View from a Small Planet

2009-23 GEORGETOWN

2009-09-15T04:48:00.000-07:00

I have taken to marking the passage of time in terms of toilet paper (or TP to be PC). I purchase a roll at the local WalMart and speculate that before it is expended I will move on, be called to a great challenge, or perhaps experience some celestial transformation. I’ve consumed a fair amount this go-round, but at last it appears we may have arrived at the end of the roll.

I know it will come as a surprise to some who pictured me as permanently relegated to the employment pasture, but the implausible has transpired. I knew intuitively that somewhere on the planet there was a niche into which I might scrunch my antediluvian corpus despite multiple inadequacies with which I struggle. Such has emerged in the form of a position that will send me back to my nation’s capital, where I began my professional career several eons ago.

It has been an interesting year, which began with bags packed and heading to Baton Rouge for a senior position on a long-term Louisiana state emergency management contract, but canceled (the contract, not me) on the eve of award for reasons still murky. Then in April I signed on as national coordinator for a FEMA contract to manage 20,000+ units of temporary housing staged and ready to deploy into devastated areas. I could almost taste the Gulf oysters. Yet this effort, to be activated in June, languishes on the desk of a contracting officer in Washington. While I try not to take personal offense, it did appear that the gods of professional challenge had turned their backs on me.

And now an opportunity to return east has arisen, and I have chosen to forsake the mountains of the west for the streets of Washington. As with personal relationships, one can never be sure of an outcome before jumping in head first and fully clothed, but the position on paper appears to embrace significant challenge, a prime determiner in the decision-making apparatus my entire professional life.

The position is attached to a lengthy vetting process, and so I will languish a bit longer as those who anoint such opportunities rummage through past decades of my rather bland existence.

And while I stand proudly behind all thoughts delivered in this BLOG, irreverent, opinionated, and occasionally arrogant though they may have been, I consider it unseemly to unleash political thoughts when I occupy a position of public trust. And so I BLOG no more.

My silence may lead to cleaner air and reduced peptic distress for those with differing views that possessed the fortitude to address my periodic ramblings. I leave in the comfort that no trees were sacrificed in the production of this work, and the ozone layer was but slightly increased by the exhaled exasperation of some.

In parting I would hope that on whatever point of the political spectrum you find yourself, take occasional opportunity to hear opposing views, not necessarily to accept or embrace, but to understand that there are positions contrary to yours which carry value – not enough perhaps to sway your thinking, but just enough to fire a few synapses of understanding.

At a time when most of my vintage contemplate fishing, long walks in the park, and afternoons with Oprah, the Adventure takes a hard turn about and plows for waters not previously contemplated. Thanks for listening.
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2009-22 GEORGETOWN

2009-08-22T07:20:00.000-07:00

Craven interest attaches to all corners of American politics, though sanctimonious liberals would have us believe that such was invented and practiced solely by conservatives. In 2006 Massachusetts liberals, led by Senator Ted Kennedy, in acute peptic distress over the possibility that Republican Governor Mitt Romney would appoint a Republican to fill President (sic) Kerry’s Senate seat after his glorious victory over the reviled Bush, moved to block such a dastardly move by changing the succession rules in place since that state’s inception.

Now in a teaching moment illustrative of “what goes around comes around,” the ailing Senator is pleading for the reversal to be reversed to insure that upon his demise a suitable liberal replacement can be instantly installed to insure critical votes on Health Care “Reform” and other issues.

Similar concern surrounds the health of West Virginia Senator Robert Byrd. A recent C-SPAN televised Budget Committee hearing showed him slumped over, appearing comatose. Recognizing that he controls (if he is in fact in control) his own fate, simple human compassion suggests that the longest serving Senator be allowed to retire in dignity and peace. The state’s democrat Governor will surely appoint a like-minded replacement, resulting in no change in the final Senate vote on critical issues.

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I recently saw a sign that taunted “My cash bought your clunker.” Lost in the euphoria over this cosmically successful program is that it is in truth a wealth distribution mechanism. I think it not a stretch to suggest that most of those who drive clunkers are at the low end of the economic scale and fact certain that those who pay the highest tax rates are at the other end.

Ergo, despite what you may think of the program, and others that are surely destined to come, moving money from one end of the socioeconomic scale to the other is a result in certitude of the wealth re-distribution process. Something the radical left has been promoting for decades. More than one way to skin a rat. (No cats ever have been or will be skinned in this BLOG).

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The Town Hall brouhaha is as interesting as it is loud. When Code Pink disrupts Congressional hearings this is democracy in action. When citizens all over the country display their anger at Town Hall meetings they are bands of unruly thugs orchestrated by Republican cynics.

Yes, there is massive mis-information being bandied about, and deplorable displays ala the Massachusetts woman who showed up at Barney Frank’s Town Hall with a picture of our President made to resemble Hitler (though I do recall a young man with whom I was sparring (verbally) who seemed quite proud of his equation of Bush to Hitler).

I have previously suggested that liberals who dismiss anger over Health “Reform” as orchestrated conservative thuggary are hopelessly out of touch. My take is that many in this country are angry and simply do not trust their elected officials at all points along the political spectrum. Though absent the media coverage of liberal politicians being pilloried at their Town Hall gatherings, conservative Republicans have not escaped citizen outrage.

I believe that Americans are slowly twigging to the reality that multi-thousand page legislation voted on in less than 24 hours (which even accomplished speedreaders could not wade through no less master), and more important, replete with vague language that anoints unelected officials (to wit: the Secretary of HHS) with astounding power to fashion policy and programs of their own liking, transmits truly scary authority to shape the most contentious issue of our time (save abortion) in ways inimical to the will of the electorate.

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Scotland has shown compassion to the murderer of 270 innocent souls aboard Pan Am 103. And of course he was treated as a hero by throngs of Libyans who met his charter plane at Tripoli airport. Did anyone in the world doubt that his reception would be any different? Well, apparently the U. S. State Department.

Peppered with questions as to why our diplomats exerted no significant pressure on our closest ally to deny his release, the official Department spokesman said he believed the return would be “low key.” “Let’s wait and see,” he cautioned. We did and we see. Reminiscent of women and children dancing in Palestinian streets after 911. And radicals would have us believe this is somehow our fault. Showing compassion to savage murderers reaps exactly what one might expect, and casts doubt on the sensibility of bureaucrats who make such calls.

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Hype often seems to drive our news-oriented culture, and while Cable is routinely flogged because of its need to maintain a 24/7 news cycle, the networks, at least here in Denver, seem in a mad scramble to collect viewers at any cost. As hurricane Bill meanders north in the mid-Atlantic, missing Bermuda and apparently a threat only to Port des Basques in the far eastern Canadian Maritimes, promos for network news scream about “the latest killer hurricane heading for New England – details at 5,” or 6, 9, 10, or whenever the talking heads gear up to amuse and amaze us. There may be some fish at risk and the occasional seagoing vessel, but Bill seems of little concern to the rest of the planet. But I guess it is forever true that if it bleeds it leads, and if it kills it thrills.

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Availability on the railroad varies wildly as (a) the season winds down and (b) folks who planned getaways in May realize they better giddiup lest the season expire with aspirations unfulfilled.

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Many Brits have the annoying habit of punctuating virtually every declarative sentence with “Isn’t it?” Sometimes repeated multiple times as they get closer to your face, depending on the degree of passion attached to their statement. Some years ago after interminable suffering, I found an effective antidote. After every “Isn’t it?” I injected a simple “No!” attempting to match the vehemence of the question with my own reply.

Americans now appear to have devised their own version of this annoyance by appending each sentence with ‘Ya know what I’m saying?” “No!” works equally well here, and no matter on which side of the Atlantic you apply this remedy it appears destined to bring the speaker up short, mouth open but no sound emanating therefrom, quizzical look spread upon the visage. Try it yourself.

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M. Nature is acting benign at the moment, but be careful lest you be lulled. After the disastrous Katrina/Rita/Wilma year of 2005 there were dire predictions of a decade of carnage, while in truth 2006 and 07 were as quiet as had been seen in decades. Just when you think it’s safe to venture outside…. The Adventure remains close to the phone.
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2009-21 GEORGETOWN

2009-08-08T09:40:00.000-07:00

On the last day of July it snowed on the Continental Divide, not 10 miles west of Georgetown. No dump but a significant dusting. With great reluctance my landlady turned on the heat, and locals who but one short week before were kvetching about the canicule were now in high dudgeon over global cooling. And the winter fanatics made noises about waxing skies and snowboards. Vail sent an e-mail announcing “100 days till season opening.”

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Contrary to my prediction, the two female journalists imprisoned in North Korea have been released by the Pyongyang government after intervention by President Clinton and a cameo from Internet inventor Al Gore. The world rejoices, and were these my children I would be both ecstatic and immensely grateful. But questions arise.

These young women were warned in the strongest terms that venturing into harm’s way was foolish and dangerous. Likewise the three American hikers now detained in Iran were warned by Iraqi officials on the danger of straying close to the Iranian border. A full three days before their capture there were press reports of their plans and the grave danger spelled out in graphic terms. Yet they charged ahead, and now there will be immense economic and perhaps diplomatic cost to secure their release. Rewarding bad behavior always has consequences.

And remember, the women journalists’ motivation in traveling to North Korea was to create a documentary destined to make money for Gore’s production company. A book will certainly follow, and wouldn’t it be nice if those rescued and Gore Enterprises returned the profits to the government in small recompense for the immense cost in securing their release. When pork take wing!

Remember also it was the Clinton Administration that with great fanfare made substantial concessions to North Korea in return for promises that Pyongyang would curtail its nuclear program. Scarcely had the benefits of the trade-off been received in Pyongyang than Kim Jong-il stuck his finger up the American nose in marked defiance of the agreement.

The European response to such behavior is “Oh well, too bad, that didn’t work, we’ll just wait a while and try again,” ala the 19 “final” warnings to Saddam Hussein. Some Americans have the temerity to suggest that broken promises cloyingly forgiven simply embolden the promise breaker to expand such behavior.

We know not what promises and concessions the current negotiator, coincidentally spouse of the Secretary of State, made to Pyongyang. Certainly any significant quid pro quo will be denied, and the world will be induced to believe that Kim simply succumbed to Clinton’s engaging smile. Bad joss, here. Is there any evidence out there to suggest that rewarding bad behavior in children (or dictators) leads to better conduct and increased responsibility?

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What goes around (occasionally) comes around. Our President’s meteoric ascendency has obscured the fact that he cut his political teeth as a Community Organizer. Now it should be obvious that community organizers organize communities to meet needs they perceive to be important. ACORN and other less prominent organizers have a rich history of disrupting public events, not to mention the outright larceny that finds them frequently in Federal court.

But now that conservatives (and apparently some not-so-conservative common folk) are protesting health care “reform,” they are tagged as “unruly mobs” and tools of the Republican establishment. The White House has asked its loyal following to report anything “fishy” it observes emanating from these rabble-rousers.

No, I do not countenance violent disruptions at public gatherings, and the blatherings of the idiot Limbaugh are, as usual, harmful to the cause, but to suggest that the widespread anger over “reform” is an orchestrated “smear campaign” suggests that liberal politicians have, as usual, sand in their ears from sticking their heads in places where genuine dissent is stifled.

And if you read news accounts carefully (a diversity of news accounts, not just the ones that support your proclivities) it is apparent that some of the pushing and shoving is caused by liberal groups in high dudgeon over the audacity of hope on the part of some folks to make alternate voices heard.

Democrats have achieved such success with (dare I say it) carefully orchestrated “Town Hall” meetings where all attendees are thoroughly vetted, where all questions are fawningly polite and designed to allow home run after home run to be propelled over the political landscape. Must be disconcerting when some tough pitches come down the pike.

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It is axiomatic that if you give money to someone you make them smile and engender in them a warm fuzzy feeling. If you doubt, try giving a neighbor a nice gift, telling them it is just because you like them and want to do something nice. While you might be thought a bit odd, you will have cemented a friendship and perhaps even created some sense of obligation.

This I suggest has been a core strategy of Democrat politicians for well over a century. While unreconstructed liberals genuinely believe in the Robin Hood philosophy of wealth distribution, politicians are far more pragmatic and cynical, living with the hope that largess distributed will be rewarded with loyalty at the ballot box.

And this suggests uncharacteristic courage in many conservatives. Cash for Clunkers has been fabulously successful, with public support in the stratosphere (remember, giving away money usually makes the recipients happy), and its extension deemed a no-brainer. Look to conservatives (and perhaps a Bluedog here and there) voting against the extension to identify profiles in courage. Distributing largesse that will need be repaid by your successors is no altrustic virtue.

This leads, I believe, in great measure to the reason why Republicans found themselves in such a deep hole these past few years. Iraq yes, the economy certainly, an unpopular President undoubtedly, but turning sharply from core values and racing to out-spend Democrats is an issue too lightly considered. While their ranks appear diminished, there are still Americans unpersuaded by the “gimmie” philosophy. Hopefully their ranks will swell, less 200 years of economic prosperity crumble under a mountain of unsustainable debt.

And this, incidentally, is one of MANY reasons I refuse to join AARP. Imploring (with considerable muscle) the government to “gimmie, gimmie, gimmie” its members at every turn is appalling. How much better to request the government to take less from all Americans so private wealth can grow and ultimately individuals can leave resources to their successors.

Most of the aged who plan wisely (yes, I know there are exceptions) don’t need handouts and subsidies. Better that resources should go to the genuinely poor, the physically and mentally infirmed, abandoned and abused children, and others truly disadvantaged through no fault of their own.
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2009-20 GEORGETOWN

2009-07-27T05:31:00.000-07:00

Why do you suppose our President has pushed so hard for Health Care Reform legislation to be passed before the August recess? He claims it is because of the anguished letters he reads every day from folks across the land pleading for relief. Could it also be that he is in peptic distress over the earfull individual Congressfolk will receive when they return home for the summer break?

