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Is there some rule these days that no matter where in the US you travel and no matter where in the US you stay, the hotel cleaning staff must be Hispanic?

A way to keep a word from causing harm is to own it. Change its meaning by turning it around on those who mean for it to degrade, belittle, reduce.

I deeply believe this, mostly because I've used this technique successfully in other psychological aspects of my own life, including word-power.

A very mild example? It's marginally related to the seed of my message, but serves to illustrate. When I was, oh, maybe 9 years old a core group of us, all girls, decided we'd become "tomboys." We'd stop playing with dolls, stop playing dress-up. We'd walk tough, talk tough, strut around and play boy-type games like, oh, Cowboys or Soldier. It was fun for a while, but I grew bored with it and when a different friend came by and wanted to play Barbies I agreed. One of the "tomboys" saw me carrying my little case filled with Barbie things across the street. Later she called me and accused me. She was angry about it, and wanted to make me feel the might of her wrath.

"Girl!" Her tone was savage, the word spit at me through the wire and I could feel the heat of it searing deep into my soul. Then my own indignation set in. Who was this person who dared to berate me for doing something I wanted to do? Who was she to judge me?

"Yes," I replied forcefully. "I am. And don't forget it." I hung up the phone. My mom overheard this and later told me she was proud of me for standing up for myself.

I took ownership of the word "girl" and wore it proudly from then on, and anyone who tried to use it to belittle me discovered their epithet shriveling like a man in an ice bath.

I understand that words cause hurt. I understand how the association certain words have with deeply painful historical events widens rifts. I get it. I get that small, pathetic people pretend they are big by throwing these words like knives.

And it pisses me off.

What pisses me off most is when those who otherwise mean well infuse the hurtful words with stronger ju-ju by accepting them as bringers of pain. An otherwise mature, rational, thinking adult human being should never let this happen to him. In my heart of hearts I believe this. He should fight back by owning the word.

It frustrates me when someone reacts heatedly and emotionally to even an innocuous use of one of these terms. If they could find the strength within themselves to exhibit pride in who and what they are, and toss that word right back, I'm sure it wouldn't take long for the word to fade into history.

But I get the emotion. I really do.

Today, I had a tree killed. Its crime for which this punishment occurred was living successfully. The house where the tree used to sit was built in 1961 and it is reasonable to assume, based on the height of the tree, that this tree had been planted back then. I don't know for certain. I had it killed anyway.

It was, perhaps, 150 feet tall. Perhaps taller as I've never been that good at eyeballing measurements. Remember, to women this

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The city in which this house was built prides itself on being beautiful. If the neighborhood does not have a homeowner's association to control what you may or may not do to your property, well, the city will take care of that for all because it has ordinances and statutes out the ying-yang regarding the height of the grass in your lawn, the types of shrubbery you may plant, and how often you must trim your palm trees.

Palms grow from the center. The fronds shoot up, then fall gracefully out to the sides, layering as they go. As fronds age, they whither and clump beneath the crown of the tree, forming a hairy "beard" that protects the crown for a time before they eventually fall off. Very tall "Mexican Fan" palms are common in Arizona. Many find their graceful frond-topped spires beautiful, especially when seen in silhouette against the brilliance of a southwestern sunset.

The city requires the dead fronds to be trimmed. If you leave your tree untrimmed for any length of time, the city inspectors leave a note on your door that threatens you with a fine if you fail to have your tree trimmed.

Trimming the palms yourself is no problem when they are relatively short. You can get neat extendable saws and nippers that enable you to do this. Too tall, though, and you end up hiring someone who is willing to climb up the shaft of the tree and cut the fronds for you. They "V" up the tree -- cutting a way healthy but mature fronds, leaving only the newest shoots. They'll happily "skin" the tree as well, if you like, peeling away the remnants of older fronds that serve to protect the inner wood of the tree, making it look like ... well I'm told porn flicks now feature girls who ...

... anyway.

Comes a time when no reputable tree service will risk sending a person up the tree. Beyond 100 feet, they decline. You can find unlicensed workers who drive through neighborhoods and, for fifty bucks, send a kid up the tree to trim it for you. You risk a lot doing that. As well, the trucks need to be going through when you are there in order for you to hire them. If you don't actually live on the property, it's difficult to find those people, even if you want to risk having some child die so you can have a shaved tree.

My tree was too tall. My tree had dead fronds. The city had sent its warning. The landscaping company I hired refused to climb the tree. It would have to come down, if I didn't want to pay fines and risk all sorts of problems.

The sad thing -- it's not a tragedy, but it is something that makes me a bit sad -- is that this was a living part of the planet that contributed to the health of the planet. It took in the carbon dioxide emitted by all the BMWs, Mercedes, Porsches, and high end luxury cars driven by the left-leaning wealthy denizens of this Beverly Hills Wannabe city, and puffed out oxygen. It provided a resting place for birds. It added grace to the sky line. It was something someone, long ago, took pride in planting and nurturing. But the lefty-loons who need the sterile beauty of their plastic world would rather see it dead than messy.

It seems, sometimes, as though the United States is, in reality, a giant high school. It has its cliques, like the jocks and the stoners. Remember? The jocks swaggered, blustered, and got in your face. They'd use threats and fear, and they'd beat up the stoners. The stoners, meanwhile, would be all, "Hey, man, just chill, it's cool. Wanna toke?" Then they'd giggle and make off-color jokes about the jocks' sexual preferences and the size of their girlfriends' tits or ass.

This is how I see partisan politics these days. On one side, you have the rather mellow lefty-loons who use comedians as their spokes-media. Colbert, Maher, Groening, "Family Guy's" Seth McFarland, Gary Trudeau. These guys didn't just take a page, they ripped entire volumes from Twain's library, clearly.

Not to be outdone, the right wingnuts have selected the masters of froth to pitch for them. Limbaugh, Beck, Hannity, Coulter, and Malkin. Fearmongers and screechers. The world is ending! The holy of holies of the week is under attack, and only spittle can save us! It's odd, but only right wingnuts seem to be listening seriously. Moderates are hanging back, not too far from the stoners, and laughing.

I wonder when the right is going to realize how stupid they look. If they really want start influencing people, they should stop blustering and fire up their own barbecues.