That awful John Edwards book--I read it, alright

Being an insatiable reader and observer of human folly, I've read books about murderers, criminals, people with bizarre lives, people plagued with drug and alcohol problems who do terrible things. But rarely have I come away from a book with such a sense of disgust for all the major players in it. Although this book is penned by one of the most pathetic, Andrew Young, it still had the ring of truth, however self-serving. He never truly accepts or understands what kind of filth he was party to, especially in terms of why Mrs. Edwards got so angry at him and indeed hounded and villified him at times. Andrew, maybe one day you will get this...BECAUSE you aided her husband in having his affair! You are not innocent, no matter how much of a bootlicker you were to their family in handing their every need, an expensive lackey in a suit who would scrub the kitchen with his tongue if it would advance the Edwards' (and hence the coattailing Young's) prominence in political society.
Now, I have worked in politics myself and I know how dirty it is. That is one reason I got out. It's no shocker that many (not all) politicians are very spoiled and need attention. But to "gaslight" (make her think she is the crazy one, after the title of an old film) Mrs. Edwards by pretending that her husband was faithful when he wasn't and to go to such great lengths to cover your own participation in it, is really sad. Is the big house in NC worth it? Having lived in a big house with a socially prominent liar myself once, I know it isn't. Not to you, not to your wife, not to the kids you have a duty to raise right, and not to Mrs. Edwards. No one here has the courage of their inner moral convictions, or listens to their intuition, etc. The winner in this whole pathetic tale? Rielle "Lisa Jo Druck" Hunter, a silly user of men who squandered any talent she had and coaxed a lonely and attention-seeking politician into bed and her bank account. Keep those direct deposits flowing, John Edwards!

Shades of John Edwards at glamorous Fashion Island

Tonight, we went out for a snack-- with the additional mission to buy two political books--The Game Change book on the election and The Politician, about the John Edwards scandal. I used to like J Edwards, being a Southerner myself and all, and I liked his ambitions for poor people to be recognized and helped. I also liked that his accent was real and that he represented that accent well, because there is still a stereotype of the "ignorant Southerner" when people hear a REAL accent versus actors, on tv. Yankee jest don't know no better, I reckon. I also had my suspicions that he was too good-looking to be true to his wife, but they were VERY persuasive folks, he and Mrs. Edwards. (She should change her name now.) So I think I want to read the book, although it sort of sickens me to read it and I also hate to give royalty money to the author, Andrew Young. Still....the parking lot was full of expensive cars, BMW, Range Rover, Mercedes, and of course, there is always a Ferrari or Maserati to be seen. But the food court was rather empty. Pasta Bravo, sadly, told us they throw out the trays of delicious-looking hot pasta at the end of the night, rather than giving it to a food bank, or even employees, so while I watched a Latin woman in her prettified, Irvine-company-sanctioned work uniform roll a garbage can around past the large central fountain, I hated to think of she or her kids not being able to eat the food which was destined for the trash can. Still...we ate, and I bought a National Geographic magazine rather than the political books, because the Edwards one is sold out, and the other one, on inspection, just seemed too maddening to read. We walked around and called it a night, and drove back home. Just a night in the lives of two happily married newlyweds who, to the viewer, look as if they never noticed the woman rolling her trash can with dedication despite her visible strain, who have the money to buy books if they so chose. I felt as if it were a modern Great Depression experience, with the shuttered food court stores, almost half closed for business now, tastefully darkened and decorated with large images of palm trees and fashionable women in $2,000-dollar dresses. But money was nearby--the "haves" were there somewhere, their high-end cars filling the most popular parking lots, while the have-nots were in my mind as I watched the steaming pasta expire on the Pasta Bravo serving bar. Was there a party going on I failed to see? It's like John Edwards, who looked and talked so damn good but whose glamorous appearance masked the dry rot underneath. Despite the cost to the people involved and our own country, the rich in that scandal have stayed rich...and the poor he claimed he wanted to help stayed poor. Damn it, John Edwards, you had a chance and you blew it.

Which came first, the chicken judge or the egg buyer?

Just got back from the grocery store. The check-out clerk asked me, "Have you checked your eggs yet?" as she rang up my carton of free-range organic eggs. I told her yes---I used to be a poultry and egg judge and got in the habit that way. I supposed that startled her...she looked up with a wow look under her mop of red hair.
Yes, I said, remembering my 4-H club experience, the best way to tell if a chicken is a good layer is to look at its beak, comb and feet. They should be gray...all the yellow pigment should be draining into the egg yolk. I also judged eggs, "candling" them by holding them over a light source and checking for blood clots and other interior imperfections revealed within the shell by the light behind. I also tried to learn about "freezer birds," but there didn't seem to be that many ways to judge a frozen dead bird. And what I didn't tell her? That we learned how to hold a live chicken upside-down and check its "vent," to make sure it wasn't yellow, and to note any pigment in that extremely personal area from whence the eggs came. Chickens don't blush in their private parts, so I can't say I saw any color of note.