Coming Soon: The Toyota Defense

My family and I had just moved to the San Francisco Bay Area when City Supervisor Dan White murdered fellow supervisor Harvey Milk in 1978. The late White's defense? He had eaten too many Twinkies and was, therefore, mentally impaired from all the sugar he had ingested. The Twinkie Defense.

Yesterday, a woman in an Atlanta suburb drove her car into the foyer and living room of her neighbors' home. It came as no shock to me that the woman claims that she was practically standing on the brakes, but the car revved up and smashed into the house. After all, it was a 2009 Toyota Corolla, one of the models the beleaguered Japanese car maker has recalled.
In all likelihood, the woman is telling the truth. She was merely pulling out of her own driveway when the accident occurred. (Sound familiar?) But I knew then that a new legal tactic had been born: The Toyota Defense.

Now, every time a Toyota is involved in an accident, the defense attorneys will attempt to "prove" that the driver was not at fault because the accelerator overrode the brake system. Blood alcohol content? Circumstantial. Distracted by texting or cell phone conversation? Circumstantial.

Toyota Motor Corporation is in a helluva mess, that's for sure. And the illusion of value that has surrounded its cars for decades is evaporating before our eyes. In fact, when I was driving my Toyota-made Lexus yesterday, I was conscious of being concerned that the thing might suddenly start to surge out of control. When I bought that car, it was with the confidence that I would likely never have to buy another car in the future, because of its reliability and overall quality.

I just had a vision of a miles-high pile of compacted Toyotas and Lexuses (Lexi?) sitting next to all the discarded Twinkies from the 1970s in the city dumps. The Twinkies are still there, of course, because of all the preservatives!

Retail Epiphany

This endless recession, as difficult as it has been, can be credited for providing this "mature" woman with some interesting and unexpected life lessons. The latest one occurred earlier today, when I took a trip to Atlanta's poshest mall for the first time in more than six years.

A few weeks ago a local friend invited me to attend a Bobbi Brown makeover event at Saks Fifth Avenue. She couldn't make the event due to her work schedule --unlike me, SHE has a full-time job-- so she wanted me to go in her place in order to get the "free" gift bag of full-sized products given to each client who purchased $100 in products. Readers who are familiar with this cosmetics line will understand how disgustingly easy it would be to qualify for that gift bag, because the products are insanely expensive. So, having nothing better to do today, I agreed to don something other than the sweats I wear around the house and traipse off to the mall.

True to my compulsion to avoid being late, I arrived at the Bobbi Brown counter a full 25 minutes early for my appointment, so I signed in and then began strolling around the store.

Even years ago, when I thought I could afford to buy things in this store, I felt awkward and uncomfortable whenever I entered. It was just way too over-the-top for this product of working-class parents and grandparents. I looked for my retail drug of choice, shoes. Certainly I would feel right at home in that department. As luck would have it, my eyes were immediately drawn to a table full of stilettos, gladiator sandals and flats, all with bright red soles. I picked up a sweet pair of pumps that I might actually be able to walk in (in my dreams) and did what I always do -- flipped it over to look at the price. $795! Seven hundred and ninety-five dollars for one pair of shoes. Now, there was a time when I would have returned the shoe to its perch, taking great care not to give the impression to anyone who might be watching (as if anybody cared enough to be) that I was in any way shocked by the price stamped on the bottom of that red sole. By the way, this brand of shoes is so hot that J-Lo has a song out about them! And the pair I looked at were among the least expensive in the line. This time, I just laughed out loud.

A glance around at the signage informed me that I would not be feeling any more comfortable in any other of the departments on that level of the store, so I escaped into the vastness of the glitzy mall. Versace. Coach. Jeffrey. Barneys of New York. All these fashionable stores and not a person to be found in most of them. There was a guy standing forlornly in the doorway of his exotic tea shop who called out to me to ask if I'd like to sample some tea. Otherwise, nobody.

I finally wandered back to the pandemonium going on at the Bobbi Brown counter in Saks. By the way, that was the only place in the entire store with people who looked like customers. The makeup artist applied potion after potion to my face before she could start applying the makeup. If I had been remotely interested in purchasing all of that stuff, the price tag would have been $151. I think I'll stick to my Dove and the unscented face cream I buy at Kroger.

