Murder by cat

STIPIMM: “Thank You,” by Dido

I don’t hate cats, and I never have. I’m a bit disgusted with the whole urinating-and-defecating-into-a-box-that’s-usually-not-too-far-from-the-kitchen thing, but all in all, I’ve always thought cats were on the whole very interesting, comforting creatures. At least when they’re declawed.

But as most of you probably know, I have a problem with cats. A big problem. A problem that’s only gotten worse with time. I’m allergic to the Felis domesticus, more specifically the dander that they shed all over people’s houses. It’s an allergy I seem to have inherited from my father, whose disdain of cats was something I never quite could understand as a kid. I understand now. My dad, however, was able to be careful in his avoidance of homes that housed a feline; I don’t remember too many people my family knew (with a couple of exceptions) that had cats.

I don’t have that luxury. Of all the people I know, and all the places I often visit, there are only two places that do not currently house a cat: my brother and sister-in-law’s apartment in Amherst, Mass., and my grandparent’s house in San Angelo, Texas. That’s it. All my friends, all the rest of my family and Bridget’s family have cats.

Keep in mind that this isn’t some nuisance allergy that just causes a bit of sneezing or itchy eyes for a while. The first time I had a major allergy attack from a cat was in San Antonio, Texas, several years ago; it became so difficult to breathe that I was actually being driven to the hospital when it started to clear up. Why did it start to clear up? Because I had left the offending house, of course. But even though the life-threatening part of the attack had passed, my breathing was labored for several hours, and the fearsome wheezing in my lungs lasted a couple of days.

I have a steroid inhaler now that is a vital part of my travel toiletries, so I should never have any near-hospital visits over cats anytime soon. But still, after spending a day or two in someone’s house, I will be afflicted with wheezing, congestion and all manner of respiratory discomfort for days. Indeed, as I sit here, I’m still coughing up gook that built up over Thanksgiving weekend, which was spent shuttling between two houses that contained all manner of cats. It’s tough to really enjoy oneself when one is constantly aware of the reactions one is having to the environment. I can’t even relax in my childhood home in Mustang, Oklahoma, for god’s sake, because there are two cats living there now. Indeed, it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Of course, there are other things that make it feel less like home – the absence of Dickens, our dog, and especially my father. Besides my allergies, there’s another thing I seem to have inherited from him: two days ago, while watching “Curb Your Enthusiasm” and enduring the results of my latest allergic attack, I coughed every time I laughed hard (which, with that show, is often). My dad used to do that too. The respiratory parallels come to mind every time I hear my lungs wheeze in a way that sounds like paper crackling or every time I cough up something that tastes like ash. And yes, it does scare me. Quite a bit.

Mercidonnant

STIPIMM: “Sailor’s Hornpipe,” traditional

Thanksgiving is an unusual holiday for an agnostic to celebrate. After all, to give thanks implies that there is someone or something to give thanks to. Without that, Thanksgiving boils down to sitting around and reveling in your luck – luck that you weren’t born poor; luck that you are healthy; luck that were born with the capacity to build skills and knowledge that allow you to earn a regular wage that leaves some left over for luxuries once all the bills are paid; luck that family members are still alive; luck that you stumbled upon someone who understands you and is willing to tolerate you for the rest of your lives. Thankgiving’s mascots are still the Pilgrims and the Indians, only now it’s the Pilgrims sitting at a craps table at an Indian casino.

But despite my lack of connection to the idea, I do like Thanksgiving, just as I like Christmas and don’t subscribe to virgin births (be it Leda or Mary), even if the former holiday represents the last moment of comity between whites and Indians for hundreds of years.

That said, Thanksgivings, on the whole, don’t stand out in my memory so well. All the Thanksgivings spent in San Angelo or Mustang kind of blend into one. There are a few notable exceptions:

-- In either 1999 or 2000, I spent Thanksgiving with the extended family of a friend in Virginia. What was most memorable was not the food, but the older couple who railed on Bill and Hillary Clinton for most of the meal. “They’re evil. Evil!” was one enlightened gem. I almost bit my tongue as much as I did my turkey.

-- Last year’s Thanksgiving was truly something special for both Bridget and I, as both our immediate families all got together and squished into our apartment for Thanksgiving weekend. Now, it wasn’t the most exciting of festivities – none of us are very wild people – but it was quite wonderful to have everyone there.

