To say that I have father-issues is an understatement the proportions of which cannot be measured. From my complicated relationship with my dad, to my feelings of abandonment regarding the biological father I never met, to my odd penchant for dating much-older-than-me men who are extremely tall in a pathetic hope to find the fatherly love I feel I never had, I could put the children of many therapists through college.

My issues are hardly unique or all that tragic. I’m a firm believer in the fact that we all have daddy issues, and mommy issues too. It’s like our human right being raised by imperfect human beings to have problems. It’s the plague of the human condition.

However, this Father’s Day has left me a little conflicted. My dad and I have a distant, impersonal relationship at best. We did really good for awhile there when we were working at the bowling alley, but since then it’s kind of dropped by the wayside. But then so has my relationship with my mom. My parents are really good at being needed, being there in times of crisis, and lending a hand. They aren’t so good at just being. Since I don’t often need, I don’t see them all that often.

This year, I am angry with my dad on this Father’s Day. It’s regarding a complicated history of familial psychosis that I won’t dredge up here. However, what you do need to know is that since October my dad has cut Sister #2 and her family out his life. While he thinks this only effects Sister #2, it has hurt us all. It kills me that he can so willing just dismiss his own daughter and grandchildren. It also frightens me, because, well, effectively I’m one misstep from banishment too. Right?

Pleas for him to reconsider not only fall on deaf ears but just strengthen his resolve. So, we say nothing. No, I say nothing. My sisters joke about it, my mom is exasperated by it, and I am silent.

Again, this is a situation where I cannot fix the relationships between people I care about. It bothers me, but what can I do? I can (and did) call my dad on this Father’s Day and tell him I love him and keep silent.

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Much like the rest of the world, my love affair with Tim Russert started during the 2000 election. Nobody will ever forget him, Tom Brokaw and the Whiteboard of infamy.

Watching MSNBC is a weird sort of morbid and comforting. It’s odd to watch these journalists report on the death of their very own friend. It’s hard to turn my head away as Andrea Mitchell loses it on air when discussing how Russert always called her Mitch, just like her dad.

So here I sit, kind of crying and feeling foolish about it, mourning with Al, the cutest girl on Earth™, and, weirdly, collecting condolences from my friends and family who knew just how much I adored him.

The NY Times Caucus blog has some great coverage.

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All sappy pride and joy aside. The State of the Union address kind of reminds me of Catholic Mass, what with all the sit down, stand up, and hand shaking.

Watching the State of the Union address has been a tradition for me ever since I took a representative politics class back in college in 1993. I don’t even think I’d ever heard of the speech before that. Now it’s something I look forward to (though apparently I missed it last year). When people asked me what I was going to do tonight, I proclaimed proudly, “Watching the State of the Union.” It’s an event. I get all prepared, making sure my jammers are on, dishes are done, warm cookies are on hand. It’s a blast.

Then I just sit back and watch. I don’t listen too closely because I think a lot of it is a bunch of bullshit. Plus if I listen to closely to Georgie Dubs, I start to get angry. But I watch closely, the looks on people’s faces, what they applaud or don’t applaud, who stands and doesn’t stand — all the important stuff. And I’m catty. Like Joan Rivers on the red carpet.

Who did Cheney’s makeup? It looks horrible.
Someone tell Teddy Kennedy to stop doing the Times crossword puzzle and pay attention.
I don’t think Condi has totally evolved yet.
Is Madam Speaker biting the inside of her cheek to keep from busting out laughing?

And the best part? After the speech where Tim Russert & Brian Williams (though I still prefer Tom Brokaw) totally deconstruct everything. “The President spoke for 49 minutes and was interrupted by applause 62 times.”

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Election night makes me all warm and toasty inside.

I spent most of the night with Sister #2 and her family eating Chinese food, talking politics and listening to Max talk about verbs.

“Max is walking,” he said to himself, walking across the floor. “Max is the proper noun, walking is the verb.”
“Do you know what adverbs are?” I asked.
“No.”
“What if I said, ‘Max is walking loudly’? Which ones is the adverb?”
“Loudly?”
“Yes! The adverb describes the verb and it often ends in L-Y.”
“The puppy barks loudly,” he said. “Puppy is the noun, barks is the verb, loudly is the adverb.”
“Right.”

This went on for a good ten minutes.

“Okay,” Sister #2 said. “Time to go brush your teeth.”
“Mooomm, do I have to?” Max asked.
“He said sadly,” I added.
“Max is the proper noun,” he started. “Said is the verb, sadly is the TRUTH!”

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