And don’t you love Rep. Henry Waxman who, because he won’t allow members of his own party to “hand over control of (his) Committee to the Republicans” is threatening to simply circumvent a 200-year process and bypass Committee action on the Health Care Bill. He did express his preference for “regular order,” except, apparently, when he doesn’t get his way. Similar situations exist in pre-schools across the land, where a “time-out” is typically the remedy.

Of course Republicans pull similar shenanigans where possible, but they are not the folk continually vowing to “clean up Washington” and “restore public confidence” to the political process. Hypocrisy practiced by politicians is akin to the vertically challenged practicing being short.

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The other day while weeding through some mental detritus I came across Winston Churchill’s oft repeated quote: “If you're not a liberal at twenty you have no heart, if you're not a conservative at forty you have no brain.” This helped clarify for me the status of the Hollywood elite. These folks simply live in a fantasy world ala Michael Jackson and have never grown up, hence their stunted maturity. And it confirms as well my impression of the mental capacity of that creative enclave.

Speaking of California, despite all-night sessions to resolve its financial crisis, it appears but a matter of time until the rest of America will be called upon to bail out the lifestyle that so many find economically unsustainable and often bizarre. As liberal Democrats are fond of condemning subsidies for special interests, might they join conservatives in resistance? When swine soar!

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And on health care, I’m confused (as usual) by the duel Democrat claims of massive unnecessary expenditures in the system (which I define as the outrageous cost of insuring the medical community against frivolous lawsuits) and allegations that insurance companies routinely deny necessary procedures to their clients.

Debating the morality and value of health care reform can take many voices, but the smoke and mirror approach of suggesting that exposing 43 million uninsured Americans to comprehensive health care will somehow lower costs is appallingly transparent. It is sad that simply saying “it will cost a bundle but it’s the right thing to do” is not politically acceptable. Voting with the heart and the pocketbook are as dissimilar as love and marriage.

And although it will likely be disputed, I postulate that such differences transcend political boundaries. Many years ago I was in line at the local copy center behind a magnificently attired blue-haired matron, who when asked “recycled paper?” for the 7 copies of her 2-page Garden Club letter, huffed indignantly “why recycled, of course.” When informed that it would (as in those days it did) cost one cent additional per page, she lowered her voice and said “regular, then.” Funny how economics can influence our social conscience.

Certain “inconvenient realities” persist on the landscape. Much of the planet that can afford to do so continues to breach American shores for medical treatment. Remember that Yasser Arafat, deprived of that option, chose France for his treatment and was shipped home in a box.

Yet massive dislocations do exist. As a volunteer first responder I learned that when prescription medicine is expended, the disadvantaged routinely call 911 with vague complaints, resulting in an ambulance call, a trip to the emergency room, and a free prescription refill, all at massive cost to the taxpayer. And there is no evidence I‘ve encountered to suggest that extensive demonstration programs designed to encourage healthy living among the poor do anything to improve the status quo. Childhood obesity continues unchecked despite substantial federal, state, and local spending.

Until we are willing to reward healthy living and penalize the obverse, the situation will not improve. Now to some that may sound like social engineering, and conservatives must be constantly vigilant against creeping do-goodism. Yet penalties can be defined as withholding rewards for questionable behavior, such as Medicare providing free scooters to the morbidly obese, lung surgery for smokers, and kidney transplants for alcoholics.

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As much as I am tempted to jump into the Gates/Cambridge police controversy, I have learned that while politics and religion were once the taboo subjects of polite conversation, race has overtaken that appellation. Like global warming and health care reform, in America today if you are not on the politically correct side, you are vilified as (at best) a cretin and potentially placed in physical danger.

Suffice to say I find it inconceivable that our President calmed the waters by his press conference allegation of police stupidity. Yes, he did allow as how he could have “calibrated” his remarks differently. Now there’s a thought! Might we consider passing out political calibrators to politicians everywhere?

And yet his straightforward approach to diffuse the issue – inviting Gates and Crowley to the White House “for a beer,” and what will certainly be a Kum-bah-yah moment, is not rocket science but a master stroke. If a similar approach might work with Ahmadinejad and Kim Jung Il, the Vatican may be tempted to launch sainthood proceedings at an early stage. It’s not the mistakes we make but how we correct them.

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I rose early today and found John Conyers addressing the National Press Club luncheon on C-SPAN. A true Comedy Central presentation, mocking all things Republican and conservative. Not debating, not disagreeing, but mocking. And not surprising. The laughter was raucous. A fine time was had by all.

At the conclusion, the speaker’s schedule for the next 2 months was announced: Barney Frank, John Kerry, Illinois Governor Pat Quinn, Ken Burns. And finally a discussion of the need for diversity in journalism. But certainly not political diversity, judging from the unbroken string of liberal Democrats on the speaker invite list. To be certain they do toss in a conservative or Republican now and then to (I assume) maintain their tax exempt status. But the trend is unmistakable.

And my liberal friends continue to be angered by allegations of a liberal press and biased media. Despite the overwhelming sentiment, I recall in my lifetime only Jack Germond of the Baltimore Sun having the honesty to admit his liberal bias. Not to be confused with O’Reilly, Olbermann, et al, “analysts” who are free to wear their bias openly.

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Almost August and not a murmur in the Atlantic. The Adventure stands at the ready despite fair winds and azure skies…
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2009-19 GEORGETOWN

2009-07-18T05:47:00.000-07:00

History (for those intrepid enough to study it without bias and spin) tells us that in time of national crisis governments tend to overreact. Just one comparison in my own backyard, that of WW-II and 911, shows us that in the former, the Roosevelt Administration indiscriminately jailed Japanese-American citizens and the Truman Administration firebombed civilians in Dresden and of course unleashed atomic terror on Japan. Though widely applauded at the time, history has come to question such extreme acts, and that is what history is designed to accomplish – dispassionate analysis from a distance, after the fervor of the moment has dissipated.

Conversely, the alleged overreactions of 911, including portions of the Patriot Act, NSA wiretaps, Guantanamo detentions, et al, have received widespread condemnation, with scant acknowledgement that to the extent they were overreactions, they were a predictable response to an unprecedented attack upon our homeland.

It is interesting to contemplate why liberal darlings FDR and Truman both then and now get a pass for their actions while Cheney and Bush are labeled war criminals and produce a blood lust for vengeance on the left.

If excesses motivated by Pearl Harbor can be explained by historical occurrence, why not similar reactions inspired by destruction of the Twin Towers? Might it be just another example of the left forever excusing its actions due to perceived moral superiority while condemning all actions from the right as brutish thuggery? Perhaps.

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As much of the nation bakes under an unrelenting sun, I continue to begin each slumber under 2 blankets, though by morning one (but never both) is often discarded. And this, absent the ubiquitous A/C, without which the planet would appear to shrivel and expire. Notwithstanding that the 2nd century Chinese inventor Ding Huan invented a rotary fan for air conditioning, modern A/C was virtually unknown a scant half-century ago, yet we somehow survived the centuries, if uncomfortably so. Are we tough, or what!

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Interesting though predictable that Judge Sotomayor has emerged with twin yet diametrically opposed personas – the first a dispassionate, letter-of-the-law, no nonsense, down-the-middle, respectful of precedent jurist, conversely the biased, emotionally disposed, liberally inclined, sentiment-trumping-Constitution adjudicator. We should know the truth in a few years. But it is interesting that her supporters on the left portray her as the former, while it is painfully obvious that they hunger for the latter. Similarly, Roberts and Alito said much and revealed nothing in their confirmation hearings, the rationale being not to tell the truth but to be confirmed. And so Advise and Consent becomes Much Ado About Nothing.

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One aspect of my struggle with religion (I find that as one ages there is a tendency to grapple with issues that escape the radar of the young) is the concept of using to the fullest one’s God given talent as opposed to subsuming reason in favor of belief. The twin theological juggernauts of “don’t question, just believe,” and “don’t ask, because we can’t tell,” are vexing restrictions in an atmosphere where we are admonished to “reach high and far”.

Reminds me a bit of the young woman from my former hometown away attending a Christian college. While strolling with a friend on a trail atop a steep hill, the ground gave way and she experienced a terrifying tumble of nearly one hundred feet that left her gravely injured. Upon her recovery while still in hospital she announced that Jesus was with her at the bottom and saved her life. Should one assume that as her fall commenced the Son of God was on a coffee break and therefore missed the opportunity to save her from this trauma?

And while on the subject, I note that religion, so mocked and derided during Republican days in Washington has found favor now that some other folks are in charge. I have never once seen nor heard a single slur against the Black Church (the flak over Obama’s minister was targeted solely at him and carefully avoided any slight against his institution), while snide smirks and spiteful smears against the Evangelical community are an enduring staple at toney gatherings of liberal sophisticates across the land.

Incidentally, lest cynics take heart or true believers umbrage, I find it the existence of a creator to be above debate. I have no clue as to what form he/she/it takes, but the idea that billions of neurons in each human brain firing in perfect sequence were created by random explosion is farcical.

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I was pressed, several evenings ago, into domestic service when a server on our special dinner train acquired a malady rendering him unfit to pursue his duties. Inching down aisles barely able to accommodate my modest girth (I had welts on both thighs the next morning) with red in the left hand and white in the right, it was amply reconfirmed that the dispensation of comestibles is trivial in comparison to the need to parry boorish and inane commentary from the assembled throng.

There was some comfort in the knowledge that truly excessive behavior could be dealt with by expulsion from the train, while such solutions are not available to those who dispense similar services in the skies. Although, perhaps…

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There appears occasionally in the press some report of a loyal employee feted upon retirement after 40+ years in a position acquired out of high school. Such consistency is judged commendable and it got me to thinking that in both métier and geography I have been a bit flighty. Without having given this much prior thought I now realize that for reasons not entirely apparent, such peripaticity has been an essential element of my passage on the planet.

While I have greatly enjoyed my time in many locations (Paris, Nairobi, Singapore, Hattiesburg, Georgetown) and languished in others (Taiwan, Tokyo (but not the rest of that glorious country), Galveston) and experienced similar emotional highs and lows in various positions I have held this past half-century, it occurs that the element of change has been crucial to the process. Running toward or away from, perhaps, a sort of wandering Gentile in pursuit of the unknown.

While working in Paris decades ago a friend from the rural south confided that his fiancée had never ventured from the South Carolina county into which she was born, had no desire to do so, and let it be known that she would resist any geographical shift. As he discovered the pleasures of new continents and cultures I could see his pain in the inevitable choice he would eventually be forced to make. I wonder what happened?

And that illuminates my own decisions yet to come. While I have quite enjoyed Clear Creek County and the front range of the Rockies, it will soon be time to skedaddle. So many possibilities to which the Adventure has yet to be exposed…
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2009-18 GEORGETOWN

2009-06-27T06:04:00.000-07:00

Call me cruel and heartless, but I am disturbed by the magnitude and breadth of the grief expressed over the untimely passing of Michael Jackson. While any such unfortunate event should be met with solemnity and condolence, the event was not in my mind of the cataclysmic proportions to which media, Congress with its moment of silence, The White House, the clogged Internet, and various social organizations propelled it. I can well imagine MTV in mourning, but when CNBC suspended reporting on the global economic crisis to run full-time helicopter coverage of crowds gathered outside the UCLA Medical Center, I sensed a cosmic imbalance.

This was a man who proclaimed on worldwide TV that sharing his bed with young boys was “an act of love,” (I bet it was!), and who avoided jail time by offering multi-million dollar settlements to the parents of children in his care. His claims to fame included dangling his infant child off the balcony of a German hotel and cosmetic surgery that even his own mother once commented was “strange.” Yes, he could dance backwards, and perhaps that tells us something about the culture we have become.

He was labeled the “king of pop.” In my day that appellation fell to Dr. Pepper.

Poor Farah Fawcett’s departure was scheduled for the same day, and as such her considerable talent, including a seminal performance as an abused wife in The Burning Bed was sorely eclipsed in news reporting. For the limited coverage she did receive, the media, always with a sharp eye to the relative importance of events, focused almost entirely on her pinup and Charlie’s Angles days, while her dramatic achievements were left nearly unmentioned.

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It has been remarked with some justification that I can claim no natural affinity to the merchant trade, for reasons among others that I do not believe that anyone, least of all the customer, is always right. When the visiting attorney (I knew he was before he so announced for all to hear) whose credit card was declined while attempting to buy train tickets, demanded an immediate audience with our corporate attorney and our “software engineer,” then grabbed a telephone from the hands of my young associate, I was ready to call 911, but dutiful employee that I am I referred him to my manager. There ensued nearly 15 minutes of harangue during which he refused to move from the head of the ticket line, rendering all subsequent sales impossible.

At one point a bearded mountain man several steps back in line offered to “take him out” in return for a free train ride, then relenting said, “aw hell, I’ll pay for the train, just let me take him out.” Temptation was never so compelling as when in 4th grade Sandy Smith offered to “show me hers,” if I would “show her mine.”

Turns out his card was invalid as the night before his credit card company had been sold and a new card expressed to his home in Pennsylvania. My revenge came in the form of a delightful phone conversation (sad that I could hear only his side) with a third-world citizen explaining the new rules of the game. The counselor must have uttered (with increasing volume) a dozen times “I’m in Colorado for crisssakes, what good is a card mailed to my Pennsylvania home going to do me here?” Clearly the Indian sub-continent customer service rep on the other end was not well schooled in North American geography. Salvaged my day.

It is abundantly true that 1% of customers deliver 99% of all grief, and while I am highly motivated to return the favor several fold, my employee handbook instructs, contrary to biblical teaching, that I must suffer fools gladly.

