following this fiasco, commended the agents for showing “tremendous restraint.” So now all the geniuses in Washington are deliberating:  how can we better secure the White House?   Their answer: block off additional streets so unwanted visitors have farther to travel to reach the front door.  Let’s think about that.  If the agents can’t secure a “smaller” space, why would they be more able to guard a larger area?  Besides, the problem is not OUTSIDE the fence.  It comes from the INSIDE!  
So what is the answer?  Before finding the answer, one must first ask the right question: “Who’s in charge”? 
I’ve noticed that in medical clinics supportive staffs generally reflect the attitudes of those at the top – the doctors.  When doctors are professional, thorough, and polite to patients, so are supporting staffs.  But when those at the top are arrogant, non-receptive, and rude, so goes the staff.  I call it “Clinic Culture.”  Clinic Cultures exists across all offices  -- private and public.  If there’s slop at the top, there’s slop at the bottom!
See where I’m going?  If Secret Service agents are unprofessional and irresponsible, they are reflecting values learned -- either consciously or through osmosis – from their Director.    
And if Ms. Pierson teaches a culture of laxity and carelessness, whose signals has she been following?    
 THE BOTTOM WHINE:   Monkey see.  Monkey do!       

    Whiningly yours,  Carol  

No whines, just laughs, as four friends of a "certain age" prove that with a mix of moxie and a weekly mahjongg game, coming of age can happen more than once.  Available through Amazon in paperback and kindle editions:

Monday, September 1, 2014


Have you ever had dinner with a narcissist?   If not, let me tell me be the first to tell you that it’s an unforgettable experience – one you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.  In normal conversations, there’s an exchange of ideas, a give and a take, but that’s not how the Narcissist works.  They speak.  They don’t hear.  They pontificate.  They don’t reciprocate.  In twenty minutes (but who’s counting?) I was able to speak a total of nine words: “I’ll have the crusted tilapia,” and “How was your summer?”
Maybe if I hadn’t asked first about her summer; if I had jumped in with a summary of my own, the evening might have played out differently… but I doubt it.  I checked my watch again.  Twenty-five of the longest minutes I could remember, more painful than sitting in the dentist’s chair. 
I hoped the look on my face hid the truth: that I was bored out of my gourd, and that my cheek muscles were starting to ache.  I didn’t know how much longer I could hold this pose.  I thought back to the week before when we first met and how I had been charmed by her articulateness, her intelligence, and showmanship.  Oh, yes, she was all of that, but now I knew better and was reminded of that old elementary school playground chant: “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it.” 
The waitress brought our dinners, and when she asked if there was anything else we needed, I overreacted.     
            “Yes, yes, yes,” I answered, “Extra lemons, please.  Yes, yes. Thank you.”  It was good to hear the sound of my own voice. 
            The Narcissist picked up her fork and dug into her lasagna.  I had to admire the way she was able to eat and talk at the same time without spraying bits of food across the table.  I listened inattentively as she continued talking about her trip to the Brazilian Amazon, the native informants she had interviewed, and the day in Manaus. 
 I wondered what I could do – if anything – to turn off the broken spigot.       
 “Speaking of Manaus,” I interrupted, “did you ever see that wonderful movie about the opera house?  You know, Fitzcarraldo.”  
She answered by thrusting her smart phone in my face and showing me photos of children playing in a village, women cooking at an open fire, a crocodile on a riverbank, and a snake up a tree. 
            “I’ll be returning in two months… to continue my research.” With glazed eyes and a determined bite, I chewed my tilapia, enjoying the feel of my tongue and mouth in motion, while she described her research project in even fuller detail, which was, of course, funded by some major research foundation. 
My life may not be as exciting as hers, I thought, but I did have one. Did she even know I was here?  I remembered reading somewhere that researchers found that all adults – except those afflicted with autism and schizophrenia – responded to other people’s yawns with yawns of their own.  I decided to try it – just to see if I was here or not. 

