In response to the hullabaloo on the latest news about the NSA obtaining calling records of millions of Verizon users across the country, my knee-jerk reaction was, so what? I’m okay with the intrusion if it helps prevent terrorist attacks on U.S. soil. The phone records are reviewed for the call’s duration, location data, and the time of day the calls were made. The Administration’s court order does not allow the government to listen in on the calls or obtain details of their content. No problem.
And then I started to think about it…What length and time of a call would be considered suspect, I wonder? If those calls which extend past say, thirty minutes at dusk are flagged, does the NSA secretly listen to the conversations? If so, the government may have found out I have no definitive plans for my boys this summer. Have they overheard my complaints of facing seventy open days with which to coordinate fun activities on a limited budget? Could they have uncovered “Camp Mamabroka”? This has been the main topic of discussion by me, on the phone, since April. Perhaps in my next lengthy chat with fellow moms, I can subtly suggest a law that mandates free camp for children under fifteen. Hmm? Can a mom from LI exert that much power and influence on the lawmakers of the country?
I thought not, which is why my initial reaction to this news stands. I could care less if my phone calls are tracked or tapped or blatantly heard. I’m confident I’ve never expressed disdain toward the president, my congressman or senator, or any legislative soul who is supposedly looking out for my best interests. I have more important things to worry about, like how I am going to squeeze this albino-esque, well-insulated body into a bathing suit and waddle about Splish Splash without completely embarrassing my kids. (On a side note: If anyone out there has found a mock turtleneck swimsuit that extends to the lower thighs, please, I beg of you, let me know.)
Mr. President, if you bothered to listen, you’d have gotten a glimpse into my summer dilemma of having to schlep the kids to the beach, which I don’t enjoy, as the sun and I have a love/hate relationship, but because I am one of the three people on Long Island without a pool, find it necessary to visit up to twice a week. You’d know that every single morning from June 20th through Labor Day, I am greeted with the question: What are we doing today? And expected to provide a well thought-out answer (“I don’t know” is not acceptable). You might have deduced that I must endure all this while trying to hold down my day job.
Do you feel my pain, Mr. President? Maybe this phone monitoring is a good thing. Maybe, along with the focus on terrorism, we can shift our thinking a tad, and consider all of the poor souls who don’t embrace summer, for whatever reason.
These are my thoughts on the subject. Track away Mr. Obama, if it keeps us safe. Do what you need to do.