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There are myriad locations on the planet where the locals are fond of saying “if you don’t like the weather, wait 5 minutes.” Out my window in the Paris Marais I once witnessed brilliant sunshine, ominous threatening black clouds, sun, snow showers, then a return to brilliant sun, all within the course of une demi-heure.

It is certainly that way in Clear Creek County, Colorado. Yesterday as dark clouds rolled down the valley and the skies opened with fury, a customer was outraged that I was required to levy a cancellation fee for the train ride 40 minutes hence to which he would in no way subject his fragile family unit. Parroting the official company policy that we “operate rain or shine,” I tried to ease the tension by commenting that “by departure time the sun will probably re-emerge.” Face contorted with self-righteous rage he flung back “that’s bull****, I bet you $100 there won’t be any sun for the rest of the day.” I mumbled something about having my gambling problem under control, then beat a hasty retreat from his wrath.

Sure enough by boarding time sun glasses covered the eyes of one and all, and I positioned myself strategically as passengers alighted at the end of the ride, but I couldn’t make eye contact with the gambler as his attention was suddenly focused elsewhere.

It’s what one does to derive simple percs while working for modest wages. As when delivering phone books last year, on occasion I remarked to those inclined to refuse the free book, that buried in its pages was a “secret passage” which, if discovered, qualified the finder for entrance into a drawing for a free ride on the Space Shuttle. Believe it or don’t, it was the tipping point for several acceptances. And in truth my manager did once comment on a bizarre phone inquiry she received as to the exact page in the book containing the coupon for the free space ride.

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Well, an entire Post devoid of reference to politics! Disappointment for a few perhaps, but relief I suspect to the many. You get what you pay for. The Adventure ambles along the plains even as the anticipation of a mountainous storm season emerges…..
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2009-17 GEORGETOWN

2009-06-20T05:40:00.000-07:00

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Mea culpa. Maybe.

Chrysler’s sale to Fiat is accomplished in record time in part through a redefinition of bankruptcy law that has stood for some 200 years. My President promised, and I doubted, dazzling velocity in navigating a process that historically has required many months and even years. Illustrative of the unprecedented stroke the White House currently wields, unparalleled speed ensued, and even a plea to the Supreme Court (albeit that it fell fortuitously to its most liberal member) could not derail the freight train of Obama destiny. Of course those standing on the tracks as the train barreled past got mowed down, but what’s a little carnage in the name of progress.

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A reader has questioned my use of the term “my President” and occasionally “our President.” Well, he is! The terminology is in part a rejoinder to the throngs of the past who petulantly proclaimed “Bush is not my President.” That only works if you void and mail in your Passport to the Department of State. Remember the hordes who vowed to emigrate to Canada in 2004? I saw neither a mass exodus then nor a rush to return four years later.

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Good leftists have a talent for never letting a tragedy pass unexploited. Left wing BLOGS are aflutter with cries of right wing hate, after the Holocaust Museum shooting and the murder of Robert Tiller. Right wing hate crimes? Certainly they exist. Similar acts of violence on the left? Yeah, they subsist as well. Remember Lee Harvey Oswald? Recall the ELF and PETA slash and burn tactics to further their “causes?”

A continuing theme of this BLOG has been that those on either side of the political spectrum who believe they have cornered the market on decency and morality, and conversely those on the other have a monopoly on hate and violence, perpetuate a cruel hoax and provide useful data on how their synapses fire.

Of course Hollywood does this every day to the delight of the far left. Frank Burns, the bumbling MASH surgeon, Rose Nylan, the dipsy mid-Western Golden Girl, and of course, Archie Bunker, Republicans all. While liberals Hawkeye, Maude, the West Wing guy, proliferate and prosper. Just Hollywood’s way of using the appellation to proclaim someone to be insensitive, morally repulsive, or genetically deficient. How easy to mark someone as a dolt (or worse) simply by applying a label.

Academia is not far behind. Recall the Duke University philosophy professor when asked why there are not more conservatives in the profession, responded that they lack the intellectual capacity to engage in such eclectic endeavors. And when was the last time you heard of a left-wing speaker being pummeled with fruit and driven from the podium at one of our citadels of “free and open discussion?” Happens to conservatives with regularity.

Now if this leads to a self-satisfied smirk and a poke in the ribs of your far left cohorts – “see, I knew it was true,” then you join a robust band of those who also believe(d) in the superiority of one culture over others. Those folks in Germany who were convinced of the inferiority of the Jews, racists in the American south and elsewhere who treated people of color as chattel, homophobes everywhere who label gay men as limp-wristed pansies and Lesbians as testosterone-laden tomboys. There are vivid descriptions for those who harbor such beliefs.

Paranoid, you say? Perhaps. But name one Hollywood hero of the last quarter century portrayed on the screen or tube as a proud conservative? John Wayne is out of fashion. You might point to the Terminator or the idiot Steven Segal, but movie moguls fashion them as brutish, knuckle-dragging trogs, all the more mockable by the sophisticated Chardonnay set.

Leftists are simply so unfailingly convinced of their superiority that they cannot fathom alternate philosophies and beliefs. The closed mind is a terrible thing to let roam loose.

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During the Campaign, McCain advisor Senator Phil Graham made a seminal statement to the effect that America and American’s were not as bad off as they made it seem, and suggested in most un-PC terms that they “stop whining.” He was beset with anguished wails “oh how can you be so cruel when the country and its citizenry are in such pain.” Personally I thought he made sense. While there was (and remains) suffering for sure, on a relative scale it was either exceedingly moderate or our threshold of acceptance dipped lower than the Dow Jones average.

No, I am not going into competition with Oprah, but I do offer a novel for the exercise of measuring our pain against that of contemporaries. The Monkey House by John Fullerton, a journalist who reported the Bosnian war from Sarajevo, paints a stark but realistic picture of the siege of that city. Read it and tell me if you believe any American would trade their pain for that experienced in this once glorious city of the former Yugoslavia.

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I’m not a fan of the slippery slope theory. When the NRA suggests that taking members’ AK-47s is but a precursor to feel-good liberals confiscating children’s BB guns, I have difficulty connecting the dots. When liberals vow that 12-year old girls should have unobstructed right to abortion without parents’ consent lest this precious “human right!” begin to crumble, I am similarly flummoxed. But piercing (not piercing commentary, but body piercing), which for decades was confined to ears (a benign practice yet one I fail to comprehend) has now expanded to eyelashes, navels, tongues (ugh), not to mention body parts that were once considered private and unassailable to the needle.

Establishing one’s unique identity is often put forth as a rationale for such bizarre behavior. I don’t recall ever feeling the need to so self-identify (at least not in such extreme fashion) and that may explain some of the deficiencies under which I struggle.

But piercing?

Early on I had a bad experience with a needle at the hands of a rural doctor (or so I was told; I don’t recall seeing a diploma on the wall). And that may account for the aversion. But why anyone would voluntarily stick a bolt through their tongue or mangle a body part designed for suckling infants is, I’m afraid, a practice that no matter how I try, I can neither fathom nor justify. Fogey though I be, I am not in favor of breaking skin for pleasure.

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Both Atlantic and Pacific Basins remain tranquil, but the response trade is rumbling awake, and I am receiving inquiries as to my quickness (as opposed to my deadness) and availability if and when…
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2009-16 GEORGETOWN

2009-06-10T04:23:00.000-07:00

I am comforted that the world has paused for a few seconds to remember D-Day, and the contribution of British, American, and Canadian forces toward the liberation of Europe. Recent history has recorded the glee which much of the planet derives from dumping on America, so it’s nice to remember the day in which sacrifice was rewarded with gratitude.

Much has been made of the weather surrounding the Normandy landing (not an “invasion” as some describe, as it was a military effort to retake occupied territory). But history has forgotten the contribution of my namesake and uncle, Major Harry Richard Seiwell, assigned to the Allied Command General Staff. As one of the planet’s first PhD Oceanographers, it was his advice that helped convince General Eisenhower, despite nasty weather, to proceed with the mission.

While a majority of consultants sued for delay, chief meteorologist British Group Captain J. M. Stagg, with urging from Major Seiwell, argued for the mission to proceed. Seiwell maintained that it was not the weather itself, but its effect on the sea and ultimately on the amphibious aircraft that was the critical factor. It was Major Seiwell’s analysis of weather’s impact on Channel swells that provided the clinching data.

Captain Stagg garnered a place in history, while Major Seiwell quietly returned to his family and research at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute in Massachusetts. Several years later, along with his wife and two young daughters, all were killed instantly while on a skiing vacation in Quebec, when in a blinding snowstorm their car was broadsided by a Canadian National Railway freight train at an unmarked crossing. The engineer was alleged in local news accounts to be speeding while intoxicated but was not charged.

Major Seiwell was a bright branch on a family tree that includes many undistinguished limbs, but few miscreants and no (identified) ax murders.

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Are we entering the age of Sarkobama? Perhaps. But in the joint press conference I watched on C-SPAN, my President was 98.4% in the spotlight and a pensive Sarko sat quietly, nodding occasionally, and appearing as though he wished he were somewhere else. There is always a risk when you share the stage with a rock star that your own light will rest unseen under the proverbial bushel. Not a promising prospect for any politician.

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Don’t hold your breath in anticipation of an outcome for the 2 journalists held by Pyongyang to replicate the happy ending afforded the young woman held in Tehran. While Iran is still hopeful of winning some international support (and maintains friends in Russia and China), North Korea appears willing to go down in flames, and thus has little incentive to make conciliatory gestures. The lesson should be that when a bully sticks a finger in your eye, doing nothing (or posturing with meaningless threats) is not a good omen for your other eye.

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A word on who does and does not pay income tax. Dueling BLOGS left and right make a hash of the subject, both employing convoluted math and logic to spin their predetermined convictions. And so we turn to the IRS, which states that in 2005, the last year they bothered to compile the figures, 43.8 million tax returns – 32.6% of the total filed, paid no income tax. Statistical projection places that number well over 40% for the year 2008, and Obama’s promises to “reform” the tax code, if realized, will certainly push that number over the half century mark.

And so each of you reading this who actually pay U. S. income taxes must realize that the burden you feel as you slog along the trail of life is the weight of a non-paying American you carry. Now that might illicit some comfort if you picture the slogee as a Simon Legreesque, handlebar moustache sporting, black hat wearing evil businessman, but I will venture there are readers among you of quite modest means who bear a tax burden year in and out, while somehow half of the citizenry escapes the ignominy of April 15.

You might deduce from this statistic that fully half of America is so bereft of recourses that they are unable to share, even in small measure, in the tax burden. Either that or perhaps we have crafted a tax code that in the nation with the highest standard of living in the history of the planet, fully half the citizenry can rely on the other half to foot the bill.

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I don’t consider myself a particularly moralistic person, but I’m troubled by the “enlightened” view that illicit sex is a victimless crime, that intimate relations are nobody’s business but the participants. As a conservative I don’t fancy government functionaries poking their noses into the nation’s bedrooms. But I was disturbed by my former President’s dalliance in The People’s House (I’ll stop bringing this up when leftists cease the “Bush stole the 2000 election” refrain). What he and whatshername engaged in matters not one whit to me, save the lesson it sent to the nation and particularly our young.

When I hear that some schools and social organizations are promoting oral sex to young teenage girls as a convenient means of avoiding pregnancy, I wonder whether the path we travel is paved with shifting sand. Where oh where are the feminists on this? For years they have attacked all manner of chauvinism from men’s magazines to workplace harassment, yet I hear nary a word about such advice imparted to impressionable young women.

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I think I mentioned that I have but 28 channels on my TV, equally divided among Spanish language, religion, community feel-good, sports and the Boob Channel, a collection of top-heavy flaxen lovelies toiling assiduously to confirm every demeaning slur against their sub-culture. It arrives on my TV a bit grey and fuzzy, as though some celestial censor is attempting to shield me from depravity.

But there is AMC with its bewildering array of offerings. I’ve never been one for macho movies nor chick flicks – I’m simply not a movie aficionado. But on this cold, rainy morning I watched the syrupy A Kiss at Midnight and experienced an odd sensation, akin to sentimentality, which I also felt at age 8 when Zippy my pet goldfish expired. Just one more slide on the slippery slope toward dementia, I suppose. I then watched A Thousand Clowns with Jason Robards and Barbara Harris and The Longest Day, produced I would assume as an audio/visual aid for those with the shortest memories.

…Tourists have descended on Georgetown, swelling the town’s population. I’ve always wondered at the local proclivity to condemn the very population that supports them, yet I do notice that those who travel for pleasure often forget to pack their common sense and good manners. The Adventure is swept along with the roiling Clear Creek, emboldened by Continental Divide runoff. A-Basin, the last area ski resort holdout, closes today…the seasons turn, turn, turn…And by the way, the snow shower last Sunday was brief and followed by bright sun…
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2009-15 GEORGETOWN

2009-06-04T05:08:00.000-07:00

Today is one which in winter would be glorious. Steady precip, creating a wonderland of snowfall, perfect for a walk through town or a stroll in the woods. But now that the Vernal Equinox is upon us, an identical weather pattern produces biting cold rain that encapsulates the bones and an ominous fog that hangs over the valley housing Georgetown. A good day to BLOG.

And in a rare example of harmonious geophysical alignment, on this cheerless day the Georgetown Loop Railroad is out of commission, as 18-hours ago a sizable boulder tumbled down and into one of the open cars filled with enthusiastic riders contemplating nothing more aggressive than a cloudy chill replacing springtime sun. The car did not derail, no injuries resulted, but the rock made further passage impossible, and a second train was hurriedly dispatched to transfer passengers and return them to the station where they received full refunds. I found them surprisingly tolerant of the inconvenience. One German lad sitting in the very car struck by the chute de pierre labeled the occurrence the high point of his visit to America. One wonders as to his worst experience!