My first yawn was relatively subdued, obviously too subtle to register.  I yawned again, adding audio to video.  It, too, went unnoticed.  My third yawn sounded like a cat in heat.  Still she didn’t yawn.  She didn’t miss a beat.  Obviously there was a third group of adults unresponsive to the yawns of others -- Narcissists.  
Next I rested my elbow on the dinner table and dropped my forehead into my hand.    
When she didn’t react to this show of disengagement, I pushed my dinner plate aside and collapsed dramatically on the table.   
The imagined image of myself lying on the table top, unnoticed by my dinner companion, racked my body with swallowed laughter.        
            “Are you OK?” the waitress asked.  I pulled up my head.   Tears were streaming down my face.  I wiped them away with my dinner napkin.
            “Yes, fine…. And thanks for noticing,” I answered.   
            “Dessert?” she asked.
            Before I could say no, the monologist asked for strawberry pie and coffee.  That would add another twenty painful minutes to the evening.
            “Nothing for me,” I said.  “Just the check.”  
            “Let me tell you about my niece,” she continued.  “She’s only eighteen months old, talking a blue streak and in full sentences.”  A number of smart ass answers were on the tip of my tongue, but I said nothing; after all, I was raised to be polite … plus I doubted she would hear me.  “And she can do 100-piece jigsaw puzzles by herself.  Totally amazing.”
            “Totally,” I repeated after her.
            The waitress left our checks and disappeared.  I opened my purse, found the exact amount plus a tip for the waitress, laid it on the table, and got up to leave.
            That was when she first took note of me.     
            “You leaving?” she asked, surprised.  “But I haven’t had dessert yet.”
            “I’m sorry, but I have an appointment in twenty minutes.  I don’t want to be late.”
            “We must do this again sometime.”
            The monologist’s total disconnect with reality finally got to me.      
“By the way,” I asked, “Do you know my name?”
            She hesitated, obviously flummoxed by the question and was still grasping for an answer when I exited. 

            THE BOTTOM WHINE:    The spell of the Narcissist comes in a breath,
                                                         But dies an even faster death.  

                                                          Whiningly yours,  Carol

Wednesday, May 28, 2014



Flip-flops can be lethal.  Yes, that’s what I said.  Lethal! Flip-flops can kill.  I know.  It almost killed my son.  He was riding his bike and approached an intersection that was clearly marked: STOP!  BIKERS AND WALKERS HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY.    

A woman driving an SUV slowed to a stop.  My son started across the road when, suddenly, the driver accelerated and hit him broadside.  He first landed on the hood of her car, bounced off, and fell into the street.  If she hadn’t found the brake when she did…

How did this happen?  The driver was wearing flip flops.  Her foot slipped off the brake and onto the accelerator.

More and more accidents and near-accidents are being linked to uncontrolled acceleration or brake obstruction caused by flip flops sliding off drivers’ feet and getting stuck between or under floor pedals. 
To cite a few cases:  a woman in update New York recently lost control of her car and hit three pedestrians who were standing on a sidewalk.  All three pedestrians died. According to police, the driver’s flip flops got tangled in the floor pedals, and she lost control of her car.    
In 2010 a bicyclist was killed in Florida by a pickup truck after the driver’s flip flops got trapped between pedals.

In 2012 a truck driver wearing flip flops crashed through a store front and into the store.  Fortunately, no one was killed.  What happened?  The driver’s flip flops jammed under the accelerator pedal.

In 2012 a bicyclist was struck and killed in Pittsburgh by a driver in a pick-up truck whose flip flops got trapped between floor pedals. 

The U.S. National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) says that crashes due to pedal misapplication happen about fifteen times a month.  That’s 180 times a year; however, the U.S. has done next-to-no research on accidents or near-accidents caused by flip flops.  England has.   


Sheila’s Wheels, a British insurance company, surveyed over 1,000 drivers and found that 60% (600) drove wearing flip-flops, of which one-third blamed their shoes for causing an accident or near-accident.  From this data, the company extrapolated that flip flops were responsible for 1.4 million accidents or close calls a year. 

