Diplomatic and Human Relations 101, George Bush - F

The New York Times is delivered to my happy little abode every Sunday. This is a wonderful time for my partner and myself because it is associated with sipping good coffee, perusing the Times and relaxing for a few hours clad in our favorite jammies; it is a day of relaxation and no expectations. A recent article outlined President Bush's tour of Vietnam. Apparently it was at whirlwind speed. The president stopped five minutes here and eighteen minutes there, delivered a lame speech that failed to impress, and continued on his way. But that was okay, remarked his aide who said that President Bush was "in touch" with the Vietnamese people because he "waved to them from his car and they waved back". In touch? Apparently the aide - never mind Bush - has never had a Human Relations class, an anthropology or sociology class, or common sense; "in touch" is meeting, greeting, and getting a feel for the people. I read on, amused by this President's continued display of arrogance; thereby, further solidifying my impression of him as an arrogant, self-centered, imbecile who has no regard for anyone or anything other than what benefits himself - whether it strokes his ego or lines his pocketbook.

Not only did he deliver a speech that failed to impress the locals; a local man made the comment that it sounded just like a comment made by Bush Sr., but apparently Laura Bush also made a visitation faux pas by failing to visit a famous silk shop. This silk shop has pictures of wives of dignitaries and country figureheads - doing what? Buying silk and having outfits made. It's called Diplomatic Relations 101. No show for Laura Bush. Am I surprised? No.

Throughout the article, a comparison was made between the Clinton presidency and the current Bush administration as to how the Vietnam Tour was conducted. Where Bush spent minutes pretending to peruse, Clinton spent hours. And while Laura Bush failed to make an appearance in the silk shop, Hillary bought herself a couple outfits and 10 silk shirts for Bill. The store was so pleased by her visit that they renamed the collar on the shirt the Bill Clinton Collar. I don't think it's much of a "brainer" to guess which president has better human and diplomatic relation skills.

President George Bush's human and diplomatic relation skills grade - F.

Monday Wake Up Call and First Impressions

Intermittent blasts of the buzzer penetrate my sleepy haze. Is it really time to get up? Fine. With annoying wake-up call silenced, I slip out of bed and into my slippers. All is usual, right? Blinking repeatedly to keep my eyes from staying shut I dodge three wide-awake cats, and a frenetic overzealous dog down the flight of stairs. Yes! Another morning descent without squashed tail or crashing human. With door held wide, the dog races out into the cold, nose searching for clues. I rotate the thermostat to 65. Ahhh, there it is, that oh-so-satisfying clicking noise of the furnace signaling it's start-up. Back to the door, dog races in. Calm down! Calm down! I whisper harshly. Tail wagging like a chaotic wrecking ball, he follows me across the room. Meanwhile the three cats have been waiting...impatiently....in the kitchen, swirling, and meowing in unison. With a sigh, I take down cat bowls and dog dish and fill each with "breakfast". I turn on the stove top in order to heat my coffee water and scan cupboard for breakfast items...for myself and my partner. Oh look, a cat has finished and he isn't satisfied. I give him some crunchies...round two after his "appetizer" of squishy, and resume my scan. The kettle, whistling insistently, tells me my water is ready. With water poured into the press, I take down the box of Cream of Rice and begin preparations. After pouring milk into a pan, I place blueberries in a container and place it in the oven...blueberries on top, yum! Now what? A door is rattling fiercely and meowing squalls emit from the bathroom. Aaagghhh! Why can't she eat like a normal cat? She's the fattest of the lot and thinks she's starving; hence, she must eat in a separate room. Since the other two cats are finished eating, I let her out...after removing all scraps from the kitchen. Turn around and, CRAP! The milk has foamed to the top of the pan. Can I remove it from the burner in time? No. Milky fingers now expand across the stove top...except where the hot burner is...that milk is now cooked to a crisp. Kitchen smells...well...disgusting. In the middle of cursing to the stove and wiping up spilled milk, the phone rings. Now what? Why does Milford High School think I have an appointment with them today? Huh? Oh shit! It's not Milford; it's Wilton and they've rescheduled my job interview to 10:00! You know what they say about first impressions.

I got the job.