With my smokey eyes and way-too-bright blushing cheeks, I found my way through the Land Rovers and Escalades (they must belong to employees) to my car, a 2005 Lexus RX330 and wondered why I just had to have this car when I retired.

In the face of all that's happening in the world, it seems ridiculous to be so acquisitive and self-indulgent. I am hoping that I am not the only American who is changing her attitude about money and how it should be spent. It is way past time to get back to basics.

Olympian Parents Deserve Medals Too

Imagine sitting in the grandstand at the half pipe and watching your "little boy" or "little girl" slam the snowboard against the lip of the structure and fall 20 feet to the icy floor. How would you react if your son, the bobsled pilot, and his brakeman flipped their sled while going 92 miles per hour on a block of sheer ice?

After spending hours, months and years transporting their children to lessons, paying for those lessons, sewing costumes, repairing skis and skates, and putting up with pre-adolescent or adolescent angst, one would think the parents of world-class athletes would be used to all the drama. As the mother of a son who played all sports, but who "majored" in baseball, I can tell you unequivocally that those parents never get used to the drama. It is a wonder they aren't passing out in the stands from holding their breath for the duration of their wunderkind's performance.

My son made it to the minor leagues of the Atlanta Braves. From the moment I pitched the first nerf ball to him when he was less than two years old, he has been in pursuit of some level of excellence in some form of competitive sport. He was especially gifted in hitting and fielding, but through the years of Little League, high school, American Legion and the University of California at Riverside, he played every position on the field. When he pitched, I could barely breathe, for fear he would walk the batter. Once while on the mound, a batter sent a line drive straight into his head. My knees buckled and I couldn't speak. Between the two of us, his dad and I spent more hours in the emergency room than some of the docs.

The hardest part is dealing with the disappointment when things don't go the way your athlete hopes. Not my own disappointment --my job was always to reinforce the win-some-lose-some philosophy. But as a parent, or more specifically, a mother -- there seems to be a real difference in the way fathers deal with it--it is heartbreaking to watch the kid process the belief that he has let down everybody in his world.

I will never forget the day I had to face my son in the recovery room after five hours of surgery on the knee he had ravaged sliding into second base for the Braves. The doctor had finally come to the waiting room to find me frantic. The surgery was only supposed to last for an hour and a half! There he explained that the damage had been far worse than he had thought. The chances of my son returning to baseball on the professional level were extremely slim. I felt it was my responsibility to deliver this devastating news to a young adult whose entire life had been spent chasing the dream of making the"Bigs" (Major League Baseball).

Any parent who has persevered long enough to have a child reach the Olympic Games deserves a special level of recognition, and all of it should be gold.

A Broken Man Has Spoken

I have been very angry at Tiger Woods for his arrogance and his duplicitous portrayal of an American hero. Like so many others, I believed his alleged stint in rehab for sex addiction was just another tactic in his public relations strategy for damage control.

This morning -- just about 30 minutes ago -- I watched as a man who looked very much like Tiger Woods bared his soul to a roomful of people he had let down and to a viewing audience who have speculated about his "transgressions" for the past three months. But this was not the Tiger Woods we saw before Thanksgiving. This was a humiliated, sorrowful, embarrassed and frightened Everyman who apologized repeatedly, asked for help and begged to be held solely responsible for his behavior. He convincingly defended his wife, who has been relentlessly pursued by a rabid press corps, by denying any domestic violence of any kind, and he asked that she and their children be left alone.

There were no crocodile tears, no histrionics and no attempt to excuse or explain away his actions. Just a slump-shouldered, empty-eyed, regular guy who has screwed up royally and knows it.

It took a lot of guts and humility to face the world the way Tiger Woods did today. It wasn't that he made the statement that is remarkable. It is what the statement said. Time will tell how sincere he really is, but for this moment in time, well done Mr. Woods.

Valentine's Day -- Why?

I woke up this morning with a sense of familiar sadness because it was Valentine's Day again. I am not sad because there is no special man in my life again this year -- that's a choice I have made.

I'm sad for all the kids who went to school Friday hoping to receive a stack of child-sized paper hearts in tiny envelopes, but left without even one.

I'm sad for all the teen-aged girls who watched alone as the "popular girls" walked the halls of their high schools carrying giant Mylar balloons in the shape of hearts, and who chatted excitedly among themselves about the dinner-dates they had with their boyfriends on the big day.