What makes flip flops the devil’s driving shoe? 

1.     Flip flops get stuck under and between control pedals, leading to over-acceleration or slow brake application. 

2.     Thin, soft soles brake .13 seconds slower than closed shoes. At 60 MPH,  .13 seconds equals 11 feet – possibly the difference between life and death. 
3.     It takes twice as much time to move between the gas and brake pedals when wearing flip flops than it does when wearing closed shoes.  

Flip-flops cause more than car accidents.  Of the estimated 11,000 people who were hurt riding escalators in the U.S. in 2012, approximately 10% were caused when hands and feet became trapped in the equipment. 

In 2012 in Washington, D.C, a teenager’s flip flop got stuck in a metro escalator.  When he reached down to retrieve his shoe, four fingers of one hand lodged in the stairs.  It took emergency personnel 40 minutes to free him.  He was one of the lucky ones.  He kept his fingers…whereas, this woman …     

…wasn’t so lucky when her flip flop had an argument with an escalator, and the escalator won.  

Metro systems now warn riders about the potential danger of wearing flip flops (as well as crocs and high heels) on escalators, especially on hot summer days when rubber and other soft materials are more likely to sink into escalator steps.  
And if all that doesn’t convince you to flip your flops into the nearest garbage can, consider these findings from the Academy of Podiatric Medicine.  Flip flops offer no arch support, no heel cushioning, and no shock absorption; consequently, when worn for prolonged periods, they can cause tendonitis, plantar fasciitis, stress fractures, and micro-tears (as well as blisters and stubbed toes).  Running or jumping when wearing flip flops often results in sprained ankles, fractures, and severe ligament injuries requiring surgery.  

Twenty thousand Brits visit doctors every year because of foot problems, at a cost of 40 million British pounds.  Many of these injuries and surgeries are blamed on long term wear of flip flops.   
Flip flops are also a breeding place for Staphylococcus Aureus, a deadly germ that can invade your body and kill.  One lab found 18,000 bacteria on a pair.    

Unfortunately, there are no laws prohibiting drivers from wearing flip flops, although Departments of Motor Vehicles do warn that wearing inappropriate footwear (and bare feet) can be dangerous.  But even if anti flip-flop laws were enacted, how could they be enforced?  Despite laws against texting and talking while driving, I see dozens of people every day doing just that.  The problem is there are too many offenders and not enough police.  Furthermore, enforcing a flip flop law is impossible.  You can  see a driver’s hands and face through a car window but not their feet.       

Idi Amin, the dictator of Uganda, may have had it right when he made wearing flip flops a criminal offense, punishable with death.  Yeah, maybe that was a tad harsh, but I’m guessing it got the job done.  
THE BOTTOM WHINE:  If the shoe is fitted, wear it; if it isn’t, DON’T!   


