Almostgotit.com

Poor John.  He’s had a tough couple of days.

First his wife wrecked a perfectly nice party by yelling at a major donor, and ended up being banned from UT and thoroughly pilloried by UT officials on the front page of the local paper besides.

That was yesterday.

Today, Tennessee’s Governor Bredeson did an end-run around Poor John by presenting some shocking news to the papers about UT’s budget cuts, includng numbers that were three times as high (e.g., three times as bad) as those that anyone at UT had announced before. 

Don’t panic though, people, The Guvv told reporters.  We won’t make it any more expensive for your kiddies to go to school at one of the cheapest public universities in the country.  We’ll just throw some tenured professors onto the street and make the remaining ones teach twice as many students for half as much money.

My husband, also in UT admin, got the news like everyone else in town, by reading it this morning with his morning coffee. 

Cuts of 10-15% next year.  On top of this year’s cuts, and the cuts before that.   Compounded further by rising costs that keep rising even when growth is zero.

“Geesh, what a bomb,” I said.  “and he went on record talking about cutting tenured faculty, too!  How will they take it in your department, do you think?” I asked.  “Are you going to be putting out hysterical fires all day, now?”  

My husband was thoughtful, even resigned.  “No,” he said.  “Probably not.  Maybe a few months ago, it would have been that way.  But everyone sort of expects it now.”

We could have moved to Utah, where they offered us more money and where the state’s economy is one of the few “stable” ones left.  Did we make the wrong decision, I wondered again this morning, as my husband packed his bicycle panniers and donned his 20-year-old wind pants for the chilly ride to work. 

No.  I don’t know how this is all going to work out, or even if it will.  But we’ve made our decision, and I still think it was the right one.  We both do. 

My husband kissed me and went out the door to do battle with Wednesday, and I poured another cup of coffee.

I have lots to do today before we head to the mountains, where we will meet dear friends for the long Thanksgiving weekend.  The cabin is smaller this year but we have always preferred being as close as possible anyway, the better to talk and laugh and eat together.  I got out my lists.

The back door opened again.  It was my husband, and he was grinning.

“I forgot my helmet,” he said.

Tennessee is a strongly Republican state, and I *know* (I’ve seen the hard numbers) that Knoxville is too. Strangely, though, every group I hang out with seems to be 100% Democrat. And how I do love them.

But I marvel at how often my friends still manage to encounter so many Republicans, while I still manage not to. A favorite theme at recent gatherings has been the extreme presumption of “those people” (Republicans) who boorishly assume my friends are also Republicans. My friends are genuinely indignant, but I can’t tell if it’s because they are offended by people who make assumptions, or offended for being mistaken for something as vile as a Republican.

The irony here is that in the twenty-something years I’ve spent mostly in the company of left-ish people, present company included, most of them have been as exactly as presumptuous about me and my own political affiliation.

I suspect, therefore, that making assumptions about people, even discriminating against people, is not so much partisan as it is a human condition.

To be fair, I do look, walk and quack very much like a Democrat. I also understand that being included in these conversations is deeply complimentary, as my pureblooded friends clearly feel such an affinity for me that they consider me one of their own race.

But it’s also a little disturbing to think that anyone’s approval of me, for any reason, also informs them that I can’t possibly bear any of the enemy’s genetic material. Sadly though, I do.

My friends’ own distress at being oppressed by Republicans is clearly not so terrible that they can’t also enjoy the conviviality of ranting about it over lunch.  Not me.  I’m much happier ranting about single issues than I am about entire groups of people.

Well.  Okay. Unless they’re from  The Institution that Shall Not be Named.  I never said it was about virtue on my part.  It’s more an irrational fear of suddenly finding myself among those being crucified.

Speaking of which.  I also enjoy a good rant about religion.  That’s very weird, I’ve just realized. Could it be that our country actually is much more religiously tolerant than it is politically tolerant? That’s a test question. I don’t know the answer. What do you think?