The Georgetown Loop Railroad features open gondolas and “covered” cars, i.e. roof but no side cover. I am amazed at the hearty souls who brave the elements – wind, drizzle, mid 40’s temperature – to glimpse a bygone era. Yesterday I took my mandatory familiarization ride and mine tour in “partly cloudy” conditions. By nature I avoid tours of any stripe, but did enjoy this one. Traveling through narrow passages cut into steep terrain, crossing (4 times) Clear Creek (near the height of its ferocity propelled by Continental Divide runoff), viewing the odd bighorn sheep, traversing the High Bridge, a narrow trestle several hundred feet above a steep canyon long ago named Devil’s Gate. The guide was informative and mercifully un-hokey. All in all a good day.

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I have some sympathy for Ms. Sotomayor, as every syllable she has uttered since puberty is now under a microscope. Don’t know about you, but I would certainly wither under such scrutiny. Both sides of the aisle play the gotcha game and both shriek in righteous indignation when the other side employs the tactic.

Is she qualified? Undoubtedly! But so was Robert Bork. Unquestionably. Though his judicial philosophy was unacceptable to the left. No less so than her remarks suggesting Latina women are more intelligent than white men are offensive to the right (and to other political philosophies, one would hope). And the Choice folks are twitching, as our President apparently neglected to inquire as to her abortion stance (exceeding hard to believe), and a little-reported factoid is that her ascendancy would mean a two-thirds Roman Catholic majority on the Court. That would mean that over half of all Catholics serving in the history of the High Court are currently sitting. Can you imagine the pressure on our President when the next vacancy occurs to appoint a Jew, a Muslim (Sunni, Shiite?), GLBT, et. al.

And I may have to ramp up my predictive tendencies. Despite much speculation as to the eventual nominee, it appeared to me a slam-dunk that the twin actualities of gender and ethnicity made Ms. Sotomayor an odds-on favorite.

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A troubling thought as Iran moves toward elections next month. It is plausible that its power structure, specifically its President, who honed his political skills in the “takeover” (a PC term favored by the media that actually means “terrorist siege”) of the American Embassy in Tehran some 3 decades ago, is actively baiting Israel to launch a pre-emptive attack. Unlike those of the last century, when troops massing on Israel’s borders provided clear evidence of impending danger (and thus some limited international sympathy), it seems that Iran may have a nuclear strike capability long before definitive proof can be laid before the United Nations, which in any event would posture and dither and issue empty warnings (Saddam was issued 19 “final” warnings as I recall).

This poses a true dilemma for America and illustrates an enduring geopolitical quandary – talk vs. action. It is clear that much of the planet, led by Europe, favors the former while the USA labels empty rhetoric as hypocrisy and charges headlong into the tall grass and nettles to varying world opinion: WWII, hero; Iraq, goat.

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And yes, as Ronald Reagan would say, “here they go again.” North Korea fires missiles. The UN Security Council scurries into Executive Session and hastily crafts a “severe response”. Result: North Korea launches more missiles and abrogates the 1953 Armistice. The planetary geopolitical geniuses certainly have the little dictator shivering in his boots, don’t they now?

And just this morning an “unnamed” White House source suggested that our President may have to “go it alone” if repeated UN warnings are unheeded. Say what? Could that be? Who was that other guy savagely vilified by having the temerity to “go it alone” when 19 UN “final warnings” failed to deter the Butcher of Baghdad?

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I have long believed that were some interplanetary voyagers to alight on our shores and request treatises describing all the major geopolitical "isms" practiced on earth – after study and contemplation they would likely embrace some form of communism or socialism. It sounds so good; but it does not work.

Today I arose hours before sunrise to hear my President address the Muslim world from Cairo. He sounds so good; I hope his words ring true. So far we have only the promise. But it is promise confronting centuries of history that tell a different story. Many will say that promise trumps its antonym. But promise sans fulfillment rings hollow and breeds false expectation. One can (and should) always hope, but the cynic in me urges caution. One indisputable fact remains however; our President has mastered speech as the French have conquered cuisine.

….Hurricane season is upon us, and the tragedy of Air France 447 reminds us that M. Nature is a formidable mistress…
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2009-14 GEORGETOWN

2009-05-17T06:18:00.000-07:00

As some had predicted, the Iranian-American journalist jailed in Tehran has been released and leftists the planet over are in thrall. “Shocking and wonderful” gushed PBS while several network talking heads speculated this might be sign of a “thaw” in U.S.-Iranian relations. Good golly Ms. Molly, I too am happy for the young woman, but to ascribe this as a “humanitarian gesture” is ludicrous. A bit like robbing a bank then giving half back and expecting to be nominated for Citizen of the Year.

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I have suggested that we monitor closely the promises made by our new President for an indication of progress on his pledge to bring honesty, transparency, and integrity to Washington. Broken political promises are as common as skeeters on a stagnant summer pond, but liberals (who harbor metaphysical convictions of moral superiority) typically sashay into office with promises to vanquish past malevolence.

Recall Pilosi’s “culture of Republican corruption” (witness LA congressman Jefferson; cabinet nominees Richardson, Daschle, et al; tax cheats Geithner, Killefer, et al, former Democrat Governor Blagojevitch, etc). And I could bore you with similar assurances by Carter and Clinton. Suffice to say that despite liberal smirking arrogance, there is enough malfeasance on both sides of the aisle to thrill a cosmic Lucifer scrambling to fill his annual quota of lost souls.

There are already serious fissures in the litany of Obama promises, and a swarm of skepticism on his ability to deliver on others. If passed in its current form, Cap & Trade will (even Democrats agree) increase the taxes of all those who use gas, electricity, and other utilities. Well, Cap & Trade is not technically a tax, but I wonder how much comfort is derived by Americans having their pockets lightened through sleight of word that assigns the filch a more politically palatable (i.e. deceptive) moniker.

We now hear from a White House source that the Chrysler bankruptcy, which our President promised would take 30-60 days, may in fact stretch out for 2 years! But wait. The official noted that the promise related only to the “sale of Chrysler's best assets to a new entity.” Wow, was that fierce wind I just experienced a massive spin twirling across the land?

Add the closing of Guantanamo, reduction of the debt by 50%, health care for all paid for by none, et al. Yes, yes, yes, stipulated there is no monopoly on breaking promises, but the arrogance of one who in the most precise and concrete terms assures us that the villainy of the past will exist no more, and who in his first 100 days is already shattering pledges with the ferocity of plates crashing at a Greek wedding, suggests that the hope for a more honest future is no less illusive than peace on earth or a controversy-free Miss USA pageant.

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Note to Europe: The EU is flexing its regulatory muscle, with the latest smackdown a nearly $1.5 billion fine levied on Intel. Be prepared for pushback focused on European firms rushing to snap up American commercial assets at fire sale prices. Sometimes when you start a stone rolling downhill it crushes unintended targets.

Set a trap for Cheney; catch a Pilosi!

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Conservatives have long complained of a double standard in American politics. Liberals roll their eyes and sue for secession of the whining, as one would admonish a petulant child. But examples abound. When Abu Greib surfaced several years ago, liberal outrage generated a virtual firestorm of demand for full disclosure and worldwide circulation of grizzly and humiliating photos. Yet now when a new round of abuse is uncovered our President is hailed as patriotic for refusing to release images “that might endanger our troops.” If disclosure is wrong now it was wrong then.

Republican Senator Mark Hatfield was drummed out of Washington after being accused of a pattern of inappropriate behavior, but when a Democrat President was found to have had sex in the White House – The People’s House – with a young intern under his control, and then lied about it, somehow this became a “personal affair,” unworthy of public concern. Women’s groups that marshaled relentless salvos against Hatfield called the Clinton affair “unfortunate.” D’ya think?

Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott lost his leadership position after making an offhand (and non-incendiary) comment at a birthday celebration for former segregationist Strom Thurmond. Now Leader Pelosi appears caught in a web of deceit about her knowledge of “enhanced” interrogation techniques and is transferring the accusation of deception to the CIA in an attempt to squirm out of the box. We’ll see how this transpires, but you will find none of my breath held in anticipation.

It raises the question of whether public indifference, conservative ineptitude, or liberal connivance is responsible for this phenomenon. All three, perhaps, but exist it does.

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This post is heavily larded with political commentary (actually, an assault on hypocrisy, a favorite theme), but the tracks are nearly repaired, the ticketing machine is oiled and clacking away, and the engineer has donned his blue and white striped uniform and red kerchief, so soon there may be observations more serene if less compelling. All aboard…
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2009-13 GEORGETOWN

2009-05-11T08:48:00.000-07:00

I am now officially a Twit! Yes, after my rude comments, I have joined the Twitter throng. Tho I can’t imagine any of you so socially deficient as to “follow” me, be assured that any so inclined will learn nothing of my personal hygiene habits or daily meanderings. But as a fan of technology to circulate useful information, I have come to suspect there may be disaster situations where the portal will prove some worth. We’ll see.

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I am working on the railroad! Long time faithful readers may recall that this time last year I completed a brief stint in Montana as a telephone book delivery person. While it did little to enhance my resume, it afforded the opportunity to drive in solitude through a swatch of M. Nature’s most spectacular back yard, from Yellowstone on the Wyoming border north toward Canada. And to meet some truly interesting characters, and a fair share of nimrods. A menial job with some splendid percs.

The Georgetown Loop Railroad was completed in 1884 to transport silver from the steep crags of Clear Creek Canyon south toward Denver. A true engineering marvel of the day, it employed a corkscrew route of switchbacks, horseshoe curves, steep grades and 4 bridges across Clear Creek. It was abandoned in 1938 and rebuilt by the Colorado Historical Society in 1984. I’m told that my responsibilities will be diverse, from flogging subscriptions to the Historical Society to shooing critters off the tracks. http://www.georgetownlooprr.com/ All aboard!

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As American banks scurry to raise private capital, typically referred to as senior debt, I wonder if any investor in his/her right mind would advance a single sou. Because financial and economic considerations are no longer the determining factors in whether to invest. Preservation of capital and risk-reward ratios are now dwarfed by the question of whether our President will appear on TV to condemn and shame you from his bully pulpit.

Such was the outcome for Chrysler senior bond holders who balked at getting less return for their investment than junior debt holders or unions. Our normally ebullient Chief Executive appeared petulant in the nationally televised news conference, reflecting perhaps the first time in his initial 100 days that he had not received absolute obedience to his demands.

I possess neither the qualifications nor inclination to present a tutorial on Finance 101. Suffice to say that senior debt holders accept reduced reward in return for diminished risk. Our President has apparently decided to jettison this centuries-old pillar of capitalism and was aghast when someone had the temerity to say “Sorry, the real world isn’t supposed to work that way.” Then in classic fashion (you may have wondered why it’s called a “bully” pulpit), he labeled them “speculators” and “hedge fund operators,” a term which almost no one understands but has become emblematic of the worst of capitalist society.

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There are certain common and uncomplicated daily acts which I have been unable to master. Like smiling. It joins my love of good food and drink as traits I share with the French. I have nothing against the act, just that I find little to smile about. And hand-washing, which is much in fashion now that Swine Flu has become a staple of the planetary diet. Small talk as well (the refuge of small minds), and unrestrained laughter.

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The latest liberal sound bite is to christen the Republican establishment “The party of no.” I find the term perfectly acceptable in many situations. My namesake George Will supported this position on a recent Stephanopoulos Sunday talk show. Once again Paul Krugman distinguished himself by suggesting that the Republican party is in a “death spiral” while Mr. Will responded that after the Goldwater debacle of 1964 similar predictions were made by giddy liberals, yet 4 years later a resurgent GOP moved into the White House and stayed for 28 of the next 40 years.

And by the way, the much ballyhooed “bipartisanship” does not entail tossing overboard one’s core values and cherished principles. It has historically involved compromise and an honest search for middle ground. Contrary to “no,” Republicans have answered every Obama initiative (TALP, Stimulus, Budget) with alternatives that have been thoroughly and absolutely rejected by the Majority. One would think they could find some small area of agreement so at least to make a plausible case for cooperation across the aisle. Of course Republicans stand accused of similar tactics while in power, but so much for recent pledges to change the partisan culture of Washington.

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I have spoken of my admiration for my President’s grand plans coupled with my concern over their implementation. Naval Station Guantanamo is turning out to be illustrative. With great flourish just hours after the Inauguration he “closed” the asylum without a clue what to do with the remaining inmates. As with so much of his soaring rhetoric, there is far more in the elocution than the execution, leaving pesky details to be resolved in time.

Yet we now have a scarcity of allies willing to share in the incarceration going forward, and the few which might be interested dabble in torture. Not to mention the mad scramble of local and state officials and Congressfolk to declare “anywhere but NIMBY.” That is with the exception of Hardin, Montana, whose city fathers and mothers built a 400 bed jail to which they have been unsuccessful in enticing other jurisdictions to send their poor and huddled criminals.

Bring em on, they cry, while residents of nearby Billings, the state’s largest metropolis, twitch nervously. Grand plans absent commensurate solutions breed unpleasant consequences.

…Just a dusting of snow this morning, so perhaps Spring is truly on the way. All Aboard…
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2009-12 BOZEMAN

2009-05-03T11:13:00.000-07:00

A new week and another depressing news cycle. While much of the planet is gearing up to panic over Swine Flu or reeling over the Spector/Souter bombshells, I am in haute colore over H and ZAP. These may not be familiar terms, as the networks, cable outlets, and New York Times apparently deem them unworthy of commentary. But the dread FOXNews, in yet another example of anti-politically correct hooliganism had the temerity to inform me of the latest feel-good craze sweeping our nation’s middle and high schools.

Apparently a growing number of our cradles of learning are scuttling the grade “F” in favor of “H” for Hold, and “ZAP” for Zeros Aren’t Permitted. It seems that massive studies conducted with federal grant money have determined that failure is generating angst in the nation’s young. So now when you miss the minimum work requirements in a class you receive an H, which I gather is saying “you failed but it doesn’t matter, so don’t let it upset you.”