                                                                 Whiningly yours, Carol                                           


Friday, May 9, 2014


According to linguistics professor Henry Higgins in Lerner and Lowe's "My Fair Lady," Americans haven't spoken the English language in years. If that’s what he thought fifty-eight years ago, what would he say today, given the proliferation of fillers, phrase and sentence reductions, techno-words, and the loss of words indicative of a civil society.      
Fillers are words that carry no meaning but are added to sentences to give speakers time to grope for words and collect their thoughts.   Some of today’s popular fillers include: you know, so, like, and uh (“uh” is the filler of choice for the over-fifty crowd).  I was recently subjected to a “like” speaker at a public lecture.  After some minutes, I became more interested in the number of times he said “like” in a minute than I was in what he had to say.  I made a tally.
At 30 minutes, the lecturer had said “like” 180 times. At thirty-one minutes, I left the room.  The speaker was either unprepared, dishonest, or under the influence of his teenage children.  Possibly all three.
          But don’t think that filler abusers are limited to a particular age, social, or professional group.  They’re not.  They’re everywhere.  President Obama in an NBC interview in August of 2013 used “you know” 43 times.  Hollywood mogul Harvey Weinstein said “you know” 84 times in a 2010 CNN interview, but the filler trophy goes to Caroline Kennedy, who, in a New York Times interview in 2008 said “you know” 142 times.  For your reading pleasure, a part of that interview is below:
"So I think in many ways, you know, we want to have all kinds of different voices, you know, representing us, and I think what I bring to it is, you know, my experience as a mother, as a woman, as a lawyer, you know.  I've been an education activist for the last six years here, and, you know, I've written seven books.... so obviously, you know, we have ....”
One of the many negative consequences of the electronic age is the public’s increasing impatience.  Our attention span has diminished.  Everyone wants everything fast -- and faster yet -- including language, both written and spoken.  This need for speed has led to the reduction of frequently-used phrases into single words and  abbreviations, such as: do it yourself (DIY), oh my God (OMG), laughing out loud (LOL), best friends forever (BFF), living alone together (LAT), and by the way (BTW) --to name just a few.  E-mails and texts are often truncated, and it’s not uncommon to receive messages such as: “PLZ 4GIVE ALL ERROZ.” (No wonder people can’t spell anymore!)   
But why worry? This trunc8ing of words and phrases in2 letters & symbols will probably die off B4 long.  That’s what happened to the once popular SWAK (sealed with a kiss), written on the backs of envelopes containing social letters and thank you notes.  And if SWAK hadn’t died its natural death, then it would have been pushed into its grave by a modern culture that doesn’t write letters or send thank you notes, much less ever addressed an envelope.          
Technological changes have led to the birth of many words which have, in turn, influenced the popular culture – words like “selfie.”  Selfies are photos people take of themselves on their smart phones, often including one, two, or a dozen of their BFFs. Actor James Franco eloquently explains the joy of selfies in a recent Instagram post:
… “sharing a very (sic) kind of intimate portrait…it’s almost like (sic) it’s connected to you putting intimate space out there.  It’s a kind (sic) of this new thing we’re getting used to.” 
   It’s good to know that narcissists like Franco can – in a matter of minutes – take photos of their private parts and make them public.  Of course, if he learns that his phone’s been tapped or that Big Brother is monitoring his library withdrawals (assuming he can read), he’ll be the first to scream bloody murder for invasion of privacy.       
            President Obama recently one-upped Franco with a selfie ménage a trois at President Nelson Mandela’s funeral. Not only did this photo set a new low in funeral behavior, it led to the creation of the term "funeral selfie." Selfies, in turn, have given birth to "shelfies," self-appointed harbingers of good taste, who arrange their "art collections" on shelves, then photograph and send them into the blogosphere for the world to see.  The photo below of the two guinea pigs (stuffed, I hope) is an example.    

Other new words include twerking, which means provocative dancing  (What was wrong with the more descriptive term “dirty dancing?”), bitcoin,  wackadoodle,  bestie, and honey jar (I guess it takes too long to say “a jar of honey.”)  Although the “F” word has been around forever, it is now being used in new and different ways.  Traditionally a verb and expletive, it’s also used as a filler, an adjective, adverb, gerund, noun, and pronoun.   We hear Fs all day long: in the media (written and broadcast), in musical lyrics, on TV, in the streets, at the movies, and out of the mouths of babes.  The F word is spoken 500 times in the movie The Wolves of Wall Street (That’s almost three F’s per minute.) and F is proudly displayed on t-shirts, tattoos, coffee mugs, and billboards.   
While thousands of new words are added to the lexicon each year, others  --symbolic  of a civil society -- are disappearing from use, like: please, thank you, excuse me, and you’re welcome.  “You're welcome" is being replaced with "no problem," which is counterintuitive because if I thought “whatever” was going to be a problem, I wouldn’t have asked in the first place.     
            Yes, I’m a cynic, but believe it or not, I’m also an optimist and am confident that a future cadre of literate, intelligent, and independent thinkers will rise to stem the tide of language abuse and its negative impact on human communication.  An example of such a person is Hannah Barnett, a high school junior from Chevy Chase, MD, who recently wrote in a class essay: 

