No Tiger there is no privacy

When I saw the first news report about Tiger Woods and his tangle with a fire hydrant, I wondered how long it would take before he evoked the "privacy" clause. This is a faulty concept held by many celebrities. They believe, erroneously, that they are only available and therefore "famous" only when they and their handlers say they are. Oops.

The concept of being a celebrity is that people know who you are and are interested in your life. When you have yourself photographed with your wife and kids and grant interviews concerning your favorite color and favorite cookie, you are saying you want to let people see your life. There is now an implied contract between you and the fans gives them your life for their consumption. You must GIVE THE MONEY BACK if you wish to break this contract.

This part didn't surprise me. Celebrities often want to take the money for endorsing products because they are who they are, but then don't want publicity when they are picked up for DUI. Get over it Tiger. The privacy clause doesn't work for other people. It also doesn't work for you.

However, I am less amused about his "refusal" to speak with State Police. Huh? You have a choice when you have destroyed public property? How arrogant can you be? Say you are sorry and replace the hydrant. Do community service or whatever it takes. The longer this drags out the longer you are news. Have a press conference after you speak to the police, and admit your failings. Stonewalling only keeps you in the headlines.

And most of all, stay inside your house if you want your life to remain private. And don't expect this to go away any time soon.

Being aliberal and why it helps me sleep at night

Can you tell when someone is lying? Do you know without a shadow of a doubt when your child really doesn't have homework? Can you tell every time without fail when the truth is being revealed to you? Do the police know when someone is telling the truth? Or lying? Do juries?

The answer here is no. Absolutely unequivocally No. Sometimes you guess right. Sometimes people pull the wool over your eyes. It's the human condition. It's what drives the economy and literature and nearly everything else. Am I really getting the best rate? Could the car dealer come down more? Does he really love me or does he just want in my pants (ok that one is a no-brainer)?

People are unable to "know" the truth. They may think they do, but they do not. Not every time. Not without doubt. No omniscience among humans.

So it stands to reason that I nor a social worker nor a government employee know when someone is "really" needy. Or what that means. Or if it matters. I don't know what the criterion is in another's life or belief system that means I need someone's help in feeding myself and my children.

Could someone lie to me and say they need things when they don't? Certainly happens all the time. Executives need bonuses. I'm relatively sure in my belief system they could forego that trip to Cannes to keep more people in their company employed.

I'm sure I'd rather see people work for what they have. I'm also sure if you have children and no skills, there are no jobs. If having children and sleeping with the sugar daddy is earning your place in society, then I'm there. I don't make the money for the things I have. My husband does. So I deserve this more because I married better?

Until I'm omniscient, I wish to take someone's word that they cannot feed themselves without help from me. I'm willing to support 80 people's drug habits so that 5 children do not go hungry. I don't know other people's problems. I'm not God.

And for those of you who think you know what and who deserves this, I've go a news flash. You are not God either.

A place of Execution ... almost

We are huge Val McDermid fans here at chez speer. She is one of the very few authors we both read and really enjoy. Usually one or the other of us is the fan and the other one reads one to see what all the fuss is about. After said reading, the fuss still remains a mystery. Not with Val. I admit I was the first reader, but David believed the fuss after reading Mermaids Singing.

So we were thrilled that Place of Execution was coming to PBS. Even for readers not into her series or some of the other stand alones, this is a book that demands to be read. It is one of my absolute favorite books.

And what an incredible disappointment the series was. How do I hate thee, let me count the ways.

I was tentative about the job change for Catherine. She is writing a book, not doing a er uh whatever thingy she was doing in the tv version. Ok tv is visual, maybe it makes sense. But alarm bells are going off that the ending is in danger if it's not just her project.

And dear god, what in the world was the grandmother-mother- daughter "relationship" doing in the production? Daughter and mother--not in the book. Not even tangentially. Ok, trying modern Mom with the whole guilt thing. Whatever. Still not in the book. Not needed to tell the story about George.

And here we come to crux of the problem--the story is about Catherine. WTF. The story is most assuredly not about Catherine. It is about your life being changed by having all your beliefs pulled out from under you. George's career was based on the "result" he got by hanging Hawkin for murder. And Hawkin was not guilty. He was despicable and putrid, but not guilty of murder. George had been fed a pack of foma.

Where is the daughter Alison had after she was raped by Hawkin? The actual reason she left the village, not because her mum "thought it best." What? Really? The child is an integral part of the story.

And George has a son as well. Born on the day Hawkin was hanged. His relationship to his son and his wife are essential parts here. But we get Catherine's melodrama.

The investigation turns up a pic that Alison has defaced. She scratches out her cousin's picture. We believe she does it because he is getting sexually attracted to her, but that is not the reason. He is the only one not abused by her stepfather. He's too "old" for Hawkin to fancy. But the tv production throws that out there without a real explanation and then takes away the one in the book.

But the most heinous crime is that Catherine is one of the abused children too, but doesn't remember. Luckily my television survived the avalanche of things I threw at it at this point. Give me strength. The whole closed village closely related enough to pull off the false murder of Alison without ANYONE letting anything slip during the investigation is ruined by this bit of absurdity.

And where is the moral dilemma? Do you out Alison? Do you think Hawkin got what he deserved? Do you ruin innocent lives? Catherine, the real Catherine, cancels the project. This Catherine hands the decision off to someone else which is why this production wouldn't even have succeeded as an original idea. Every motive, every clue, every relationship was written as melodrama. It was a soap opera, built around the idea that Juliet Stevenson needed to chew the scenery.

When it is time to pull the plug on me in the hospital, give me two and half extra hours. I want the time back that I spent watching this. Val, the cast, the book, and the readers deserved better.