Since zeros are typically assigned for failure to complete and turn in required assignments, you now avoid a goose egg and are assigned a ZAP. This affords the opportunity to express remorse and complete the requirement late. No deadlines are established of course, but there have been suggestions that a series of ZAPs could possibly lead to a final grade of H. No official response yet from the Obama Administration, but in its rush to create a blameless society (unless you are a banker or business executive, of course) I anticipate its tacit if not overt approval. And so we transition from “No child left behind” to “No youngster inconvenienced.”

The liberal Senator and Ambassador Daniel Patrick Monaghan addressed with eloquence and passion the debilitating “dumbing down of America” and its demoralizing effects on the body politic. But even more egregious than moral decay are the economic and social effects. Children in increasing numbers will graduate with a straight H average, but because they have not mastered the most basic of skills they are labeled victims, unable to find meaningful work, prime candidates to be scammed by unscrupulous businessfolk, and destined to be shunned by their more learned brethren and sistern. But, praise be, their psyches will remain intact. It hurts my head!

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Conscience or cacodoxy? Arlan Spector’s ship jump is cataclysmically good or bad depending on which side of the aisle you hang your hat. When Al Franken finally takes his seat in the Senate as most expect he eventually will, Democrats will control The White House and have veto-proof majorities in both Houses of Congress, the political nirvana of which most can only dream. Or so thought Bill Clinton when he was so anointed in 1992, only to watch in horror as significant defections from his own party torpedoed his healthcare initiative.

I have respected Spector even though we often disagreed. But the reality that he might have lost a conservative challenge from his own party taints the move a bit and suggests a wiff of self preservation. Party affiliation changes have occurred rarely but consistently throughout the history of our Republic, but never with such potential watershed effect as this. Two months ago he affirmed in plainspoken terms that he would forever remain a Republican. Then he reviewed polls which suggested he may have difficulty in the next Republican primary. Not the highest moral conviction on record nor a Profile in Courage. But in truth he has voted increasingly as a Democrat, and so the change was de facto in any event.

David Broder’s withering column in the NYT was captioned “Spector the Defector.” Perhaps the most respected journalist in America today, he noted an unbroken history of decisions based on what was best for Spector, not his constituents nor the country.

But now the stage is set for the perfect partisan political storm. Absolutely nothing stands in our President’s way to drive the country in any direction he so chooses. But be careful what you wish for. This move goes a long way toward finally transferring ownership of the nation from Bush to Obama. As I have said before, success will certainly reward the Democrats, but they may now find that the coin has a second side. The Democrat Party now has the absolute power to fix or further flummox the nation. When things go wrong for them, the standard plaint “we inherited a mess” will carry less weight. They are now in a position to make things right, and the electorate will judge them accordingly.

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Speaking of watersheds, If it transpires that Chrysler and GM unions gain majority ownership of the struggling automakers as it now appears, there will exist an historic opportunity to test the veracity of a century of bitter complaint. American unions cry consistent and loud that management deficiencies are the primary and perhaps only relevant factors in business failures, and level more powerful and incendiary charges that American business is the planetary Black Bart when dealing with the abused and downtrodden American worker. Perhaps now that they are poised to ascend to the driver’s seat we will have a chance to compare their stewardship to the oft discredited practices of the past. Be careful what you wish for…

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I have watched daily White House press briefings since they were first televised nearly a half century ago. Never have I witnessed such genial, even convivial interaction between Press Secretary and the press. The laughter and good-natured banter often sounds more like a cocktail gathering of close acquaintances than a forum for digging out the truth. Make of this what you will, but I think it not unreasonable to suggest it supports kvetching from the right that the nation’s press corps is overwhelmingly liberal and therefore inclined (whether overtly or subliminally) to favor progressive causes. In any event it is abundantly clear that our watchdog press is snoozing through the greatest political shift in America since FDR.

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May Day! Snow Day! Colorado is dry but as I depart the Gallatin Valley wending south, we may get an additional foot on the road today. I know I was just complaining about the lack of white precip, but I am ready for Spring. Be careful what you wish for…
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2009-11 BOZEMAN

2009-04-24T15:00:00.000-07:00

Dump! While much of the nation was unpacking bathing gear and inflating beach balls, a few days ago I sat staring into a near whiteout – easily 2 feet on the ground and snow predicted to continue for another 24 hours or so. Good (and deep) things come to he who waits. Then in the blink of an eye brilliant sunshine was making fast work of the 40+ inches that ultimately descended. Sad that such great beauty vanishes overnight, but perhaps a metaphor for much of our daily experience.

The local populace has for months bemoaned the lack of moisture, particularly as a massive beetle infestation has decimated hundreds of acres of pine forest. Apparently reduced moisture combined with diminished forestation conspire to produce effects of which I am largely ignorant but have been assured will be horrific. Be careful what you wish for; April snow showers bring May runoff.

And as I was assured that spring was on its way to the Gallatin Valley, I grabbed some shorts and Tees and headed for Montana. An unremarkable drive north on I-25 turned déjà-vuish as I merged west on I-90 and found, you guessed it, another whiteout. Seventy degrees yesterday, 8 inches of white stuff today, and seventy degrees tomorrow. Just another reminder from Mother N. that it is most unwise to anticipate her.

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Just when I took on Twitter with a few snide comments, there has been a virtual blizzard of interest in the technology. Politicians, teachers, and emergency management officials have joined the usual suspects -- tweens, starlets, druggies and the like to increase visibility and massively expand usage.

I still find the majority of its application to be narcissistic and self absorbed, announcing to the world factoids that only a mother might evidence interest in, n’est pas? See how I cleverly avoided ending the last sentence with a preposition! Perhaps it’s true that good can be found anywhere, if one is willing to rummage through the persiflage.

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As the ursine population awakes from hibernation, so do those who respond to natural and man (and woman) inflicted carnage. While disasters can occur on any day of the calendar, spring-to-fall is high season for tornados, floods, forest fires, and of course hurricanes. I am now receiving requests to “stand by for deployment”, but here I sit ployed, waiting for the glass to break and the alarm to sound.

It will be interesting to see if the new Administration jiggers the national response system and in what way. One silver lined post-Katrina advancement has been the use of technology to stage, transit, and track equipment and material moving in response to disasters. There really was not a gross lack of response to Katrina/Rita/Wilma, just dismal coordination and terribly inefficient application of human resources and material dispatch. I sat in Montgomery, Alabama for 4 days after Katrina watching the televised pleas of the Mississippi and Louisiana Governors for assistance of any and all kinds, while my Red Cross handlers swore and affirmed that no credible assistance requests had been submitted.

Improved logistics management would certainly be of some comfort to the FEMA functionary who, some 10 days after Katrina departed Hattiesburg, came upon a parked 18-wheeler sporting a large “FEMA Disaster Relief” placard. Obviously abandoned, he cut the padlock, threw open the doors, and was swept away by an 8-foot wall of water, a result of the transformation that ice undergoes when subjected to the snail-like plodding of the federal bureaucracy.

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Being neither politician nor government official, I am most reluctant to make predictions, as without the aforementioned protective cover I fully expect to be held at some point accountable. But I will venture the thought that the North Dakota native recently convicted and sentenced to an eight year term by an Iranian tribunal will likely be released down the road. Such regimes have a consistent record of dragooning the innocent and then at some future date, after a suitable period of torture and usually as a negotiating ploy, release the wrongly confined as “a humanitarian gesture,” much to the delight of loonies of the stripe who believe that Castro has brought paradise to the Isle of Cuba.

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I find much of organized religion (I keep wondering if the unorganized component is any better) to be overbearing, sensibility challenged, and somewhat disjointed, but I question the motives of those who harbor a pathological need to mock and ridicule. Whistling past the graveyard?

Some years ago an acquaintance passed away, the result of a tragic (some say freak, but the word freaks me out) accident. Such was his stature in the community that the Episcopal Diocese sent a luminary to preside at the interment. She faced a chock-a-block sanctuary and with appropriate solemnity began: “I know many of you are asking how and why such a senseless act could come to pass? I am here to help you understand.”

I felt hair rise on my neck and a butterfly or two danced about my sternum. Could this possibly be my long sought logical, believable explanation of the meaning of life, its origins, passage, and beyond? I held my breath, as did I imagine the assembled throng. There followed a good forty minutes of the most appalling psychobabble imaginable, heavily larded with the standard warning – we don’t have a clue what’s going on here, but if you don’t believe absolutely and unquestionably, you are a dunce and fool, and you better be prepared to don asbestos underwear, as eternal fire will figure prominently in your everlasting future.

Despite all this, I have no quarrel with those who find solace in religion. We all need something to get us through the day, be it The Word, love of family, satisfaction of achievement, or bourbon.

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Radio is a mental salve on long car journeys such as the 11 hour transit from Georgetown to Bozeman. Hearing a snippet of a song, “she was baptized in dirty water” reminded me why I like country music.

And then there are the items that almost make one veer across the center line, like the lady who commented “my car got into an accident.” Yup, sure did. All by its own self I gather. And an NPR story of parents suing a school district which, to conserve gasoline, redrew bus routes that resulted in some students having to walk up to three blocks from home to access transportation.

In 2009 when children are found to be obese, do-gooders blame (and sue) McDonalds, with apparently no recognition that 50 years ago children exercised the extremities below their knees to access the 3 Rs, while today their tushies are massaged by upholstered seats as they are motored to classes on social networking and politically correct speech, resulting in severe atrophy to both ends of their delicate corpi.

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…I have for some time been predicting that the Adventure is morphing into spring. Il arrive. One of these days. Address all complaints to Mother Nature. Il n'est pas de ma faute.
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2009-10 GRORGETOWN

2009-04-12T14:11:00.000-07:00

I am such a schlub. Alas, I am not one of the 9 million among us that fortuitously qualifies for government je ne sais quoi – not a “bailout”, that’s a nasty word reserved for villainous bankers and larcenous financial moguls. Neither, according to my President, a “handout,” but simply a mechanism to “put more money into their pockets.” Say what?

What a yutz I’ve been. I didn’t live beyond my means, I didn’t buy a $750,000 McMansion on a $25,000 salary. When I took my kids to Disneyland on spring break we stayed in a Ramada, not within the opulence of the Magic Kingdom. Skiing was no Vail slopeside condo, but a Quality Inn downtown Salt Lake City, or the clean but spartan (tho misnamed) Luxury Inn, managed by Russian Gregori and his somewhat scary accomplice Natasha. We naively conserved and saved, salted away, like the idiot squirrel, a few nuts for the winter.

All the while those wiser than I, those who bolstered the economy by spending 125% of their income, those who pursued the good life with wild abandon on a wing and a prayer, tackling with gusto enterprises I would never in my wildest dreams consider, these are now “the qualified.” These victims of capitalism will be rescued, plucked from the clutches of economic predators, and their deficiencies remedied by who – why we schlubs of course. And yes I know there are the truly downtrodden and deserving, but most of these didn’t participate in “the splurge,” and thus also don’t “qualify”.

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On this Easter Sunday there are a number of sunrise services here in the Rockies, the most popular apparently at the Red Rocks Amphitheater. The event is heavily advertised on radio and TV, always with the tag line “no admission charge and parking is free.” I assume Jesus would approve.

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In my youth at the height of American anti-communism, the phrase “Better dead than red” was fashionable. Even as a child something didn’t ring quite true here. A current idiocy (they do appear in abundance nowadays) is “Don’t resist. Give the bad guys anything they want.” Such is the drama playing out off the Somali coast, where ransom for the safe return of the Mersk Alabama captain is being described as “a normal cost of doing business.”

Paul Krugman on the Stephanopoulos Sunday news show today referred to piracy as “a minor irritant, like mugging”!!!!! I wonder if Captain Richard Phillips finds it so, stuffed into a covered lifeboat with no food or sanitary facilities. Might Mr. K. consider trading places and suffer this “minor irritant”?

Ethnic gangs tried this tack in the New York, Boston, and Chicago neighborhoods of a younger America, and while remnants still undoubtedly exist today, “pay for protection” is no longer a common component of commerce for the local green grocer or at the corner filling station.

Wholesale coercion failed because a few brave souls risked (and sometimes lost) their lives by refusing to be bullied, in part, I suspect, due to (an admirable) stubborn independence, but also from realization that bad behavior tolerated leads to – guess what? – more (much more) of the same.

What’s a measly few million compared to a $250 million vessel carrying $100 million of cargo? Well, a great deal if you consider that rewarding bad behavior will surely escalate the practice. Most kindergarten teachers know this well, although our current mania to reward all and punish none may well slowly turn our schools into miniature versions of Mogadishu.

In a former life I played a modest role in an educational institution that was occasional blackmailed with threats of the nature that “if you don’t give our Susie the “A” she clearly deserves – the assigned “B” might wither the enthusiasm of Ivy League admissions' staff – we will trash your name in the community and bring a lawsuit for good measure”.

Discussion invariably turned to “what must we concede to make this go away,” and predictably caused smoke to emanate from my auditory protrusions. Due partly to my petulant tantrums, no concessions were offered and threats dissolved as they usually do when birthed by cowardice or craven motivation, although I understand that in today’s progressive climate such occurrences are “a normal cost of doing (educational) business”. I have previously remarked that in my day if I came home with a note of reprimand from the teacher I was taken to the woodshed. Today parents hire a lawyer and sue the school. Progress, d’ya think?

It has just been announced that Captain Phillips has been freed after remaining pirates were cut down by U. S. Navy gunfire. Perhaps the Danish fleet owners falling all over themselves to pay ransom will now wish to seek out a flag other than the Stars and Stripes to fly, perhaps one laced with colors of the sun.