-- On Thanksgiving 1994, I was in Paris, France, taking part in a year-long academic program sponsored by an American university. There isn’t even a word in French for “Thanksgiving,” and the fourth Thursday in November is just like any other Jeudi for Parisians. And so, with this American holiday in our heads, our program arranged for all of the students to get together in a nice restaurant and be treated to a full Thanksgiving meal – turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce (not canned!), stuffing, the works. The restaurant did a superb job of preparing the meal – indeed, it was some of the best damn turkey I’ve ever had (part of that surely is the proud feeling that an American living in Paris would get in celebrating an American holiday abroad). And the addition of good French wine didn’t hurt either. Two of my best friends in town, Stacey and Susan, were seated with me at the dinner, and we had a grand old time. After the meal, we sat around writing dirty limericks about each other and people we knew. A strange way to give thanks, perhaps, but one of the best.

Doing my part to help breasts

STIPIMM: Theme song to “The Tom and Jerry Show”

My dad always told his sons to “always take pride in your work.” Actually, that’s crap; he never said any such thing. Or maybe he did, but I don’t remember it. My dad said a lot of pithy things, some of which I remember and try to live by, with questionable success (“Never get married and have kids!” or “Change the oil!”), but “take pride in your work” wasn’t one of them. I just thought that sounded like a good way to start this post, which involves taking pride in a particular aspect of my work.

I tell people that I’m a “graphic designer for H&R Block,” which is incorrect in two ways. One, I don’t technically work for H&R Block, but one of their subsidiaries. And two, there’s isn’t much “designing” to my job. Perhaps a better job title would be “graphic imitator.” I’m supposed to take state and federal tax forms and duplicate them as closely as possible using our very limited software. Nine hundred ninety-nine times out of a thousand, this simply involves laying text boxes, straight lines, and boxes down on a page, basic layout stuff. As a result, the software we use limits us to a very small palette of tools: text (that can only go horizonally), horizontal and vertical lines (no diagonals), rectangles, circles and ovals and isosceles triangles. And we have three colors available to us: black, white and mid-gray.

But every once in a while, there’s that one time out of a thousand, when we have to use a little bit more than simple duplicative skills to make the form look like the original. Many times the states put various logos or images on their forms. And because of the primitive quality of our software, we can’t import image files or the like. Most of the time, as in the case of state seals, we don’t have to try to duplicate them and all is well. But sometimes we do, and sometimes it’s not so easy. Some examples of things that had to be drawn in the past on tax forms: a mailbox (with the flag up), an eagle flying, a hand signing a signature. If we were able to use such software as Adobe Illustrator or Macromedia Freehand, these things would be a snap. But no, we are stuck using that limited palette. It’s hard to really describe, but try to imagine having to draw a duck with only rectangles, ovals and basic triangles (none of which can be rotated). But someone did last year, very well I might add:

Here’s another way to think of it: Imagine if I asked you to draw a black diagonal line using only what I described. How would you do it? You’d first draw a triangle, one of whose edges would end up being the diagonal line. Then you’d draw another triangle, this time all white, and cover up the rest of the first triangle, leaving only a black diagonal line on a white page.

Now image having to compose something with lots and lots of diagonal lines.

Added to the difficulty is that we can’t scale the images. That is, they have to be drawn to actual size; we can’t draw them big and shrink them down later. It’s like doing microscopic surgery… well, nothing like that really. But the principle of working in a very small area with limited tools applies.

Up to now, I’ve never had to really drawn any intricate logos. The most complicated things I had to draw were a smiley face and a frowny face (yes, there are sadistic state tax agencies that put emoticons on your tax forms next to your refund or the amount you owe, respectively). Today, that changed. The state of Wisconsin informed us that we needed to include a tiny breast cancer ribbon next to the “Breast cancer research donation” line on their main form. Now, consider your average lapel ribbon: not a straight horizontal or vertical line on the damn thing. So it would be tough. And tough it was.

