Sunday Rant on Monday: Misplaced Indignation and How to Raise a Brat

I am still operating on less power than usual so I did not get around to writing the Sunday Rant yesterday.  I also spent several hours making lasagne bolognese which was freaking fabulous.  If you do not own the Cooks’ Illustrated Cookbook you are a moron.  Go get it.



OK, here is a good subject for my ongoing “Stupid Shit I Read in the Paper” rant.  Click on this link for the full story Mistletoe Bullshit

If you are too lazy to do that, I’ll summarize it for you in two parts: how the story was framed by the Oregonian and reality as I see it (and we all know I am the arbiter of reality):

1. Oregonian version: Poor little girl needs braces, but can’t afford them.  Comes up with wonderful plan to sell mistletoe and works hard to make that happen.  Dreams dashed when she is told she can’t sell mistletoe at Portland Saturday Market by big mean security guard.  Instead, encouraged to beg, according to her father.  Doesn’t that just sound believable as all get-out?


Back to young Madison Root: Entrepreneurial spirit crushed; depression, eating disorder and eventual suicide likely to follow, not to mention crooked teeth and a resulting lousy dating life.

2. Reality: This girl comes from a wealthy family in Lake Oswego and her father made this into a media issue to solicit funds to pay for his daughter’s orthodontia (cheap bastard) and simultaneously drum up attention for his start-up company that needs new investors.  Clever little fucker, huh?  Some fool actually donated $1,000 to her “braces fund” and as the story is written, there is a very clear implication she would not have been able to get the first row installed had it not been for this kind donation.


Wow – sounds like begging.

I’m going to make this pretty short today, as I have to rest for a while and then continue with my new “I Love Christmas” decorating and shopping.  Yes, I have indeed lost my mind, and it’s a lovely experience.  I highly recommend it.


I think I can sum up my feelings in four words: This Story is Bullshit.

You knew I wasn’t just going to write four words, though.  A bit more, if you’ve got the time?

Portland Saturday Market is a very special institution in this City, and one which holds many dear memories for me.  My mother used to love taking me and my brother and sister to the market, and we would wander around and gaze in wonder at all the beautiful hand-crafted items.  Not only were they lovely, but affordable and intrinsically unique.


In later years, my friends and I would hang out at the Market, sometimes in an altered state but often just enjoying the hippy-dippy nature of it all.  Saturday Market was where I always purchased Christmas gifts for my family, and I was able to do so for all of them with the $100 my father would give each of us to spend on one another.

By the way, thanks, Dad!  Can we re-start that tradition, post haste?


The vendors at this wonderful place make their own creations and then sit in the often very shitty weather to sell their wares.  As a private non-profit, Portland Saturday Market (hereinafter “PSM”) was established to create a place for local artisans to display and sell crafts in an affordable setting.  This takes money, obviously, and PSM is funded by several sources, including application and sales fees.

In addition, not just anyone can put up a booth.  Remember, PSM’s mission statement describes furthering the arts in Portland.  There is a jury process whereby the goods are determined to be either PSM worthy or non-worthy.


Tying some leaves together with a piece of string?  Not art.  Not worthy.  Sorry, Root.

So everyone wishing to do business at PSM must pay the fees (which keep the market alive, natch) and submit their work to the jury process. Everyone except this little Lake Oswego future alimony recipient.  No, young Madison has learned several wonderful lessons from her opportunistic father and PSM (they caved, of course) in this whole affair:

1. The rules don’t apply to you, Precious.

2. Other people should pay for you, Precious.

3. Your work doesn’t have to be as good as anyone else’s, Precious.  The mere act of creating something is inherently special!

4. If you don’t get what you want in the way you want to get it (i.e. breaking the aforementioned rules which don’t apply to you), whine like a bitch until you do.  The best whining takes place in the media, so be sure to let the local news outlets know about the gigantic travesty you suffered when you were asked to do as others must.

4. Daddy is an asshole.


Rant over, Christmassy good time feelings are back.  Now for some leftover lasagne.




This Post Has 7 Comments

  1. Laura

    Wow, absolutely. I actually thought I might not agree with you on this one (for just the first line or two), but I totally do.

    1. askdescamp

      Well, DUH! I am the Arbiter! I am the Decider! And thank you for reading.

      1. echinachea

        Better you the Decider than W. You don’t (usually) start wars.

  2. echinachea

    Daddy has guaranteed another Kardashian in the future. What a dumb-ass newspaper we keep reading! I am guilty as well, and pay double on “non-delivery” days. Barf. Their online, “dynamic!” edition may be even worse than the newsprint one. Sorry, Paul, but “Whoregonian” might trump “Boregonian.” 🙂 smiles all around–here comes the snow!

  3. Your Ancient Auntie

    Thanks for this. I nearly spit my tea across the room when I saw that she had been granted a special license to sell at the Market. WTF.

    1. askdescamp

      WTF indeed? Who the hell drinks tea, anyway?

      Sent from my iPad


      1. echinachea

        Many otherwise-decent people drink tea, and it serves a noble purpose in an Arnold Palmer:)

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