About That Anger Thang

So yesterday I talked about letting go of anger.  But ha, that's a tough one.  Most of the time, I am running on a low simmer, just waiting to say something snarky.  I rode the NYC subway for many years, and I can cuss like nobody's business.  In three languages.

I can rant and rave and snap as necessary.  I can speak low and slow (like when you smoke pork ribs and brisket for the Kingsford Invitational) and that's probably a good time to back away from me and leave the room.

But the worst, and I mean absolute worst display of anger is when I speak to my victim using my mother's tone of voice.  All I have to do is channel my inner Beatrice Morris, and I can flay the skin off of any miscreant stupid enough to start with me. Oh yes, I have used the MTV (Mother's Tone of Voice) on certain judges over the years, especially while I was a redhead; it is unfortunate that on a certain day in March of this year, I was much too ill to summon my mother's spirit when I needed it most.  But while I am retiring from the practice of law, I can still write, I can still speak, and I still live in a country where freedom of speech counts for something.

And that's all I have to say about that, except to add that I continue to work on that anger thang, and I am stupendously, almost hysterically angry at President Obama.  If he were here right now, in MY house (incidentally, the White House has not always been white, but it has always been "The People's House") I would have to ask him, respectfully, what the fuck was he thinking of, negotiating with lying scumbag terrorists?  I would tell him:

I am an American, second generation on my father's side, third generation on my mother's side.  I believe this is the greatest country in the world.  I love having a United States passport, and I cry during the "Star Spangled Banner." (Yes, I really do leak tears before every Orlando Magic game.)

I am a Jew, back so many generations it cannot be calculated.  I support the State of Israel with my full heart and soul.  I like Bibi Netanyahu.  A lot.

These are the things that define me, Mr. President, and I am really pissed off that you and Secretary of State Lurch have put all of this at risk by playing hide-the-salami (you got screwed, dude) with those Iranian scum. You have made a terrible and costly mistake.  Look, I'll cut you a break with the Affordable Care Act, but this goes beyond the pale.  If - no, when - the Senate rejects this dreadful mess, put your considerable ego back into your pocket and resist the urge to veto them.

Terrorism is not an abstract concept that can be brushed under the rug with fancy words and unenforceable treaties.  Make no mistake about it, Iran is a terrorist state and they hate us. We the people have had enough of terrorist attacks on American soil.  You need to fix this, you really do.

This is Mike Opperman at a company baseball game, circa 1977. I took this photo with an instamatic camera, which accounts for the quality, or lack thereof. He was a gentle man, a good soul, a coworker who helped me when I transitioned from receptionist and dictaphone operator to broker's assistant.  As time went on, and we both left Alexander & Alexander, Mike moved up through the ranks with well-earned promotions. Time and again, he proved himself to be the incredibly talented and hardworking person he was up to the day of his death, September 11, 2001. He was 45 years old.

You can only imagine what this did to his family.  Or maybe you can't; your ability to empathize seems a bit skewed.

Michael Opperman is the face of he American victim of Islamic terrorism. Pay attention, Mr. President, because Mike's fate is what you have condemned us to, a world in which the bad guys  win. Google him to learn more about those terrible last minutes, about his wife and children, about the worst thing that can happen to people who only deserved to live long and happy lives together in the land of the free and the home of the brave.  And then, if you still don't get it, I want you to realize that the entire Islamic world is laughing behind your back.

Just to clarify (because there's always one jerk who takes criticism of a black president in the wrong way), I'm not a racist (and you're not black, anymore than Halle Berry or Bob Marley. You're biracial and should be proud of that fact. But that's another blog post.)  I am a realist, and even if you had purple skin covered with green polka dots, or were as fishbelly white as me, I would still be angry.  Beyond angry. Apoplectic. Enraged.  Infuriated. Livid.

Finally, because you are a guest in my house, I would serve you the best darn Jewish meal you ever had in your life.  Challah, gehaktah leber, goldene yoich with knaidlach and kreplach, stuffed cabbage, potato latkes, kasha varnishkes, brisket, roast chicken, lokshen kugel ... enough food to feed an army, or at least you and the Secret Service guys.  If my righteous profanity doesn't get you to change your mind, maybe my cooking will.  Maybe you will learn to appreciate the Jews and the State of Israel, and think twice about throwing Israel under the bus with this verkockte agreement.

I just want you to realize, with every bite, that the only things I got to prepare for Mike during the five years we worked together were cookies and an occasional cake.  Don't choke, Mr. President; just don't veto the Senate.

Be a mensch, Mr. President, and in the process you will save the Free World.