I started creating the logo around 2 p.m. this afternoon. At around 2:45 (oh, I probably took a break to check e-mail or something), I finished a rough version that I could copy on the form to see if it would fit. Of course, it didn’t; it was about 50 percent too big for the space allotted. And remember, I can’t scale the thing down, so I basically had to redraw it from scratch. It didn’t take as long the second time, but still. By the end of it, once all the fine-tuning had been done, I had used almost 40 boxes/ovals/triangles to create that ribbon. For the convenience of my audience, I made a copy of the draft and changed all the graphic elements to transparent boxes with black lines, so you can see just how complicated a graphic it really was:

Of course, that’s not what you’d see on the page. What you’d see is a nice little ribbon. And when I mean little, I mean little:

That’s actual size, folks (forgive the resolution and image noise; you'll just have to trust that it looks good in PDF format). A tiny little logo, but I must say, I am particularly proud how well this sucker turned out. Doesn’t look complicated, and none of the customers in Wisconsin who see it will think much of it, but then, that’s the point isn’t it? Besides, once they get to that part of the form (close to the end), they’re too busy being happy that they’re getting a refund, or pissed off that they owe.

Or, I can tell myself that they will see the logo and be inexpilcably inspired to give money to breast cancer research! Feh.

One thing my dad did say was “If you love your job, you’ll never work a day in your life.” He certainly loved his job, unless he was particularly good at hiding the demons that torment FAA managers. I don’t love my job, but I certainly do like it enough to keep coming back in a good mood. And today provided an odd little satisfaction. That’ll do for now.

Dreams, they complement my life

STIPIMM: “Destination Moon,” by They Might Be Giants

Something strange has been happening to me the past week or two. It started gradually, and now it’s developed into what is quickly becoming a habit. I am waking up on my own at the crack of dawn. My alarm clock hasn’t gone off once this week, because I’ve woken up before it was time.

I have long been a proud denizen of the night, fighting the despised urge to sleep in an effort to pack more hours into the day. Granted, I made up for that time sleeping in until noon, but I could just not bring myself to put an end to a day without getting some extra hours of darkness in.

And now, I go to bed between 10 p.m. and 11 p.m., often staying awake to talk to Bridget until around 11:30 or midnight. Seven hours later, I’m rousing. Ordinarily, I would look at the clock and roll back over, but I’m not quite tired enough to back to sleep. What an odd feeling it is.

I very excited about the prospect of having a normal sleep cycle. I’ve tried numerous times in the past to fight my urge to stay up late in order to try to follow the natural rhythms of the sun, but there was too much standing in my way. Now, the stars have aligned and all the obstacles are out of the way:

1) Caffeine. I gave it up after Jan. 1 of this year. I never drank coffee, so it wasn’t as though I was blowing my wad at Starbucks or anything, but I was definitely addicted to caffeinated soda. It took a lot of willpower and tolerance of two weeks of headaches to get through it, but I did.

2) I got a day job. I’ve had plenty of day jobs before and I still had the same problems with sleep, but with caffeine out of the way, being forced to get up early just put me into that cycle and kept me there.

3) My wife is a light sleeper. This is actually key, because without the emotional incentive to get up, I probably would have kept trying to sleep in. But when your beloved starts kicking you because you’ve hit snooze twice, waking her up three times, you know something’s going to have to change.

4) I switched the time I took my medication. This was the last piece that had to fall in place, although I didn’t realize it until last week. I have a medication that I have to take every day, and usually I’d been taking it every morning. Well, maybe I should have paid attention to the warning on the label that said that the drug might cause drowsiness. Hmm, maybe I should take it at night. And so I started taking it before going to bed. And the rest is history.

The next test for my new sleep cycle will be when my seasonal job at H&R Block ends for the year, which will be in a couple of months. I hope I can keep it up; it feels good to wake up with the sun.

Finally, the improv post

STIPIMM: “Conga,” by Gloria Estefan

I don’t know why I’m having such a problem writing about improv. I promised a post over a week ago about our recent experiences with live improvised comedy. I think I intended to pontificate proudly on comedy and its creation, but never really got around to forming a coherent idea in advance. So, I never started. So, forget the diatribes. Let me tell you about these three evenings.

Two weeks ago, on Nov. 1, I was invited to participate in a special event called “The Director’s Cut” at Improv Asylum in downtown Boston. The idea of the event is to get local filmmakers to show short films before an audience and get the director to interact with the improv actors. At its best, it’s a win-win situation: the improv hopes to attract a new audience with movies and the filmmaker gets a venue to show his/her film.

