Both of my readers will remember the Tale Of The Belt, in which is recounted the story of my last run-in with airport security, trying to get both #1 Son and his bullet belt down to California and back again.

Today, the Portland Tribune reports that just in time for Thanksgiving PDX Airport Security has instituted a new “up close and personal” approach to passenger screening. Too personal?

According to the Tribune, the new procedures are:

TSA screeners are supposed to be the same gender as the person being checked. They talk you through the process. First, the screener runs a hand along the back and then under the arms, between the breasts, under the breasts — checking bra straps found along the way — and between the legs. She can use the front of the hand in most areas but must use the back of the hand for the breasts, genitals and buttocks.

[…]The TSA is well-aware of the sensitivity of the new pat-down process. A headline over a summary of the process on the TSA Web site says, “Pat down, other screening enhancements must be carried out appropriately.

Golly… that sounds fun, doesn’t it? And how will the lucky recipients be selected?

First, some passengers are chosen at random when issued boarding passes. Passengers traveling on one-way tickets or who paid cash for their tickets also are selected at this stage.

Second, passengers get sent through enhanced screening when, for whatever reason, they set off the metal detector. And third, the screeners themselves can designate someone.

“We rely on screeners to make a visual inspection of passengers,” [Jennifer] Peppin [TSA spokeswoman in Seattle] said. “If there’s someone wearing something baggy with irregularities or something protruding that doesn’t look right, they have the latitude to use the new method.”

Well, it looks certain that #1 Son, at least, will be in the “doesn’t look right” category when we head to Las Vegas for Christmas, although his clothes are usually tight enough to preclude any hidden weapons. And The Belt is not going near the airport. But I think I’d better be prepared to be patted if I want to fly.

To be fair to PDX security, it is the Transportation Security Administration that has adopted the new screen rules requiring more frequent and more physical searches in reaction to the bombing of two Russian jets. But is it really necessary to subject passengers to this kind of invasive procedure? The planes blew up in Russia — not here. How does current airport security in the US compare to current airport security in Russia? How much more privacy do we give up “willingly” in the name of “Homeland Security?”

#1 Son met me at work last night to catch a ride home with me. Along the way, I stopped at Washington Square in search of a tweed jacket. I want one with several colors mixed in the tweed so that on days when I have meetings with “important people” I can throw it over any pair of pants without thinking and call it good. It doesn’t seem like that should be that hard a thing to find. I mean, how can you get more yuppy than a tweed jacket?

True, I didn’t have a long time to look because #1 Son needed to get home to do homework. But in my brief foray through a store or two, no tweed jackets were to be found.

So that the trip wouldn’t be a total waste (I guess), #1 Son started throwing other jackets at me and giving me a critique. “No. I’m not seeing that, mom. Try this one.” “Put your hands in the pockets. Yeah… that’s pretty stylin’, mom.” “Here… try this.”

I ended up with a bright red quilted jacket and a black sweater with 3/4-length sleeves and black lace trim. And while I was paying, #1 Son spotted a cream and red stripped sweater that was perfect, so I grabbed that, too.

I haven’t bought any clothes for a long time. It was fun! And everything was on sale, too. (Even better.) And I’m thinking the red jacket and black sweater are gonna look pretty “stylin'” with a pair of faded jeans for casual Friday today.

I still want a tweed jacket. I’ll be on my own tonight, as #1 son is going to a show with his girlfriend. But there’s got to be tweed out there somewhere, and I think I am competent to tell how it looks on me. 😆

Jobless claims are down, including in my household. #1 Son has joined the ranks of working stiffs. Not that he ever actually filed for unemployment, because he’s never been employed before. But… well, you know what I mean.

When I picked him up last night after his first day at work, I asked him how it went. Was it fun? “No!” he said. “It was horrible and I’m really tired.”

Ah, yes, kiddo. That’s why they call it “work.” Congratulations on making it through the first day. I promise it will feel better when that first paycheck comes.