"Please put down the selfie camera on your IPhone.  A picture may be worth 1,000 words, but that doesn't justify taking millions of selfies in lieu of having a real conversation.  It comes to the point that we are now photographing ourselves doing nothing worthy of a photograph. We are documenting ourselves documenting ourselves.  More and more, I feel as if we get dressed up to do fun stuff just so we can put it on social media and let other people see that we're dressed up and doing fun stuff!  .... I beg you.  Put down your phones, make eye contact with me, and let's talk."
That student, by the way, is my Granddaughter, and that’s nothing to whine about! 
                                                       Whiningly yours, Carol

Sunday, April 6, 2014


 Yes, there is a war on women, but it’s not being waged by Republicans, Democrats, Communists, Socialists, or Aliens.  It’s a war women are waging against themselves.  Some do so unwittingly; others for perceived personal gains… while many more contribute to the war by remaining silent, rather than standing up and being counted.    
These warring women come in a variety of shapes and sizes.  There are those in political circles who command a wide audience and use that podium to malign other women.  Take, for example, Congresswoman Kyrsten Sinema who has publicly attacked women who choose to be stay-at-home moms: “These women are leeching off their husbands, or boyfriends, and just cashing the checks … that’s bullshit.  I mean, what the fuck are we really talking about here?” says Sinema.  Political strategist Hillary Rosen condemned Ann Romney for being a stay-at-home mom.  Did anyone cross the aisle in order to support a cause larger than oneself?  And when presidential candidate Barak Obama said in 2007 that “…staying at home to raise children isn’t real work,” did you hear a public outcry?  (By the way, raising children is the hardest work I’ve ever done.)  
When Michelle Malkin was viscously attacked with racial slurs for her political views and threatened to the point that she had to move, where were her supporters?  Who came to Ann Coulter’s defense when she was called a transvestite?   Who confronted Whoopi Goldberg when, on national TV, she described Roman Polanski’s drugging and raping of an unconscious thirteen year old girl as “not rape-rape but something else,” In other words, “something else” not so serious.      
Another group of women waging a war against their own are the self-serving “good wives,” those camp followers who publicly support husbands who have trashed their public posts, violated their marriages, and humiliated their families.  To name just a few: Huma Abedin (wife of Anthony Weiner)