At least that’s how it’s supposed to work. In reality, that Tuesday was only the second time they had done it, and the word obviously had not gotten out. Only three people showed up for the event, and they were all co-workers of mine. I was grateful for those three, but when they have to use the ushers and ticket-seller as seat fillers, it’s hard to get overly excited.

That said, I had a blast. There were two film that evening: mine (which played second) and a 48-Hour Film Festival entry that a former member of the Improv Asylum troupe had done. It was actually one of the best 48-Hour Film Fest films I’d ever seen; it was a musical (imagine having to whip together a musical in 48 hours) and they did a good job with what they had. But, the 48-Hour Film Festival is a breeding ground for mediocrity (with scattered moments of brilliance), so saying it was the best of its kind I’d seen is not saying much. Still, it was impressive what they were able to do.

After my film, which was painful to watch almost three years after it was made, I got to “direct” the improv troupe, which basically meant assembling the random details they were supposed to start with (a character named Smith Bill, in a shopping mall) and then inserted random deviations from the course they were going on. The end result was a Westside Story throwdown between the Pretzel Hut and Cinnabon, and a rapper named Frosty McClean who peddled jewel-encrusted thongs to high schoolers. Bizarre and hilarious; the actors were quite good.

In other improv news, Bridget and I went together to two performances of one of BU’s student improv groups, Spontaneous Combustion (commonly known by the abbreviation Spon-Com). The first time we went contained the aforementioned visit from the diaper-clad Lear. The second time was more sedate, with 2/3rds of the house filled. But both times were exceptionally fun. In my limited experience with seeing college improv groups, they tend to be funnier in concept than in reality. College students who think they’re good at being funny on a dime are a dime a dozen, but it’d be tough to find one of them who’d be worth… um, a dime.

Spon-Com was much sharper and smarter than any student improv I’d ever seen before. Several of the actors consistently demonstrated an impressive comedic range and speed. Of course, both the good and only so-so actors were helped by safety in numbers; it’s easier to find the funny when there are nine people contributing ideas than it is if there are only three or four. Even with a nine-person cast, Spon-Com had quite a few dull moments in their performances, but that’s not necessarily unexpected. Improv is hard stuff to sustain for long periods of time. They benefited from having a friendly audience, not to mention a few audience members (namely me) who will laugh at just about anything. So eliciting laughter from me is not necessarily a trophy to crow about. However, last Saturday’s Spon-Com was the first time in ages that a live performance had made me laugh so hard that I cried. Two tear ducts up.

Yay IRS!

STIPIMM: “All You Need Is Love,” by the Beatles

Monday and Tuesday were very big days at work, thus my breaking of my promise to tell you about the improve events of the past two weeks. Fear not, I’ll get to it soon, but first I’ll tell you why Monday and Tuesday were so important and busy for me.

Most of you know that I currently work for H&R Block in Cambridge (our fair city), right across the river from my town of Brighton. I’m in their TaxCut division, which is the software that consumers can buy to do their taxes. I’m one of the people who take the tax forms that the IRS and the states create and convert them into electronic versions for our software – essentially layout and editing. I’m in charge of keeping track of the forms for 20 states, including Oklahoma and Maryland, as well as all the forms that come in from the IRS. In most cases, the IRS and states first submit draft forms and later make final revisions.

Monday: Up until the first of November, federal forms had been stuck in draft mode; usually, they are made final during the first weeks of October. But in August, some bitch named Katrina visited the U.S. and created a whole lot of homeless people in need of tax credits. Congress had to enact these credits, which they eventually did, and they had to be integrated into this year’s tax forms. But as anything in D.C., it takes time, so there were delays in the forms. And since just about every state has something on their tax forms which references line numbers on the federal forms (especially form 1040), until the fed forms went final, the states weren’t going to go final either.

It all rose to the level of emergency in our office, because it basically hamstringed us from progressing with our work. It got so that they created a Katrina Task Force which meets every week to talk about ramifications of the hurricane. I’m proud to say that I’m a member of that task force. No, we do not get a jacket.

Last Tuesday, now that all the possible legislation for tax year 2005 has passed, some of the lesser federal forms began to be posted for public use on the IRS webpage (that’s my cue that those forms are final): Form 3800 – General Business Credit; Form 8814 – Parent’s Election to Report Child’s Interest and Dividends. Exciting stuff, sure, but for me, who had been twiddling my thumbs with the federal forms for weeks, it was a gust of fresh air.

