contest | Unmotherly Insights

The mosque to nowhere

Call me crazy. But if a bunch of American militiamen wanted to erect (pun intended) a jingoistic skyscraper at the site of the Hiroshima nuclear blast, I’d say they were wrong. How about a German patriot with a yen for a Nazi memorial at Bergen Belsen? Bad idea. Maybe a tribute to Slobodan Milosevic at the University of Prishtina in Kosovo? A Jackie Mason roast at the Arab Hotel Association’s annual banquet in Ramallah? What, you think I’m being ridiculous?

A Sufi Imam, who said publicly that the US deserved the destruction wreaked upon us on 911, wants to build a mosque at Ground Zero and anyone who thinks that’s a bad idea is a racist pig who is not only bigoted, but also some kind of twisted, red-neck ethnocentrist who opposes the principles upon which this nation was founded.
Um…what?

I am fed up with this debate. I’m sick of Katie Couric and Chris Mathews and the liberal chicks on The View. I’m not buying the “bridge building” b.s. coming out of the media. And who in their right mind is suggesting that opposition to the Ground Zero mosque is some kind of impingement on religious freedom? Of course Muslims have the right to practice their religion. But their rights don’t exclude them from having to practice common dignity for their fellow Americans. The mere insensitivity of proposing this religious icon on a site where thousands of American civilians were slaughtered in the name of that same religion’s supreme spiritual leader, is so absurd that it belongs in a Saturday Night Live skit, not in the center of a National debate.

Rights in this country are not absolute. We have freedom of speech. However, try yelling the word “hijack” in a busy airport terminal and see what kind of reception you get. We have the right to bear arms too. But it might work out poorly if you send your 5 year old to school with your AK47 for show and tell. Likewise, we all have the guarantee of religious freedom. But with that freedom comes responsibility.

If Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf is such a “bridge builder,” why not start by constructing his idealogical viaduct somewhere other than Ground Zero? Over 70% of Americans oppose the idea of this mosque at this location. That’s not bigoted. The fact is, Feisal has set off a divisive, emotional powder keg. Wouldn’t the better “bridge building” technique be to find a location that respected all people?

If Feisal truly wanted to spread the peaceful word of Islam, why would he choose to alienate three quarters of the people to whom he is supposedly reaching out? Am I to believe that there is no other appropriate site in all of New York city for this mosque? Well, here’s an idea. Since I want to be part of the solution and not part of the unending, idiotic debate, I’m going to start a coalition to locate a more suitable mosque location in the Big Apple.

I’ve got some great ideas. Very out-of-the-box. For example, why not add a quaint little black box theatre and put the mosque in Soho? Or even better, we can reach out to the latino community and build the mosque in Spanish Harlem. Maybe Feisal should consider attracting more discreet, upscale parishioners and moving the mosque to Park Ave. It could have a charming little tea shop or cappuccino bar within its confines. There’s Wall Street, China Town, Gramercy Park, Brooklyn…The list is truly endless.

Let’s make it a contest. I know you native New Yorkers will be all over this. Send in your proposed NYC mosque locations by September 5th. We’ll pick a winner, award some meaningless prize and then send the entire list off to our beloved Imam.

How’s that for some good old American ingenuity?

I found my mojo at the DD drive thru

I am one hot mama! Well, at least that’s what I thought this afternoon as I cruised through the Dunkin’ Donuts drive thru in my sleek, sexy, soccer-mom SUV.

The boy at the window didn’t take his eyes off me. It was flattering to the point of embarrassment. “Wow,” I mused to myself. “I’ve still got it.” Even with my faintly etched crow’s feet, sun-worn skin and all too noticeable forehead crinkles, this handsome young man was totally into me.

He stalled a bit before handing over my fat-free latte and vege flatbread sandwich. I was amused by his all too obvious attempt to delay my departure and giggled girlishly to his delight. Then he leaned out the window in a fetching pose, vaguely resembling a J.Crew catalogue model. I was breathless.

He languishingly passed me my receipt and held his hand over mine for several seductive moments as he gently released a few tarnished coins into my slightly dampened palm. “Oh, and by the way,” he nearly crooned, “There’s a website listed on the bottom of your receipt. If you wouldn’t mind, you can check it out and take a survey about your service today. We’re having a little employee contest.” His smile widened as he stared wantonly into my eyes.

I was stunned silent as the realization obliterated my cheshire-like grin. Wait a minute. You mean…this was…how dare he! My heart sunk to the bottom of my feet. His attraction, his attention, it was all…a ruse, a scam, a con to get me to fill out a survey on his behalf. What kind of competitive, sociopathic child would play on a middle-aged mother’s insecurities this way. I suddenly felt like Mrs. Robinson as she stood naked before her graduate or Amanda Wingfield in the presence of that charming gentleman caller. Dammit. I was old and foolish, and now I had to deal with the painful reality of both of those realizations.

I thought about doing him his requested favor and filling out that on-line survey. Oh boy, would I ever let him have it. I could expose his underhanded trickery, the way he cunningly preyed upon the weaknesses of women’s aging psyches. But then I flashed back to all of the speeding tickets I’d flirted my way out of as a young woman, and the dozens of extra bagels I’d been gifted by smitten elderly deli-men who’d been weakened by my come-hither head tilt and coquettish smile. What goes around comes around, I guess.

Still, it’s hard to come to terms with the whole aging identity thing. Deep down, no matter how old we get, we still want to feel young, vibrant and attractive. It’s easy to forget that when we’re running to and from school, work, and three grocery stores a day.

I’m not talking about being vain or superficial. But a lot of us women tend to disown or discredit that part of ourselves that longs for physical admiration.

The point here is this: It’s okay to enjoy feeling sexy. It’s even okay to remind your husband, lover or partner that you need a dose of positive reinforcement every now and then. It’s even okay to flirt with a kid who’s half your age at the drive thru, provided you realize that his provocative stare and alluring smile are probably more linked to his desire for a good tip or a rave survey review.

Lots to ponder as I blow out way too many candles on this, my 40th something birthdate.