Rewarding bad behavior

This is going to be a venting my spleen sort of entry. I'm feeling quite put upon, and I probably won't mean anything I actually say. But this reaction I'm having right now usually leads to no more ms nice guy on my part.

I'm tired of the squeaky wheel getting oiled. I'm tired of passive-aggressive behavior working. I'm tired of having to make a scene to get rewarded.

I was mostly raised by my grandmother. At least I only took the things she said to heart. She was genteel and ladylike in ways that pass understanding. I never heard her say negative things about anyone--not her son-in-law who couldn't handle money to save himself. Not her daughter-in-law who held up her son for money during both the marriage and the divorce. Not even my mother who committed suicide. She gave the wastrel son-in-law money, the divorced son a home, and stepped in on the things she thought I was missing. She was a magnificent lady.

I want to be as gentle and benevolent as she was. But I just can't. I feel robbed when I'm the generous parent who always has to give up my time with my kids for people who suck at life. Or maybe I suck at life for not instilling a little bit more guilt into my children.

I feel robbed when my children struggle because they have been taught to behave. No one takes notice when they struggle because they don't disrupt a classroom. Maybe I suck at life for not letting them be as demanding and selfish as their classmates.

I feel appalled when self-promotion works better than actual ability or intelligence. I hate how shallow the world has become. I have commiserated with people who are pressured to self-promote more and can't find it in themselves to do it. Or do it grudgingly just to keep up.

I feel demeaned and tawdry when my husband has to scream over the phone to get internet service installed. It gets results, but offends my sensiblities. But I've gotten the attention I needed so maybe I need to lose the sensibilities.

But mostly, I just want all of you to stop rewarding bad behavior. If someone pulls passive aggressive bullshit on you, call them on it. Do not give them what they want until the behavior changes. This is a simple child-rearing principle. Sometimes it means putting your fingers in your ears and going la lalalalala, I can't hear you. But it works. Pavlov was correct. You can extinguish behavior by not rewarding it. And you continue it by giving in.

bouchercon

The strangest thing happened to me at Bouchercon. I realized how much I missed being in school. Listening to all the discussions, even the ones that were not panels, was exhilarating. I get so bored at home talking to myself. And here was an entire hotel full of people who read.

And I see the attraction for authors as well. I know being seen and promoting the new book is the publisher and agent approach to conferences. Get my author out where people will buy the book. Exposure is everything.

But writing is such a solitary thing that the authors seemed to enjoy seeing each other. They hung with each other a lot of the time. And talked about books and writing a great deal of the time. And how cool is that? A huge salon of writers in a bar in a Hyatt.

We went to great panels. The humour (this is for Martyn) panel really delivered. You could hear the audience laughing all over the second floor. Chris Grabenstein and Donna Andrews have spent so much time together that they could take this act on the road. The Chris/Donna show was repeated at the auction where people paid huge sums to be in a Michael Connolly and Sue Grafton book. The bidding went by me really fast.

And we heard people we are going to sample who were on our panels like the aforementioned Martyn Waites. Such an engaging Brit.

The biggest surprise was the author who turned out to have been one of David's interns at the Associated Press. I looked at the name and said I thought we knew her. We did. That was a lovely surprise. So look for Persia Walker.

Yeah, it was worth it.

randomness

So Heather finally updated, and I'm feeling the pressure. And so many Bouchercon thoughts are buzzing around that I felt the need.

David has decided since Bouchercon that he and I need another blog devoted to mysteries. I see the thought process, but since I'm so GOOD at keeping at this one that I'm not sure how adding to my things not done list will help.

I started this because I got tired of columnists especially, not really bloggers, complaining about how hard it was to write one column a couple of times a week. I thought that was so bogus. And I wanted to write to them and say I'll do it. Give me the money. And all you whiney famous and rich people--I'll take your money too and try my hand at famous and rich. So this was to be a personal challenge.

I also hated when columnists wrote columns about writing. So this blog was never to devolve into how I couldn't find a topic for the day. Such a really terrible topic. Who cares how hard your job is--just do it. Or as we say here at chez speer--give the money back.

I kinda hoped I'd write more if a "safe" outlet were afforded to me. Nobody really reading it, but something I hoped would be more than a journal. Things I hated. Things I loved. My various rants about politics, grammar, life, the universe, and everything.

So I still have put the butt in the chair issues. It's not topics that elude me. It's motivation. It's doing this instead of twenty other things. Things that might actually improve my quality of life. Like the dishes.

But David will, I'm sure, start this mystery blog. So now there will be 2. God help us.

Life Amnesty

I'm sitting in the sweltering 90 degree heat while technicians fix my air conditioner. And it's my own fault. I didn't clean the filter/coils often enough. Especially with the hairy animals we had all over the house.

What I want is an amnesty from life. No life events can happen for a month while all those things I meant to do get accomplished. Like cleaning the furnace coils. All the garden weeding, mulching, harvesting, canning, and picking fresh bouquets get done. Every inch of the house gets cleaned within an inch of its life. That includes everything out of cupboards, cabinets, storage cubicles, basement shelves, and closets. Cleaned or tossed. And all the storage things themselves cleaned. And the washer and dryer cleaned and moved. The books alphabetized and sorted. The tax and financial records brought up to date. Winter clothes get put away. Garage gets cleaned. The sentra gets its trip to the car repair.

Nothing interferes. No doctor appointments, business trips, pleasure trips, nights out, sleepless nights that become sleepy days, special events, or illness. Nose to the grindstone. All work. No play.

I figure that month would make everything else go so very much better. I'm willing to do it. Can someone arrange this for me? I think 2 years from September I have an opening.