And then, on Monday, the granddaddy of all the forms went final: Federal Form 1040 for the year 2005 was released on the IRS website that morning. And that broke the floodgates, both for the feds and the states. Where once it was piecemeal, the work is now steady and quick. States going final, forms flying everywhere, dogs and cats living together.

That was Monday.

Tuesday: Yes, I did vote, but that’s not why it was important (two governor’s races and a few mayors? Puh-lease). Tuesday was known to us at H&R Block as FCS Day. FCS stands for First Customer Ship, meaning the day when our product first gets created to be put in boxes and sent to stores. It is really the turning-point day here at TaxCut: before FCS Day, everyone’s working to improve and perfect the software; after it, all we can really do is tweak.

And there is a lot of tweaking to do, especially in my department. Like I said, we were just getting the final versions of some forms the day before – no way were they going to be up-to-date for the FCS. So the product, as purchased, ends up having lots and lots of draft forms. Only if you were lucky enough to live in South Carolina and Arizona would your state have all its forms ready for you, and even then, you’d have to wait for an update to the federal forms.

Why ship out a product when it’s obviously not ready for full use? Ask Bill Gates. Actually, for us, it’s a matter of racing to get the product on the shelves for customers to purchase. If our competitors get their products on the shelf before we do, then we might lose a lot of customers to them. So the idea is hook them with the purchase, and then get them to download the updates in January.

As yesterday came to a close, congratulatory e-mails from the bigwigs were sent around to everyone. The worst of the tax season is behind us, or at least for the software developers. This afternoon, after work, all employees are invited to a bar next door for a company happy hour. I’ll be there for sure… as soon as I finish up Alabama.

Old man in a diaper

STIPIMM: “Games Without Frontiers,” by Peter Gabriel

Imagine, if you will, an auditorium packed to the aisles with young adults. They’re all in a festive mood; it’s Saturday night, after all. Many if not most of them are drunk, and still others are high. Lots of laughter, lots of noise, much rejoicing. Then, on the stage, a performance begins. A troupe of actors sets out performing short humorous sketches. The crowd eats it up.

Just then, in the back of the auditorium, there’s a shout. Into the room strolls a man in his 80s, clad only in a loincloth. The crowd silences, but twitters at the sight. The man is angry, he shakes his fists and yells at the crowd to be quiet. After he’s said his peace, he strides back out of the room and the students are left bewildered.

Another dream of mine? Nope, folks. This actually happened.

This weekend, Bridget and I went to a performance at BU of a student improv troupe called Spon-Com. We were there early, so we got to sit in the front row, and soon the place was packed to standing-room only. As I said, most of the people in the room were probably intoxicated in one form or another… of course, Bridget and I being the old-fogey exceptions.

The performance got started shortly after 10 p.m. with another local improv group opening up for the student act. It was just starting to rev up when the aforementioned shout came from the diaper-clad elderly man in the back of the room.

Why was there an old man wearing only a loincloth? An eternal question, indeed. The answer was quite simple. Across the hall from the auditorium where we were, there was another production going on, a professional, high-quality production of Shakespeare’s “King Lear” (that Bridget and I got to see the week before). Last Saturday night was the last performance of this production, and it was to last until 10:30 p.m. You can start to see where this is going.

For those of you who don’t know much about “Lear,” it involves an old king who goes crazy right before your eyes over the course of the play. This role was played by Boston acting legend Alvin Epstein, who, among other notable things, once played the Fool to Orson Welles’ Lear. The man has cred and as Bridget and I saw last week, a hell of an actor. Sometime during the fourth act, Epstein’s Lear is so nuts that he takes to wandering around in his underwear, i.e., just a loincloth. It’s actually a powerful image in the context of the play – this once-great king, withered by time, exposed and virtually naked.

Alvin Epstein berates a member of the improv troupe after cutting his eyes out.

Outside the context of the play, however, it’s not quite as dramatic. Indeed, it’s quite funny. So when King Lear came striding into the auditorium in his skivvies yelling for people to quiet down because it was interfering with their performance, people (including Bridget and I) at first thought it was a brilliant part of the improv event. I mean, could you really plan something better than that? One of the best actors in town comes into this student performance looking ridiculous (and yet dressed in a seminal role) and pretending to throw his weight around?