 ……Hillary Clinton (Bill), Silda Spitzer (Eliot, who had the hubris to violate a law HE had passed making payment for sex a Class E felony), and Bronwyn Ingram, fiancee of ex-mayor of San  Diego, Bob Filner (found guilty of sexually harassing eighteen women),
           Sociopaths like the above view such public support as a “green light,” which leads, inevitably, to more of the same.  What this country needs are more Jenny Sanfords, (ex-wife of Mark Sanford, Governor of South Carolina) and Lorena Bobbitts.     
           In 2012 Carlos Henriquez, a member of the Massachusetts House of Representatives, was found guilty of beating and kidnapping his girlfriend.  He was sent to prison for 2 ½ years but served only six months.  Only this year did the Massachusetts House of Representatives decide to deal with Henriquez’ status: to vote him out of office…or keep him in.  The NAACP (with a half a million members) sent a letter to the House, requesting that Henriquez be kept in office. The NAACP president, Juan Cofield said:  “He was convicted of two misdemeanors – not felonies… every day people commit misdemeanors – like jaywalking.”  Beating and kidnapping is likened to “jaywalking”?  Hello women members of the NAACP!  Where were you?  In the kitchen making coffee?
           Politically ambitious women wage another kind of war against women. Take Sandra Fluke, for example, the law school student who just “happened” onto the scene when President Obama was being criticized for his contraceptive mandate.  She wailed like a baby that buying her own birth control pills would “financially tax’ her.  She wanted me (and you) to pay for her to play. 
This is the same Sandra Fluke who is currently traveling through Italy and Spain on spring break with her fiancé, Adam, the son of William Mutterperl, a “one-percenter”  who has contributed to more than fifty political campaigns.   I feel confident that if Adam would ask his father nicely, very very nicely, Mr. Mutterperl would give his little boy $9 to buy a pack of condoms down at the corner drugstore.      
        So thanks heaps, Sandra, for helping to promote an image of women as helpless and irresponsible little girls, so incapable of making life decisions for themselves that they need the Government’s intervention.  The Flukes of this country are not solving any Sisterhood problems.  They are the problem!
Another front on women’s war against women is being fought by the mothers of the 250,000 little girls entered into beauty competitions each year.  What these children learn early on in life is that what’s between their ears isn’t important.  What is … is how they look.   According to the American Psychological Association, “girls who are sexualized early will – when adults -- tend to measure their self-worth on their appearance.” 
Another warring group against women includes those who use their public platforms for personal gain – rather than for the public good.  Regrettably, one such woman is first lady Michelle Obama.  Note her recent statement to the Chinese press on her trip to China in March of this year: “It’s very rare that I have the opportunity to travel outside of the United States, and it’s even more rare to have the opportunity to travel with three generations – with my daughters and my mother…” 
Seriously?  This from the woman who has established the record for the most vacations taken while in public office, which include numerous trips outside the U.S and  -- most often -- with her mother and children. While in China, Michelle stayed in a 3,400 square foot hotel room that cost $8,350 per night.  This is the same hotel that Vice-President Joe Biden chose NOT to stay in earlier in the year because “It was too expensive.” (Thanks, Joe).  The Obama administration has refused to talk about the price tag for this China trip, but, when hard-pressed by reporters, the White House spokesperson replied: “We got a great bang for the buck.” 
The total “buck” has been estimated to be several million taxpayers’ dollars.  As for the “bangs”
... Michelle played ping-pong, took Chinese calligraphy  
and Tai Chi classes,  took pictures, visited the Great Wall, and operated a robot. 
           Michelle’s other recent and rare trips include her June, 2013 trip to Ireland  (I thought  Ireland was a foreign country, but what do I know?), where she stayed in a $3,000 a night room. This trip is estimated to have cost the American taxpayers $5 million. (Washington Times).  
Two months later, two generations of the Obama family took another rare vacation – this one to Martha’s Vineyard (estimated to have cost $1.2 million.) I hate to sound petty, but by my calculation, if Michelle hadn’t “needed” to return to D.C. all by herself on a private jet – although the president and their daughters were leaving on the same day – 30% of the bill (approximately $364,000 of the taxpayers’ money) could have been saved.       
Other recent but rare foreign-family vacations include Spain, a number of South American countries, and Africa, The three African trips alone are estimated to have cost the taxpayers over one million dollars.  Then there are Michelle’s skiing vacations in 2012 and 2013, which totaled $1,092,000, and the rare family Christmas vacation to Hawaii this year, where they stayed in a 7,000 square foot house and left the taxpayers with a bill of about $4 million. (Daily Mail, United Kingdom).  But seventeen days wasn’t enough for the first lady so she remained in Hawaii for another week after the family left.  This necessitated a not-so-rare need for a second Air Force jet to return her to D.C
 White House dossier, Keith Koffler, estimates that costs of the Obamas four rare vacations to Hawaii have cost taxpayers in the neighborhood of $20 million. 
First ladies can make a difference.  Many have, and although no one ever expected Michelle Obama to be another Eleanor Roosevelt, she’s demonstrated just how frivolous, entitled, and self-serving a woman can be.  Rather than setting a positive image for hundreds of thousands of young women – African American women in particular – she will be remembered as a “vacation junkie,” a first lady who misused the public trust (and treasury) to fill her private bucket list. 
           THE BOTTOM WHINE:  The next time someone tries to sell you a bill of goods about how this or that political party is waging a war against women, please tell them for me that this particular war is one women are waging against themselves.

                                                                 Whiningly yours, Carol

Saturday, March 15, 2014


There are some voices that make me want to run for cover. It doesn’t matter what they have to say. There’s nothing that can justify the headache I get listening to them – their whines and whimpers, sighs and highs, killer-fillers, squawking and talking, and I’m not alone. Research shows that listeners care twice as much about the quality of a voice than what the speakers have to say.