I’m really trying to get away from blogging about politics. Hopefully neither of my readers will be disappointed. Also hopefully I’m going to gain more of a life so I will have more to blog about. I’m not sure I want to blog about my own foray among the working stiffs, as I’m not really sure who those two readers are! In a world where an airlines attendant can be fired for posting a picture of herself in uniform on a blog where her employer is never named… well, one just never knows, do they. This may be “a job,” but it’s my job and it’s the only one I’ve got.

Ah… there are some times when being a parent can be so satisfying. 😉

My loyal readers (both of you) will remember that the other day there was a bit of an altercation in the morning because it was perceived (wrongly) that I was somehow at fault because #1 son was a little slow at getting ready to leave.

Yesterday I picked up a clock to hang in #1 Son’s bathroom, allowing him to always know how late he’s running in the morning. I had a choice between expense and water resistent, or cheap but not water resistent. I went with cheap, because I wanted one with nice big numbers to hang by his mirror.

Here’s a little snippet of conversation, when #1 Son arrived home:

Mom: Hi, kiddo. Welcome home. I bought you a present today. It’s in your bathroom. Go take a look!

Son: [long pause while he looks in his bathroom and tries to figure out what’s different]

Son: [emerges from bathroom with big grin on face] Mom… sometimes you are such a smart ass!

😆 Even if I have to replace the thing monthly, it’s paid for itself already by making my point. He was still a bit late today, but he didn’t blame me for it.

In other good news, the van that has been taking up two parking slots for the last 6 weeks has finally disappeared. That sound you hear is a vast sigh of relief from those who daily jockey for position on the parking-lot totem pole.

OK… what passes for normal in these parts, then…

I’m feeling discouraged. And I need to get out of that rut. I believe in my country and in our system of checks and balances. The country has suffered through some fairly terrible presidents before and yet managed to survive. The lame chimp Dubya will not be so differently bad that he managed to rip the country to shreds. He does not have a mandate. While a record number of voters voted for him, a record number also voted against him.

Our state and federal congressional members and our local governments need to know that we are out here, and we vote. I’m going to turn my discouragement into action, if at all possible. I want my voice to be heard. And, as a middle-aged, middle-class, taxpaying voter, I have more resources at my disposal than I did as a teenaged anti-war (Viet Nam), green (no strip mining in the Idaho White Clouds), hippy activist.

It will be better than sitting here on my ass watching my friends’ and colleagues’ lose their jobs due to offshore outsourcing. Better than sitting on my ass, period.

I never intended this to be a political blog. I do intend to continue blogging about anything I damn well please, including politics. But I may visit more categories as I did before the election heated up.

Other things may never be normal again. #1 Son unloaded the dishwasher this morning with out me asking him to. I didn’t even ask last night when he came home late after a gig. And he didn’t ask me for anything. I am really pleased. But it’s not “normal.”

I should be doing something, I suppose. But I don’t feel like it. I gave up apologizing for being lazy now and then years ago. And Saturdays are not my better days.

It hailed like crazy this afternoon. The sun had been shining in my window, and then I heard a tap… tap… tap… tap tap… tap tap tap tap tap… Captain Kidd stared out the window with a “what the hell is that” look on his face. He went from window to window, just to make sure that it was everywhere. Phoebe never moved off the couch. Exercise is not her thing. Moo Cow jumped up in my lap and demanded cuddles. Probably because #1 Son isn’t home.

#1 Son was supposed to go to the coast today to play at a party. The party was cancelled. I was glad.

Today the phone rang and a man at the other end asked to speak to #1 Son. I offered to take a message.

“This is Sgt. Parker with the US Marine Corps, ma’am. Please tell him that I called.”

OK. Sure it is. Who is this really?

“This is Sgt. Parker with the Marines, ma’am.”

Oh… Kay…. If you say so. [muffled laughter from me]

“I’m calling all of the seniors to talk to them about joining us and serving their country. Is there are a reason why I shouldn’t call #1 Son? I’m not sure about your reaction.”

No… no… that’s fine. [choking from holding back laugher] I’ll tell him you called.

“Thank you, ma’am. Have a nice day.”

So I called #1 Son. His reaction? “Shit. Just tell them no, mom.” I told him I’d let him take care of that himself. But I promised not to give the Marines his cell phone number.