But after a few moments, it was clear that Epstein wasn’t playing. He really did want everyone to shut the hell up. It remains to be demonstrated to my satisfaction that the noise from the auditorium really was disturbing “Lear” (I could hear the T car come by from where we sat when we saw it). However, even the drunkest among the bunch (all theatre people) were able to grasp the gravity of someone like Epstein coming in to dress them down, so people were suitably cowed.

Problem is, of course, there was an improv performance going on. The actors, at first, were as befuddled as the audience, but they helped enforce the quiet rule (drunk people have to be constantly reminded) and even made light of it, as quietly as possible.

After that first troupe had their set, everyone sat to wait for Lear to finish. When it finally did, a huge whoop and holler spread over the room and the student-led group, Spon-Com took the stage. More on that, and last week’s event at the Improv Asylum, in my next post.

Red-letter date in the history of science

Just a short weekend post: I wanted to point out that today is the 50th anniversary of the invention of time travel by Dr. Emmett Brown. Raise a toast!

I heart the Constitution

STIPIMM: “Time is On My Side,” by the Rolling Stones

From the Congressional Record, August 18, 2024:

CHAIRMAN: Well, it seems we’re now ready. Mr. McKenzie, it is customary at this time that you be sworn in. So. Could you please rise and raise your right hand. Watch out for those flashbulbs.

(laughter)

CHAIRMAN: Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you will give before this Committee on the Judiciary of the United States Senate will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

MCKENZIE: Ain’t no thing.

CHAIRMAN: Thank you. You may be seated. After our long-winded speeches, Mr. McKenzie, the floor is now yours.

MCKENZIE: Thank you Mr. Chairman. Senator Jolie, thank you for that kind introduction. I also want to thank the wife of the late Justice Alito for being here today. He has truly left big shoes to fill.

I would like to once again extend my heartfelt appreciation to President Obama for putting his faith in me with his nomination. It was a surprise in so many respects, and not only to me and my wife, Bridget, but to many people in the country. There has been much speculation over my credentials and my judicial philosophy, and today I seek to answer those questions once and for all.

Supreme Court confirmation proceedings have been tinged with politics since the beginning of the Republic. It is what the founders intended in the separation of powers and, even if it has become more heated in the past several decades, it is not necessarily unhealthy for our country.

As I look around the room today and listen to the statements of the senators, I am convinced that that tradition is alive and well.

(laughter)

One could probably predict the line of questioning from each of you based upon the philosophical and political statements you have all made today. And there are many who have looked on my record, which consists almost solely of my 18 feature films, several of which starred the good senator from California, for some clue as to my outlook on the judicial branch and how it should work in our Constitution.

Senators, you’re in for a surprise.

Ideologically, yes, I am a liberal. I believe that Americans should expect their government, THEIR government, to not only “establish justice,” “provide for the common defense” and “ensure domestic tranquility,” but also to actively “promote the general welfare.” I believe government is a good thing so long as it represents the interests and desires of its people. The answer to bad government is not an end to government, but a change in it.

In short, I believe in the Constitution, what it stands for, and the ideals its sets out for our country. I also believe in its amendments, most notably the Bill of Rights, and the restrictions it places upon our government.

I also firmly believe in the clear divisions that the Constitution puts upon the three branches of government. The legislature legislates, the executive branch executes, and the judicial branch judges and interprets. Simple. Or at least it should be. In our Constitution’s 235-year history, the divisions of the branches have become blurred or in some cases erased altogether.

I believe that the Congress is the only entity with the power to declare war. Why? Because the Constitution clearly states that. Any law where the Congress cedes its power to some other entity is unconstitutional, and any war or act of war declared without the consent of Congress is unconstitutional as well.

I believe that the Congress is the only body with the authority to enact law. Why? Because the Constitution says it in black and yellow. Neither the executive nor the judicial branches should exercise that authority, and any such effort should be deemed unconstitutional.

I do not believe in giving deference to the executive in the application of punishment or torture, just because of the event of war. Why? Because the Constitution clearly states that “cruel and unusual punishment [shall not be] inflicted” and lays out NO exceptions. Justice Jackson famously said that the Constitution is not a “suicide pact.” Indeed, but neither should it be a flimsy document subject to the whims of the time.