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Colorado has joined a growing number of les Etats proposing in-state and in many cases free college tuition for “the undocumented” – the currently preferred progressive iteration of “illegal,” (does sound far more benign, hein?). Right-wing trogs narrowly defeated the measure, and as a card carrying knuckle-dragger myself, I approved, but admittedly with a distinct personal bias.

I am currently enmeshed in a generous helping of education debt, the majority attributable to out-of-state tuition obligations. It is indeed vexing to contemplate that except for the misfortune of “documentation,” I might be consuming wine with a cork rather than screw-cap.

I am in fact an admirer of the Hispanic work ethic and family values, but as I contemplate the hot button immigration issue, my thoughts turn to those south-of-the-border schlubs whose misplaced faith in law caused them to wait in long lines at American Consulates that they might add their names to even longer lists of those desiring to immigrate legally and lawfully.

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There have emerged equal dollops of fawning and derision over arrival at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue of the “first dog.” Any talisman that can deliver a measure of normalcy to the “first children” should be welcomed and not hyped. Despite the obvious percs due their position, children in the political spotlight exist in a stifling bubble. The Clintons requested, and in large measure received consideration for their daughter. Consideration the Bush twins never were granted – recall the left-wing campaign to draft and ship them to Iraq. And apparently the Palin daughter’s saga is destined to provide a healthy measure of progressive sniggering for some time to come.

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Despite attempts to break the habit, I do find myself tuned to C-SPAN with discomforting regularity. While the guest segments are generally informative, the call-in portions entertain in ways to which the great comedians can only aspire. This morning in soliciting solutions to Somali piracy, two of five callers demanded criminal investigation of Bush. No direct connection was alleged, simply a metaphysical conviction that all planetary evil stems from the man from Midland.

Not surprising, as I note there are still gobs of progressives that begin each and every political statement with the plaint “After Bush stole the 2000 election…”

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And as this post appears to emerge almost entirely political (je suis coupable…), I close acknowledging the mini-bruhaha twixt our new VEEP and former Bush staffers. It seems that VP Biden, tutored at the knee of his predecessor, inventor of the Internet Al Gore, is spreading the word that he regularly “dressed down” George Bush, castigating him in private Oval Office meetings that mysteriously were never entered into official White House logs. Stealth politics, ya gotta love it.

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…the adventure suffers a bit from cabin fever…having passed generous snippets of time hereabouts over several decades, but only in winter…the questions emerges whether it is time to move on…yet at the moment a fierce Easter snow squall gives pause…
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2009-09 GEORGETOWN

2009-04-05T08:10:00.000-07:00

No dump, but nearly a foot of white, not-quite-as-fluffy as that which arrived in January, laden as it is with spring moisture. But enough to guarantee another good week on the mountain. Then I suspect Mother Nature will wave her celestial wand and transform the winter wonderland into a summer paradise, replete with mosquitoes, tourists, and other friends of the earth.

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Municipal elections take place here next week, and the hot mayoral issue appears to rest on which candidate is more adroit at securing “grant” funds for the town. A fascinating concept whereby the government collects taxes then returns a portion to those most adept at masterful prose and mystical mathematical manipulation. I have seen enormous grant largess reposing untouched in government closets while pleas for essentials from those less proficient at milking the public bosom are rejected or ignored.

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In true AlGorian fashion the feel-good world last Saturday turned out the lights in homage to Earth Hour. Just imagine –the Sydney Opera House, the Egyptian Pyramids, meme le Tour Eiffel, dark -- for an entire 60 minutes! Be still my heart.

Emblematic of our former VEEP commandeering a private jet and winging across the country to give a one hour speech lecturing me on my unconscionable despoliation of the planet. I’ve said before, your carbon footprint against mine any day Al. When last I made this observation, an intrepid watchdog responded that Al’s contributions dwarf mine and therefore he should be granted leeway. Point debatable, but accepted. It is precisely this argument that liberals haughtily reject when Americans note that our advanced level of productivity should cut us some slack in comparison to a developing world that pollutes with abandon. Touché

Earth Hour is empty symbolism run amok. For a solid decade the EU warned and threatened several member nations over violations of end-of-life vehicle disposal (i.e. junk car) regulations. Finally they had enough and fined the miscreants a full 10,000 Euros each!!! Showed them, didn’t they! Press releases crowed over this courageous stand, and myriad additional examples have since tumbled forth describing similar merciless EU crackdowns on recalcitrant national scoundrels.

Now imagine taking a shiny penny (or EU centime if you will) and chopping it into a hundred pieces, then fining you or me one of these snippets. Roughly the equivalent of fining a sovereign European state 10,000 Euros. But it sure seems to help these folks sleep better at night, and encourage morally superior wagging of accusatory fingers at the North American and Asian nations that refuse to participate in the charade.

France – the City of Light – that shines a spotlight on everything from statuary genitalia to tulips in the Tuileries, could show serious commitment by bathing itself in darkness one day a week, or perhaps stifling diplomacy (the greatest planetary contribution to carbon dioxide emissions) on occasion.

#####

How fast the winds do shift. Europe fell into near delirium over candidate Obama, anointing him “President of the World,” but now he is “leading the way to hell” according to the EU President. Yet his wit, smile, and soaring rhetoric keeps the throngs in thrall, even as thousands march demanding an end to Capitalism.

He remains a rock star for the masses, and elicits interesting parallels to events on our shores. Both here and in Europe the man (and woman) in the street is mesmerized by his exceptional oratory, while the business and professional communities remain skeptical. But he did a number on the other 19 G’s, extracting a $2 trillion promise to aid in the global fix.

A note of caution here. Governments have a vexing way of reneging on promises, largely because they are not accountable, at least (for politicians) until the next election cycle, and for functionaries, never. I deem it a metaphysical certainty that much of the $2 trillion largess proffered by the G-20 will never find its way into the planetary pocket.

As to my President’s reception in Europe, as enthusiastic (or arguably more) than he receives here -- surprising? D‘ya think? When his words suggest that America will be moving closer to or even (shudder) adopting the European model, should anyone be surprised that Europeans respond with raucous approval?

Europe has become quite comfortable allowing the USA to lead the charge and pay the bills (doubters: witness Afghanistan, a war that Europe supports by mouth but not with boots on the ground). It will be quite a shock when Europe twigs that replacing the despised “go it alone” Bush with a multilateral Obama means it will now be expected to assume a leadership role in fiscal and human commitment as well as by means of oratory. Be careful what you wish for.

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Bird strikes are much in the news at the moment, and it occurred to me that the prime malefactors appear to be Canadian Geese. Not, mind you, Mexican geese, nor Al Qaeda geese. The French wisely consume the edible parts of these winged terrorists and I have never heard of a collision over Lille or Toulouse. Something to think about –A?

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The adventure transitions to Springtime in the Rockies…one can almost hear the Von Trapp family singing in the background…
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2009-08 GEORGETOWN

2009-03-25T07:48:00.000-07:00

Senator George McGovern is on TV with a “public service” announcement condemning Cardcheck legislation, the odious attempt to remove the secret ballot from union organizing campaigns. The effort by arguably the nation’s most liberal politician and unabashed union supporter has sent shivers through the progressive community. And it got me to thinking about courage.

Like heroism, the appellation of courage has been grossly misapplied of late. Nancy Pelosi has been labeled courageous by progressives; likewise Limbaugh by right wing zealots. Balderdash! Leading a pack of sheep does not require courage.

Courage springs from agonizing and often painful decisions that can bring condemnation, vilification, or ostracism, not to mention risk to personal safety. Arlan Spector and Maine’s two Senators displayed courage by breaking with their party and voting for the Stimulus. You don’t have to agree with such decisions to recognize the courage involved in pursuing the unpopular. Folks quick to so label their favorite savants should spend a bit more time consulting Webster…..

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I am occasionally asked why I am a conservative (the unspoken thought from liberals being that “your knuckles don’t appear to drag the ground and your IQ doesn’t appear to rest in the low double digits, so how on earth can you claim the appellation). I have actually had liberal acquaintances express disbelief at how an apparently intelligent soul could embrace the unthinkable. The steel-trap closed mind at work.

Let me count the ways!

One inescapable rationale that springs immediately to mind is my skepticism of Big Government, honed during a decade of federal employment and another as a federal contractor.

There are myriad examples of government ineptitude, perhaps none more stark than the Securities and Exchange Commission. I know “they don’t have enough money” (the perennial progressive plaint – where spending cures all ills), nor “enough staff,” but as early as 1998, serious professionals warned of the Madoff ponzi scheme, handing the feds a clear cut case on a silver platter as it were, but our government was too busy rounding up taxi drivers who bought 100 Microsoft options based on “insider information,” i.e. something they heard a passenger say on the journey from JFK to Wall St.

Crowing press releases flow like Guinness on St. Paddy’s Day. “Look at us, look how we are protecting the investing public.” Right! And note that while it is now fashionable to lump all financial executives into a single “thieves and blaggards” category, not a single SEC bureaucrat has been singled out.

Then come the AIG bonuses. Someone (!) inserted language in the Stimulus legislation authorizing the payments (interesting when bedfellows fall out, and pointing fingers grow as Pinocchio’s nose). Then rather than admit a mistake, Congress rushed to pass a clearly unconstitutional remedy (I learned about ex-post facto laws in 7th grade Civics.) Our President courageously accepted responsibility, but in the next breath (as he will forevermore) claimed it really wasn’t his fault because all planetary evil was created in the decade before his arrival. “Je suis coupable, mais c’est pas ma faute.”

And now as the size of government is poised to expand by 25%, we are destined to be treated to more of the same. I can’t wait. Government everywhere is the poster child for the absence of individual responsibility – the cloak of invisibility that permits limitless culpability sans accountability. “Je suis coupable..."

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I received an e-mail the other day offering me a “complimentary colon cleanse.” It’s not the first time that someone has offered to resurface that section of my anatomy, but never via the Internet. And I thought the nadir arrived the day I received simultaneous solicitations for breast enhancement and reduction of same. Just when you thought it was safe to leave the house…

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In 1919 Robert Goddard published his theories of rocket flight which postulated that man (and woman) might one day reach the moon. The treatise was ridiculed in a New York Times editorial that sniffed "Dr. Goddard seems to lack the knowledge of physics that is ladled out daily in high schools." Despite this unambiguous condemnation from the editorial geniuses of Manhattan, NASA named its legendary flight center in Goddard’s honor. Our self-proclaimed “paper of record” does seem to have a knack…

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I have never before had the opportunity to take advantage of spring skiing. I love the warmth but not the ice nor spring break crowds, where it seems the overwhelming majority are first-timers wooed to intermediate slopes that seem virtually flat from below and precipitous from above. When time on the lift is equally divided between riding and sitting motionless, it’s time to hit the pub.

And just when I thought I had sufficiently suppressed the voices, they have resurfaced with strains of “Natasha,” “Sonny” (Bono), and “Michael” (Kennedy). When I began the sport, only professional racers donned “brain buckets,” and not all of them. Perhaps it’s time…

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Just as Craigslist presented me with a plethora of short term accommodation options (Las Cruces, NM was a leading candidate), I have been informed that the long-time summer tenant scheduled to displace me come May will be a no-show this year, affording the possibility of extending my current lodging. Decisions, decisions. But on my walk today up Guanella Pass, a cerulean sky and dazzling sunlight reflecting off a thousand vertical foot of crag, seemed to be inviting me to stay on a bit. And because the Red Ram will, for the moment dodge foreclosure by operating in bankruptcy, Killians will continue to flow at Happy Hour. Another compelling reason.

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Just as the Adventure was resigned to morphing into spring, the “high country” is poised to receive perhaps the heaviest snow of the season. Dancing with Mother Nature is always a treat…
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2009-07 GEORGETOWN

2009-03-09T07:53:00.000-07:00

A truly depressing weekend spent with C-SPAN. After several well reasoned and upbeat presentations at CPAC – the Conservative Political Action Committee, came Rush Limbaugh who gathered riotous applause by asking those assembled to pray for the failure of the Obama Administration. Well, he claimed afterward that he only wished for Obama’s policies to fail. No matter. For the moment Obama’s policies are America’s policies, and to petition for their failure fits nicely with the "General Betrayus" mindset.

Now LMBC and MNM, I have deep concern over the new Administration’s ambitious plans to expand Government, and particularly the Pelosi effort to advance a social agenda under the guise of economic stimulus, but I must accept that those who professed to advance conservative principles this past decade spiraled miserably off the mark, and there is always (or should be) a price to pay for failure.

Democrats are giddy over their good fortune. Rahm Emanual bestowed “defacto leader of the Republican party” upon Limbaugh, and RNC Chairman Michael Steele didn’t help when he condemned the speech then quickly apologized.

Depressing indeed, and moreso as malevolence from the left seems to vanish with the speed of light while that from the right hangs long and low, as grey smoke from a long extinguished campfire.

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The remainder of the weekend was consumed by coverage of Tavis Smiley’s State of the Black Union. I learned that two centuries of evil are about to be replaced by an enlightened era of color. The unspeakable atrocities committed by those hitherto in charge will now be replaced by peace and love, and of course retribution against past malefactors.

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It should come as no surprise that one of the first forays of the tax scofflaw Treasury Secretary is to go after – you got it, tax scofflaws. But in the way that politicians can carry hypocrisy to insane levels, he has promised House and Senate committees that exposed perps will be subject to “appropriate punishment,” widely interpreted to mean jail time for serious offenders. Do as I say…

Can we now put to rest the aspect of “change” that promised to expunge (Republican) corruption and usher in a new area of transparency and fairness. Let he without sin…

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Last week while the U. S. east coast was pummeled by 6-12”, here in the Rocky Mountain west there was recorded a record temperature of 72 degrees Fahrenheit. Mother Nature has a truly bizarre sense of humor. And yet the locals remember 2003 when March came in like a lamb and several weeks later there was a record 7’ (yes, 84”) snowfall.