At the top of my “I’m outta here” list is the WHINER  (Note:  My whines are exempt because they’re non-vocal). Whiners sound like squealing pigs being led to the slaughter. And looking at them is almost as painful as listening to them -- the way their eyebrows crash into their eyes -- like they’re undergoing brain surgery.

Is it possible there’s an anatomical connection between Whiners’ eyebrow muscles and their voice boxes? Just a thought.

Another annoying voice is the falsetto of the LITTLE GIRL who lives in an adult woman’s body. Their high-pitched screams shrill for attention. “Aren’t I adorable? Don’t you want to pick me up and take me home with you?” No, I don’t, but what I would like to do is put them in a crib, close the door, and not let them out again until they’ve grown up. Another problem with purveyors of the Little Girl Voice is that the content of what they have to say is commensurate with the repertoire of a little girl. 

The good news is… sometimes, you can escape them. That’s because many come adorned with little girl bows in their hair… so, if you see one coming your way, run -- don’t walk -- to the nearest exit.

Have you met up with a WHISPERER? They’re the ones who talk so softly that even if you have 20-20 hearing, you have to crawl into their laps and stop breathing to hear what they’re saying. According to psychologists, Whisperers whisper because they need to control everything in their environment – including listeners.

First cousin to the Whisperer is BREATHLESS, but Breathless has a different objective. She thinks her voice is seductive (a la Marilyn Monroe) and uses it as linguistic foreplay. But when I hear Breathless speak, I don’t think sex. I think she’s in the throes of an asthmatic attack, and I offer her my aerosol spray.

UPTALKERS (akin to the Valley Girls) end statements with upward inflections, turning them into questions. Even statements of unquestionable certainty, such as “My name is Carol,” becomes: “My name is Carol?”

We expect Uptalking from teenagers who are generally too insecure to make definitive statements and are desperate for validation, but now the virus has spread to adults. Fathers of Uptalking daughters have also become Uptalkers, apparently to make themselves appear more friendly and non-assertive to their daughters and the daughters’ friends. This Uptalking disease has gone transgender and transcontinental, having spread from the United States… to Canada… and now to England.

The public, at large, perceives Uptalkers to be empty-headed, uninformed and lacking in confidence. Who would hire an Uptalker? Imagine one addressing a potential customer: “You’re going to like Product XYZ?” This affectation may explain why Uptalkers, when looking for a job, rarely get past the interview stage.

We’ve all been corned by FILLER KILLERS, those speakers who can’t get through a sentence without embedding a number of “huhs, uhs, likes…I means…or …you knows.” I was recently subjected to a FILLER at a 90-minute workshop. After fifteen minutes, I stopped listening, and for the next 75, I clocked the number of fillers in every sixty second segment. The result? Nine per minute, which means an “uh, huh, you know, you mean, or a like” every 6 2/3 seconds.

VOLUMIZERS kidnap a conversation and hold you hostage by talking louder than everyone else. Occasionally a determined but naïve listener will challenge the Volumizer by raising his or her voice, but Volumizers have no intention of giving up their bully pulpits. They respond by ratcheting up their own volume and increasing their speed of delivery, thereby making it near to impossible for a challenger to get a word in edgewise.

If you make the mistake of suggesting to a voice offender that he or she consider working on his/her speech, be prepared for: “That’s my voice. I was born with it, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” True, your voice is, in part, dependent on your DNA, but by the time you reach adulthood, your voice (along with much more) IS your responsibility. Most offenders can fix their impediments themselves … or with the help of a professional.

Remember: you will be judged by the voice you project. Speakers with high-pitched, loud, breathy, upended, whining, or whispering voices are judged to be weak, passive, nervous, empty-headed, insecure, and bullying; whereas speakers with attractive voices are viewed as successful, secure, and attractive.

                                                                  Whiningly yours, Carol