Yes, senators, I am what we call a “strict constructionist.” Probably even more so than the late justices Scalia and Alito. And yet I am a liberal. How is this so?

My answer is simple: one’s personal ideology has NOTHING to do with one’s judicial philosophy. I believe in the ability of government to improve the lives of all Americans, but I do not believe that it is the judicial branch’s place, responsibility or duty to make that happen. Why? Because the Constitution says so.

It is not the Supreme Court’s place to decide whether it is moral or whether it is proper that a certain law be or not be in effect. It is not its job to measure the prevailing views of society in judging the constitutionality or legality of certain actions. And perhaps most importantly, it is not its job to bring the country’s laws up to a certain moral standard. The country already has an institution for that. It’s called the Congress. It is not the task of the Court to insert new interpretations or readings into the Constitution, altering its purpose or intent. We have a mechanism for that already, and it’s called amending.

Over the past 100 years, the Supreme Court has slowly bled away legislative authority from the Congress, in effect becoming a judicial plutocracy, perhaps limited in its scope, but not limited in its impact, and effectively answerable to no one. And while the decisions of the courts have led to progressive advancements in our country that I support, I cannot support the mechanism by which they came about. A benevolent tyrant is still a tyrant.

In essence, the strengthening of the court has allowed a certain political laziness in legislatures across the country. Instead of making the bold, responsible decisions, timid legislatures let the courts hand down rulings that were right on principle, but bad on law.

What happens when the courts refrain from exercising this power and strictly interpret the Constitution? Real change. Roe v. Wade is the textbook example. For years, its faulty premise of a Constitutional “right to privacy” was a finger in the dike preventing real debate about conception and the rights of women. When the decision was overturned by Holstead v. Planned Parenthood in 2009, suddenly the dike broke, and legislatures could no longer hide behind the judicial branch. As abortion laws went back on the books, women and liberal groups suddenly blossomed into real agents of change, effectively owning the 2010, 2012, 2014 and 2016 elections in almost every state. By 2015, 46 of 52 states had laws protecting abortion rights, and then, in the true exercise of constitutional democracy, both the Equal Rights Amendment and the Privacy Rights Amendment were passed by the states in 2017. With a true “right to privacy” in the Constitution, the Supreme Court was within its bounds this time when it declared, in Doe v. Alabama, that bans on early-term abortion violated that right. That’s what judicial responsibility can bring, senators. Not band-aid changes, real change.

Now, I know that Doe v. Alabama was an exceptional case, and sometimes when the Court has reversed itself, legislatures have remained politically afraid to go against fringe voter blocs. But I believe that’s one of the prices of our freedom – the fact that we have to live with our own choices.

But as the men and women who are exercising their constitutional authority to advise and consent on judicial appointments, let me make one thing clear: I am a radical constructionist. I will not hesitate to overturn decades of legal precedent if I feel it was not created to legislate, not to interpret. A couple of years ago, a commentator expressed a fear that strict constructionists would go so far as to overturn Brown v. Board and other critical civil rights decisions. I can say with certainty that I would not, simply because, unlike other decisions, Brown v. Board had an interpretive basis in the 14th Amendment. It is true that (in the specifics of that case) I may not have ruled “separate but equal” laws to be unconstitutional, but that is not the fault of the judge, it is the fault of the Constitution. Again, I reiterate, it is not the job of the judge to decide what should be. I would have voted to overturn Griswold v. Connecticut. I would have voted to overturn Roe v. Wade. I would have voted to overturn Lawrence v. Texas -- all these decisions that championed liberal causes. Not because of my ideology, but because of my judicial philosophy. Would that provide a setback for the progressive movement? Perhaps. But I would consider it to be one step back, two steps forward. For every time judges force the legislatures to tackle the tough problems of the day, that makes our democracy that much stronger.

I may be too radical for this country. I may not be what this country wants right now in terms of its judicial leaders. That’s quite fair. But I would argue, particularly to you, the men and women who make the laws, that if that is what you want from your judicial branch, then that is what you should codify in your laws and in your Constitution. You should stop hiding behind the judicial branch to make the tough choices for you. And I guarantee that, if you confirm me as a justice, I won't let you. Thank you very much.