Blog Heaven

It is a lazy Saturday. I am avoiding nagging tasks, immersed in reading an intelligent post about the gender gap in U. S. wages. Suddenly it occurs to me--I am in Blog Heaven.

You see, this is what I wanted, and did not get, from law school. I wanted and expected law school to provide me the opportunity to read engaging texts and intellectualize about them and the issues they addressed with like minded people. Instead I found law school to be a trade school. An endurance test.

But now, years later, I have found in the blogosphere what I was looking for then.

Private Club II

A little over ten years ago, when I was practicing law in Toledo, Ohio, I briefly considered joining the Toledo Club. At the time, two good friends of mine were among the very few women members. One friend was a state legislator and the other was the wealthy owner of a large company that provided rehabilitation services to nursing homes in a seven state region. The Toledo Club was still very much a men's club but my high powered friends had made it in and they wanted me both to join and join with them in changing the Toledo Club from within.

This plan seemed like a good one to me since it was in sync with my gender politics. Besides, the Toledo Club was beautiful and prestigious. Its main dining room was incredibly impressive and its menu and service were outstanding. Since my estate planning pactice was largely referral based, I was doing a lot of business entertaining. Although the Toledo Club was not convenient to my law office, I was ready to overlook that fact for the "good of the enterprise." So I accepted my friends' nomination and was sent the application materials.

Yikes! Back then, even the application materials were openly sexist. On reflection, I decided I wasn't interested in spending my time to change things from within after all. I had little interest in belonging to a sexist private club that so plainly didn't want "my kind" as a member. I declined the nomination.

Private Club

In today's New York Times coverage of testimony in U. S. Senate's investigation of possible fraud by lobbyist Jack Abramoff, I was amused to read about his attempt to join the Cosmos Club. Apparently he was so anxious to become a member and so insecure about his own actual qualifications relative to those of existing members that he tried to persuade his Rabbi to help him create a phony award with an accompanying phony academic title to list on his application.

You see, in Washington, DC, if you are in business, you simply have to belong to a private club. It works this way in other cities, but it is particularly true in Washington, DC--membership in at least one private club is a necessary and valuable business and social tool. In a city abundant with fine restaurants and interesting and/or showy meeting venues, entertaining in private clubs like the Cosmos Club still seems to have enormous cachet. Why is this? Having visited many of them, I have to believe that their prestige mostly comes from the fact that they are private, and from a questionable assumption that they are extremely selective aboout who they permit to pay their pricey dues.

I am a member of a private club, the Women's National Democratic Club (even though I am not certain that I am a Democrat). While it is headquartered in a beautiful, historic building, it is a somewhat modest operation with a modest initiation fee and modest membership dues. And while most members join after being recommended by friends, it is actually open to all comers--even men. In addition to the excellent twice weekly speaker luncheons, the Club has luncheon buffets and catering available daily for private events that members mght host. I have used the Club for business entertaining on many occasions and been pleased with the result.

Relying on the membership of a dear friend, I have also frequently used the Army Navy Club as a site for business meetings and business entertaining--with great success. Men and women alike have been delighted to have been invited to go there. They are impressed by its stodgy good looks and its tangible homage to U.S. military history. And, they love the Navy Bean Soup.

What's the point? I believe that joining and using a private club can be a sound decision, particularly for women in business or a profession. But doing so shouldn't require the Jack Abramoff approach to credentialing yourself.

More tomorrow, including a story about a private club I didn't join.

Spring on the Mountain

Even though summer has arrived quite convincingly, I am still in a spring state of mind. With able and dedicated assistance I am in the process of completely changing the look of my mountain home. The Moonlady Ravine is undergoing an Extreme Makeover.

The overgrown perennials have been removed from what is now a beautiful meadow of vinca. Mick, the treeman put down the tall, double-trunked cedar tree that has been slowly dying for years and hauled it away. Smaller gangly trees and bushes have been taken out. Scraggly azalias, gone.

A new driveway will be built--actually two; one will be for the guest house. An extension to the deck is being designed, orienting the steps towards the newly reworked garden path. The final change will be paint color, yet to be determined. The Moonlady Ravine has always been a beautiful place but it is becoming more beautiful by the day.

Spray on Mud

Amazing! Available in the UK, Sprayonmud allows the city dweller to decorate her SUV with sham evidence of off-road cavorting. Happily I have no need for this innovative product. My secluded mountain home is four miles off paved roads. Given that, my black Jeep Wranger always has that "Newly Applied Sprayonmud Look".

Stooping to a New Low

True to my tendency to never say no to a handsome male beast, I accepted this meme from Oscar Wildebeest, famed blogger of Gnus of the World. He had the sad misfortune of receiving it from Curious Hamster with the request (demand?) that he add five answers to those composed by Hamster and then pass it along to another blogger, and so on until completed. OW did the reasonable thing and asked his readers to volunteer to receive the meme. Naturally, none of us volunteered, so OW sent me an email, shamelessly begging me to take the meme off his hands.

Participating as I am in the blog equivalent of a chain letter is a new low. I must be besotted by the beast--why else would I agree to do it?

Below, you will find my answers in violet, OW's in blue, and Hamster's in red. I am sure you will agree that none of us is as clever as we need to be.

If I could be a scientist... I'd invent cool stuff to save the planet (and grow a big beard).
If I could be a painter... I'd paint the living room. It really needs freshening up.
If I could be a doctor...I would ask myself, "How did this happen? Why in the hell did I become a doctor?"
If I could be a farmer...I would grow delicious big red killer tomatoes.
If I could be a gardener...
If I could be a missionary...
If I could be a lawyer...I'd defend the McLibel Two and not demand a penny. Pro bono, as they say.
If I could be an athlete...you would see me on a Wheaties box.
If I could be an innkeeper...guests would find Godiva chocolates on top of their pillows.
If I could be a professor...
If I could be a writer... I'd have something more useful to write here.
If I could be a llama rider...I'd probably be arrested for bestiality.
If I could be a bonnie pirate...Who's Bonnie?
If I could be an astronaut...
If I could be a world famous blogger... what do you mean, if?
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world...
If I could be married to any one famous political figure...
If I could be a circus star...
If I could be a poet...I'd Make Poetry History
If I could be a musician... I'd be a drummer.
If I could be a chef...I wouldn't allow any meat in my kitchen. I wouldn't allow any of those bloody vegetarian meat substitutes, either. More on this another time.
If I could be a rodeo star...I would wear the shiniest spurs and no calf would go unroped.
If I could be a spin doctor... I'd be filled with doubt and self loathing.

Now that you have seen it, would anyone like to volunteer to continue this cursed meme? Although valued, cleverness is not required. If there are no volunteers, I will be forced to draft my ex-husband to take on the task. Believe me, you would not want to see what his twisted mind would come up with.

Deep Secret

The secret identity of Deep Throat had been an intriguing mystery throughout my adult life. Then, suddenly all ongoing speculation ended without pre-reveal fanfare or the once requisite death of Mr. Throat.

I was particularly astonished to read that in all these many years the very wise Sally Quinn (aka Mrs. Ben Bradlee) never once asked her husband to betray the secret. Perhaps that is the deepest secret: how to obtain the wisdom that leads to such reserve and discretion.

My Adult

Several years ago when an acquaintance asked me whether I had any children, I paused in thought for a moment. Then, I inhaled and answered truthfully, "no, but I have an adult."

Today, my beautiful, and quite grown up, daughter sent me this caricature of herself. I like it although it only reminds me slightly of Phoebe, My Adult.