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One certain predictor of aging (in addition to wrinkles, liver spots, and multiple trips to the loo in the night), is a distain for innovation. As a self-styled techno-junkie I didn‘t believe I would fall victim to the hi-tech iteration of this malady. Yet now comes Twitter, which Wikipedia tells me is a “social networking” service that allows users to send and read other users' updates on their current activities (known as “tweets”) -- texts limited to 140 characters in length. I gather this means that when one prepares to cut toenails, defrost the fridge, or take Fido for his annual toilletage, we can so inform close friends and miscellaneous acquaintances.

Now I do understand that after the gas explosion that leveled (among others) the Rocking-R-Bar and Boodles restaurant in Bozeman, MT (two establishments where I have taken my custom while residing in that fair city) – “tweets” were used by locals to let friends and family know they had escaped the carnage. A great idea, and proof that even within (most) idiocy there exists a kernel of redeeming social value.

I have grave reservations as to whether anyone on this planet gives a damn about the BLOGS I periodically inflict on mankind, but I know with metaphysical certitude that no one has even miniscule curiosity about my flossing, preening, or evacuating. Could it be that those who Twitter are known as “twits.”

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It is commonly accepted that politicians of every stripe make promises that are routinely bent, broken, or simply ignored. And yet when a new paradigm is invoked vowing to change all that, I think it not unrealistic to hold the invokers to a higher standard.

My new President has promised so much to so many, with words so un-minced as to be electric in their delivery. Two passages quoted directly from his address to the Joint Session of Congress are illustrative and deserve to be placed in a four-year time capsule, to be later retrieved and re-examined.

“And yesterday, I held a fiscal summit where I pledged to cut the deficit in half by the end of my first term in office.”

“If your family earns less than $250,000 a year -- a quarter million dollars a year -- you will not see your taxes increased a single dime. I repeat: Not one single dime. Not a dime.”

Now these are unequivocal statements, bold and concrete promises. I suggest that delivery on these and others will (and should) guarantee a second term for the President. And while failure might not be a deal-breaker, it will be interesting to see whether in that event he faces the American people in 4-year’s time with the same candor he now displays, or whether he will revert to the time-honored plaint of politicians everywhere, as in the words of the French Culture Minister, “Je suis coupable, mais c’est pas ma faute.”

But the beauty of politics is that all involved are endowed with an infinite number of “Get out of Jail Free” cards. Even the White House admits that the “Cap and Trade” energy tax will cost all Americans in the future, but they respond that it’s not exactly a “tax,” and so I guess the Administration can slide here on a technicality.

Speaking of Cap & Trade, does it seem a bit disingenuous that the environmental guru Al Gore can now continue to use his private jet simply by paying for the extra carbon he spews across the planet? Isn’t that what the Robber Barons of old (and successful businessfolk that followed) have been accused of – using their wealth to pollute and defile?

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The Adventure suffers a bit from cabin fever, but ambles along…
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2009-06 GEORGETOWN

2009-02-28T06:01:00.000-08:00

Diane Sawyer of Good Morning America is on a tear exposing “Mountain Dew Mouth,” a condition in Appalachia (but apparently nowhere else!) that causes rampant tooth decay even in the very young through excessive consumption of the sugary soft drink. These folks are “victims”, and I have visions of ruthless soft drink executives force feeding their product down the throats of helpless mountaineers. I thought we had dealt with this issue when the Courts refused to accept the nonsense that a teenager who ate up to a dozen Big Macs a day was a “victim” of the McDonalds Corporation.

We seem oblivious to the reality that it’s about education and providing a framework in which to make positive choices, but it’s so much easier to simply assign blame. In much of America neither children nor their parents (unless you’re Asian) are much motivated toward education (unless it’s feel-good), and as a result, basic knowledge of nutrition, fractions, fitness, adjectives, and percentages takes a back seat to in-depth familiarity with Heavy Metal, fashion trends, and SMS texting.

Then when someone consumes insane amounts of fatty acids and blossoms into morbid obesity, or loses the $750,000 home they bought on a $25,000 salary, they are “victims,” with no mention of even a modicum of responsibility on their part. We have elevated “the dog ate my homework” and “it’s anybody’s fault but mine” to frightening heights. When I was young and came home with a note from the teacher describing an indiscretion, I was taken to the woodshed. Today parents hire a lawyer and sue the school.

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I used to organize “events,” and now that my commercial value rests somewhere between yodeling and hospital volunteer directing patients to the urinalysis room, I have been musing over getting back in the game. I’m contemplating a Las Vegas Smile-Off between Nancy Pelosi and Giada Pamela De Laurentiis (the Italian TV-chef with the alluring décolletage and even more prominent choppers).

And speaking of Mme. Speaker, might there be any truth to the rumor that some renegade Republican snuck into the House Chamber and hotwired her seat before the President’s address to Congress? Reminiscent of a star struck pre-teen at a Beatles concert.

#####

I recently attended a Fasching celebration, a once prominent and now languishing item on the annual Georgetown social calendar. Analogous to Mardi Gras, Karneval, and Swiss Fastnacht, it celebrates the coming of Lent with colorful attire, buffoonery, and bountiful libation. Centuries old in Europe, it began here in the 1950s, grace of mid-western implants of Germanic ancestry. From humble origins it reached a pinnacle in the following decade when the celebration boasted balls, banquets, and parades lasting 9 days, and when local donations and commercial sponsors sent the elected King and Queen to Munich to acquire first-hand understanding of the ancient tradition.

But the event has dwindled to a microcosm of its former grandeur, and this year’s affair took place in the modest Community Center on a chilly Friday evening before Ash Wednesday. After several formal presentations, the highlight of which was a matron describing in exquisite and exhaustive detail her 4 decades of Fasching delights, all assembled and I, apparently the sole attendee with less than a quarter century of Fasching tenure, were treated to a visual presentation, a half-century retrospective of Faschings past.

The first 300 or so slides were fascinating, but things began to unravel as several Queens of old took to tense debate over the identity of certain faces depicted on the screen. Ancient Kings huddled in the rear lusting after the liquid refreshment guarded by an antediluvian courtier under strict orders that not a drop should pass before the secession of formalities. A rousing good time was had by the hundred plus there to remember and me to discover.

#####

There is a sub-controversy over whether Americans on-balance approve or reject the Stimulus package. It’s fashionable to suggest that only inside-the-beltway Republicans are in the negative, while the rest of America is giddy in its enthusiasm. My take is that politicians of whatever stripe are enthusiastic – when did you ever encounter one who declined the opportunity to acquire and spend (someone else’s) money? And those who stand to be enriched are understandably overjoyed.

It is, however, the shrinking pool (the schlubs) who will pay the tab, not today or tomorrow but surely sometime in the future when the bill comes due. It is, sadly, our children and theirs who will be asked to repay the trillions or suffer from its default. Flash: it is reported that several Republican Governors contemplate refusing Stimulus largesse! Can you even contemplate the insanity? Refusing “free” government money?? Good golly Ms. Molly!!! And the Governator who says” send it all to me.” You can’t imagine the emotion that springs within me at the thought of my tax money being used to subsidize the California lifestyle.

#####

Michelle Obama on a televised tour of the White House kitchen spoke of the challenge to staff in preparing green vegetables that would be acceptable to the First Daughters. Many years ago I was taken to a restaurant in suburban Atlanta, famous for authentic Soul food. I recall the cuisine to be superb, but left a neat pile of collard greens on my plate, when an imposing matronly server walked up and bellowed in my ear “Eat’cha greens.” Worked for me.

#####

…the adventure appears determined to morph into springtime, but old timers simply smile when I inquire whether winter is truly past. To this point however, my quest for snow has been thwarted by the mildest winter in the memory of many here…
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2009-05 GEORGETOWN

2009-02-19T05:14:00.000-08:00

Despite some trepidation after my recent chute sur piste, I trudged back to the mountain and after one tentative run I was back in the saddle progressing at speed. The problem is that the voices, once undistinguished from the wind, then merely vague whispers, are now growing in volume. A French friend once remarked, after I professed my love of the raw oyster, “une huitre mauvaise,” just one bad one (is all it takes). I’m not sure, but the voices may be saying “une chute mauvaise…”

Regardless, I am once again a skier, desperately clinging to the hope I will survive at least until the nirvana of securing a free Senior’s Pass. I must report, however, that since attaining age 60, ski resorts have systematically raised the required age just ahead of me. At most mountains the magic number is now 70, and I have little doubt that as I claw my way to that exalted place, the threshold will again be bumped slightly beyond my reach.

#####

Dick Durbin, in response to Republican kvetching over the Stimulus Package, opined on the Senate floor “I wonder where the tears have been these last eight years when their President doubled the national debt?” Hold on, cowboy. Deep in the last century when I studied Civics (which I gather has been largely removed from the curriculum because it bores students and fails to impart warm fuzzies), I was taught that it is Congress that appropriates funds (and therefore controls spending). Has this changed? Has my fear of the early Alzheimer’s become a reality?

Now, granted, the President kept the Veto in his pocket and blatently encouraged spending, and yes, Republicans (not conservatives but Republicans) were in charge for six of those eight. But for Durbin, considered one of the more intellectually nimble of the federal Solonic community, to so charge is a startling indication of baseline intelligence in Washington (or perhaps more accurately what Washington considers to be the baseline intelligence of the American people).

And then comes Maxine Waters, unable even to read intelligibly the questions for bank CEOs written by her staff. In these days of challenge, whenever a ray of optimism peaks through, 15 minutes of C-SPAN is sure to yank me back to reality. As per Pogo, “We have met the enemy and he is us.” The widely regarded Atlantic Monthly commented about Waters “It's like watching your crazy aunt challenge your boyfriend to prove that fairies aren't real.” A generous evaluation I would say.

#####

I was recently warned to be careful of viruses before clicking on all the e-Valentine cards in my in-box. Just one more annoyance from which I have been spared.

#####

And so the die has been cast. If the Stimulus works, full credit should rightly accrue to the Administration and congressional Democrats. Failure should vindicate Republicans, who overwhelmingly turned their back on the legislation. (Enough crowing about bi-partisan support --3 votes does not bi-partisanship make: 1.4% of all Republicans; 0.5% of all of Congress). But wouldn’t it be nice if for once we could honestly evaluate results and declare a winner?

Alas, it will not be. Failure will cause Democrats to say it wasn’t their fault at all and find somewhere else on which to hang the blame (I’ve predicted Bush with be available to fill that void for years to come). Republicans will disclaim success no matter how obvious it appears. Politics is what it is, and we are not better for it.

#####

I confess that each time I hear my President speak I am bedazzled and can’t imagine a more mesmerizing experience, yet the next time is always more eloquent. If Barack Obama executes but one-third in reality what he delivers in rhetoric, we will have found in truth a man for the ages. But the down side, and there always is one, is that if he fails to deliver on the soaring oratory, disillusionment and despair may rise to epic proportions.

In the tsunami of his first 30 days and the euphoria surrounding the Stimulus, there has been a tidal wave of “what’s in it for me,” and virtual absence of the Kennedian “ask not what your country can do for you.” Perhaps the saddest part of this entire drama so far is the fact that the winners are the least responsible, and we poor schlubs who lived within our means, didn’t buy houses we couldn’t afford, and didn’t invest with charlatans promising wholly unrealistic gains, are once again paying the bills.

Sadly it is always so. Along the Gulf Coast, those who can’t be bothered with buying insurance and funding protective measures are rewarded with pastel-colored, furnished double-wide mobile homes from FEMA (i.e. from you and me), while responsible homeowners are left to fight with their insurance companies over whether damage was caused by wind or water (i.e. by definition, the plague that caused the destruction is that from which you are not (or least) insured).

#####

One of the most emotionally wrenching of human experiences is to be faced with a policy you neither support nor believe in, yet need desperately to witness its success. We already have ample evidence of how the radical left approaches such dilemmas (and yes I know you have heard it before but it is so starkly descriptive –“General Betrayus.”) How anyone could wish for the destruction of a society in order to further its political and social aims is, well, unspeakable.

I have grave reservations that current political efforts will return our planet to stability and our nation to promise, but I must hope (and work) for its success, even though it means that core values I live by will be relegated, perhaps for decades, but not forever, to backroom status. Part of the price we pay (some of us, anyway) for civilization is that we allow ourselves to be persuaded that there is a solution other than the one we favor.

…it has been a mild winter, and the snow I had hoped for has been sparse. But the adventure continues and with a seasonal change on the horizon, thoughts turn to new venues…
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2009-04 GEORGETOWN

2009-02-04T10:00:00.000-08:00

In 2006 Democrats made an assault on the high moral ground and Speaker Pelosi vowed to crush the “Republican culture of corruption.” By that time the 2008 Presidential campaign was in full swing and I can only surmise that those now in the White House never got the memo.

So now we have a tax cheat (brilliant, but still…) overseeing the IRS, another who will not take over Health and Human Services, a pay-for-play Governor who will not get to be Commerce Secretary, a Chief Performance Officer who will not get to perform, and, oh yes, the former Governor of Illinois who did what Illinois politicians have been doing since Statehood but got caught doing it. Gives new meaning to “Yes we can.” And our new President asks us to emulate the principles and ethics of his Administration. Now in the case of Secretary Geithner, does that mean….?

Hold on, sputters the left, “you guys on the right were just as bad.” Precisely! But when those who fancy themselves morally superior are found with their mitts in the public cookie jar, it can be particularly embarrassing. Good and evil are not the exclusive prevue of the left and right respectively, and those who so profess are morally bankrupt.

Funny how transgressions of the right are always sleaze while slips on the left are “inadvertent.”