I'm sad for all the wives and adult girlfriends whose husbands and boyfriends will inevitably fail to commemorate the day, in spite of the hints sent their way by every medium, including their women. They must hide their envy as they ooh and aah over the floral tributes that their co-workers' partners had the good sense to send to the office on Friday, just to allow her to show off a little.

I'm sad for all the men who agonize over selecting the appropriate gift for a partner who is allergic to flowers, is on a perpetual diet or cannot see the romance in the new vacuum cleaner he so proudly presented.

I'm sad for the poor guys who just don't understand why this one day seems to have the ability to precipitate monumental fits of temper and tears from women who, on any other day, are strong, practical and reasonable.

It has been my experience that Valentine's Day is a set up for the romantically challenged to fail and for the romantically deprived to feel much worse than they did on February 12. The truly romantic partner doesn't need a day bathed in red and outlandishly priced roses to honor his or her significant other. And those who were not, are not and never will be sentimental are only going to once again fail in the eyes of the partner who longs for a little validation.

Whenever I did have a special man in my life, I was lucky enough to have chosen guys who understood the underlying conspiracy of Valentine's Day. They were either innately sweet and sentimental or they were wise enough to pay attention to the calendar and save themselves a night in the doghouse!

Where is the Mad Woman?

A friend sent me a text today that said something like "What? No more rants from a mad woman?" I laughed out loud. It then dawned on me that I haven't posted anything here for a week, which is highly unusual and not according to my plan.

It has been a strangely quiet time this past week. Nothing much has torqued me off. No strong opinions about anything ( No, I am not sick-- just tired, maybe.) The Super Bowl was one of the best games ever, and I loved a couple of the commercials, especially the little boy who slapped his mother's suitor in the Doritos ad. The E-trade babies are guaranteed to evoke an out-loud laugh from me every single time I see them.

Those of us who were raised in the northern U.S. remember the exquisite silence and calm one experiences when walking in a brand new, heavy snowfall. While, thankfully, the recent wallops have been confined to areas north of Georgia, the effect must have drifted down to me, because my mind, body and soul are strangely silent and calm.

So, my dear readers, enjoy the reprieve. I'm sure my trusty mortgage company will find a way to interrupt my tranquility any minute now!

Prescription Drugs Can Drain a Senior's Bank Account

The shift from my regular, employer-provided heath insurance coverage to Medicare has been an eye-opening process, particularly when it comes to the real costs of prescription drugs. I have been dealing with annual increases of insurance deductibles for quite a few years, but for some reason, it never grabbed my attention the way it has this year. Of course, this is the first time I have been on a fixed income, so I am paying closer attention to just about everything.

In past years all my doctor's visits, medical tests and prescriptions were expenses that were applied to the reduction of my deductible, so the hit to my bank account was gradual and spread over about three months time. This year, my first on Medicare, my deductible can only be met by prescriptions, because that is the only expense my secondary insurance can apply to satisfy the deductible. So when I went to my doctor to conduct my annual medication review, I decided to order all my prescriptions from the mail order pharmacy, which means I would get a three-month supply.

I take quite a bit of medication because I have high blood pressure, osteopenia (pre-stage of osteoporosis,) asthma, osteoarthritis and chronic acid reflux. (Imagine my surprise when my doctor told me during this visit that I am healthy for my age!) But I was not prepared for the courtesy call I received from Caremark Prescription Services to warn me that they would be charging some $1300 to my credit card. $1300 for three months! If I did not have the drug coverage that would kick in as soon as the deductible was met, I would be paying more than $5200 a year on medicine.

If I am allegedly healthy, how are American seniors who have no prescription drug coverage but who are battling diabetes, heart disease, other lung diseases besides asthma, cancer, etc. supposed to pay for their medications? We have all heard stories about seniors who are cutting their pills into halves or even quarters, thinking they can stretch their prescription dollars a little further. Some others decide, against their doctor's orders, to simply discontinue the prescriptions that are the most costly, thus putting their lives in jeopardy.

The way I see it, this is not a political issue. Everybody, regardless of their political affiliations, will have family members who are fortunate enough to reach older age. Most of them will not be wealthy enough avoid the need to live on diminished income. I certainly do not advocate a government takeover of health care issues, but there must be some way to incentivize the pharmaceutical industry to reduce prices, at least to seniors.