#####

The RAM is on the block! Located in a building constructed in 1889, the Red Ram Restaurant and Saloon is a Georgetown institution, anchor of commercial 6th Street, kitty-corner from (en face de) Hotel de Paris, 19th century haute maison and now museum. Absent financial rescue it will be auctioned on the courthouse steps in mid-March. Actually the two other bar-restaurants in town – the Raven Hill Mining Company and Mother’s Tavern are also for sale and the once proud Alpine Inn – site of the original town train depot – stands empty. There are two bistrots in Georgetown – the Euro and the new Prague – both Czech!, and an assortment of coffee spots led by The Happy Cooker. Georgetown may appear busted, but it has been weathering boom-bust cycles since the gold and silver mining days. We will survive!

#####

The house Stimulus Package that passed without a single Republican vote is taken by many as proof positive of either moral courage or craven indifference. Whatever. But it will contribute mightily to the eventual transfer in ownership of the economy from Bush to Obama. Success will rightfully accrue to the new Administration and failure will be more difficult to hang on the old.

Buffoons like Limbaugh who want the Administration to fail (and the trailing Coulters who tried to say he really didn’t mean it) are (almost) beyond belief. The radical left’s active promotion of failure in Iraq (General Betrayus!) in order to embarrass Bush was unspeakably evil. Current efforts from the opposite direction are no less so.

Let me be clear (to coin a new White House phrase) and make no mistake (another) {LMBC/MNM}: I believe that conservative, democratic, capitalist, private enterprise principles are the best hope for our future, but if other tenets achieve positive and productive goals I will embrace them. How could any responsible citizen do otherwise?

#####

In December there was a mini brouhaha when a C-SPAN talking head asked liberal blogger and journalist Anna Marie Cox to define conservatism and she stuttered and sputtered. A bit like asking a moose to pilot an F-16, dontcha think?

As a public service I enumerate here my own foundations of a conservative philosophy:

1. limited government
2. individual liberty
3. traditional values
4. private enterprise capitalism
5. strong national defense

One and three are problematic and much debated even within conservative circles. Four is currently under siege notwithstanding its considerable success in the 8 decades since the great depression. Five is mocked by those with short memories, including my French friends who, in its absence would be munching weisswurst instead of le chien chaud and replacing circonflexes (^) with umlauts (Ü).

But the greatest of these is Two. It seems that most every day some insidious force chips away at my right to fall on my face, feel foolish for a moment, then pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again. Hilary Clinton’s village is closing in on me. Now LMBC and MNM, I am neither hermit nor anarchist but I do value the much ballyhooed American Dream. When you remove or dilute the ability to soar or plummet, you diminish the human spirit, a condition abundantly obvious on the faces of all who exist where freedom does not.

#####

Rhetoric lives! Despite genuine attempts to reach across Party and philosophical lines, our new President still refers in almost every public utterance to “the crisis I inherited from the previous Administration,” with nary a mention of the previous Congress’ piece of that nasty puzzle. In fact, during most of 2008 the President’s approval rating (“low 30’s, worst in history”) was a tag line in virtually every media release and political speech. Not true by the way, both Truman and Nixon sunk lower, and history is rehabilitating both, Nixon modestly and Truman substantially.

But virtually no mention of Congress’ rating plummeting to an historic low, south of 10% as the 2008 election approached. Oh, and by the way, care to guess who had the highest Presidential rating in history, not once but twice? You got it, the dreaded “W,” followed by Truman. Are we fickle or what?

#####

Recent habanera communications from some conservative readers prompted a re-reading of my recent posts, and confirmed that I do appear to have achieved the exalted status of offending virtually every segment of the political and social spectrum at one time or another. I was wondering what that warm glow was. I had assumed it was just a random je ne sais quoi, but now I know better.

And this serves as a fairly accurate gauge of amity. When comity persists after you have said something alien to the beliefs of an acquaintance, you can have some confidence that a bond exists which transcends political prejudice and partisan beliefs. Others fall eerily silent.

…the adventure continues and next time I may have a new mountain perspective…

2009-03 GEORGETOWN

2009-01-26T10:37:00.000-08:00

Georgetown from the Guanella Pass road, I-70 to the left, the lake at the far end... Click to enlarge.

January is dead in Georgetown, when the traffic dwindles to cross country truckers and weekend Denver skiers heading to and from Loveland, Keystone, Breckenridge, Vail, and A-Basin. And most of those pass by, stopping only for gas and a potty break at the Valero. But at least once a season, I-70 on one or both sides of the tunnel is closed for hours by accidents or up to several days by inclemency, turning the village into a bustling metropolis of misanthropes cursing the same Mother Nature they previously lauded for coating the slopes with glorious powder. I’ve yet to witness such a transformation, and contemplate renting out my living room floor to a gaggle of nubile coeds desperate for shelter. I also contemplate winning the lottery, peace on earth, and smaller government.

#####

Faithful and attentive readers will recall that a favorite subject of my pillory is Garrison Keillor. His early works were sparsely witty, with smiles found every few pages and good yuks few and far between. As an avid reader of his work, I can attest that as he has become “progressively” vile in his political rhetoric, he has improved the frequency and quality of his wit. Both Wobegon Boy and Pontoon were droll pleasures, and his latest, Liberty, should not be attempted in public places lest the reader become an object of concern through unsuccessful containment of excessive mirth (this from one who rarely succumbs to jocularity). The juxtaposition of hatred and glee might make a fitting PhD thesis for a budding sociologist.

#####

Finding Liberty on the library shelf produced a confounding moment as I couldn’t for the life of me remember if I had previously read it. The cover looked vaguely familiar. No matter. I realized some time ago, while searching for positive aspects of aging, that there can be a silver lining in the cloud of advancing maturity. It first occurred when, around page 85 of Mayle’s “A Year in Provence,” something seemed vaguely familiar. Alas, I had read it several years before, yet it provided near virginal pleasure in the reiteration. I have since re-read all of his work with but rare and occasional twinges of recollection, and am about to embark on a third go-round. I anticipate that I will soon be able to acquire a complete library of a half-dozen volumes that I will periodically recycle through my brain with great joy. As I truly enjoy just one in a dozen or so books I read, the near certainty of a pleasurable repeat of a previously enjoyed but entirely forgotten work will bring great comfort as autumn proceeds into winter.

#####

I wonder if the disintegration of the American family began with the introduction of the automatic dishwasher into the American kitchen. We used to eat as a family, then wash the dishes together, or more precisely Mom and the kids. Dad had the dinner table, asking piercing questions about the day at school and checking on chores assigned. Then Mom and kids repaired to the kitchen sink and put a human face on things, subtly redirecting assignments, advising on life and love, and promising to explain the difference between acute and obtuse triangles. Or have I been watching too many “Leave it to Beaver” reruns?

#####

With the stroke of a pen less than 24-hours on the job, our new President has “closed” Guantanamo. Well, not quite. He has “promised” closure within one year. Credit should come at the completion of a task, not the beginning. It occurs that a lion's share of the credit for the much ballyhooed change should accrue to the American people, who have by and large moved beyond several hundred years of intolerance and made a decision based on hope and promise rather than prejudice and color. That credit should rightly transfer to our new President, but only upon achievement. The European model takes credit for good intentions; Americans have traditionally rewarded accomplishment.

#####

Since Letterman made “lists” so popular I have gone off the concept. But while surfing my 26-channel TV universe, I came upon “10 heroes for 2008”, including a father-son duo, while traveling I-70 in my current hometown of Georgetown, CO, were so impressed by the steep canyons (some exceeding 60 decrees) they pulled over and went for a climb. Predictably they stumbled, fell a frightening distance, and the 9-year old son, finding his father bleeding and incoherent, used a cell phone to call 911. Having no idea where he was, he guided rescue teams by telling dispatchers when he heard their sirens. For this someone bestowed upon him hero status.

I have long been disturbed by the evolving definition of heroism. I would rather have awarded the appellation to rescue crews that risked their lives to bring them to safety. I do know with certainty that I would hang “Stupidest Person of the Year” on the dad.

#####

After near record high temperatures, it is finally snowing again. For those from other parts of our diverse planet who might find themselves in the high country, I provide as a public service local snowfall terminology:

Less than 6”: flurries
6” to 12”: dusting
12” to 18”: covering
18” to 24”: snow
Greater than 24”: dump

...the adventure continues as I dig further into the history, culture, and sociology of my current home...

2009-02 GEORGETOWN

2009-01-20T13:55:00.000-08:00

An historic day, and one would hope seminal as well, predictive of more genial times ahead. The day is reminiscent of January 20, 1981, when another President destined for greatness took the reins from an extremely unpopular predecessor. Would that our new leader enjoy the success of our 40th President, and the world prosper under him as it did nearly three decades ago.

An historic day, not perhaps in the words of Oprah Winfree “the best day in the history of the world.” The birth of Christ, July 4, 1776, and Columbus’ first glimpse of the Americas come to mind, but an historic day indeed. A day for pride, for hope, for reflection on both our progress and our promise.

And yet, George Washington was assigned a single military aide at his Inauguration, whom he dismissed as unnecessary. So near and yet so far.

The obvious cordiality among the incoming and departing Presidents and the First Ladies, and the warm embraces exchanged by Bush 41, Barbara, Hilary, and Bill Clinton. Then an MSNBC commercial break promoting Keith Olbermann’s upcoming program urging criminal prosecution of Bush, Cheney, and their aides for war crimes. So near and yet so far. Sad that great promise cannot seem, even for a moment, to overshadow intense hatred.

#####

On the stroke of noon the nation greeted a new President, yet at 12:06:23, with a simple “so help me God,” we reached the watershed. And now the hard work begins. Someone who counts such things has noted that our new President in his campaign made more promises that our past 3 Presidents combined. It is certainly a time for promises, many and great. But as not all can be fulfilled, prioritization becomes more than an abstract concept. As governing begins, so does the process of making difficult choices, which will tell us much about political courage.

Perhaps no better example exists, floating high behind the legislative floodgates, than the misnamed “Employee Free Choice Act” which would remove the secret ballot from union organizing elections. It will be swiftly considered by the House of Representatives as an acknowledged and unapologetic payoff for unwavering union support, and will be a powerful indicator of whether the call to great national purpose truly heralds an era of positive change or is simply another in a depressingly long string of empty promises and steely partisanship.

If the process is flawed, it should indeed be fixed. But it should not be trashed by removing one of the great cornerstones of egalitarianism. After a week of ceremony glorifying the greatness of America, the strength of its founding principles, and the enduring durability of its traditions, to cast aside a keystone of American democracy will be telling indeed. President Obama was elected by secret ballot, likewise all 535 members of Congress who will decide this matter. To suggest that the ACT will redress unfair tactics perpetrated by American business but will not be replaced by unfair tactics on the part of American Unions is not naïve but crass.

A case can be made, though surely rejected by many, that some actions of these past 8 years, however flawed, were the reaction of a nation in shock after the first devastating attack from beyond our shores. We did some bad things based on good intentions but flawed reasoning. And as we now move to correct injustices and mistakes, will we commit others of the same stripe and form. We’ll see.

#####

And a sobering footnote to a glorious day as the Dow Jones Industrials dropped 332 points. Fat cats getting theirs, it might be suggested, but those who fail to recognize that Wall Street and Main Street are indeed joined at the hip will feel pain not of their own making, but searing and intense nonetheless.

As the Nation’s Capital shivers in near zero wind-chill, the adventure continues under deep blue sky, brilliant sunshine, and near record high temperatures…

2009-01 GEORGETOWN

2009-01-13T09:41:00.000-08:00

Holiday malaise has kept me from the Blogosphere for a bit, but judging from the absence of outcry from my readership I assume all are muddling through despite the dearth of witty pearls and droll commentary.

And the alert will note that I have belatedly realized that I can include pictures, all from before the holidays when we were graced with snow. The "busy" street scene is from the Christmas market. Most days you can walk down the middle without fear of vehicular mayhem. Click to enlarge.

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Boredom has increased my interest in local commerce, and perusal of the local Help Wanted Ads led me to the following: (a) at the local, highly acclaimed community school, “experienced Pre-School teachers, $8-$9/hour”, and (b) at the local motel, “maids/housekeepers, $11 - $13/hour.” Depressing but no surprise that we value clean toilets and hospital corners over the education of our children. Could that be why we have so many more day laborers than innovators?

#####

My new president continues to make impressive pronouncements, propose stratospheric (if vague) solutions, and surround himself with bright stars and few ideologues, which is already eliciting anguished wails from the left. The plethora of memorabilia on the market is astounding, particularly since so few substantive memories have yet been created. Coins with JFK and BHO side-by-side, sneakers that by some accounts are outselling Air-Jordans, and now a call for an official holiday in his name. It occurs that even Jesus had to perform the odd miracle before he was awarded December 25th.

My own expectations remain elevated. Pols traditionally spend political capital on furthering their partisan agendas. At this early point at least it appears that Barack Obama is cashing his in on the quest for national unity. His expressed “inclination” not to prosecute Bush and Cheney for war crimes, the one great dream of the radical left, is already elevating Pepto Bismol sales to record levels.

I suggested sometime back that the new Chief Executive was likely to receive more heat from the left than the right. From Rick Warren to Robert Gates and Hilary Clinton, to hedges on exiting Iraq, taxing the rich, and closing Guantanamo, our new leader is learning as does every President that there is more than a subtle difference between elocution and execution.

The fear is always that a leader’s heart will refuse to pump blood to his brain, and common sense for the common good with go the way of the 2008 economy. So far, at least, we appear to have a pragmatist, and although it causes some pain in the admission, a pragmatic liberal can sometimes be preferable to a blind conservative. Recent Chief Executive pragmatists include Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton. Good company!

And by the way, I have always been proud to wear the badge of conservatism, while it appears that liberals in their shame have now shed their appellation in favor of the more politically-correct sounding “progressive.” What was it Shakespeare said about a rose? Proud noveau-progressives are undoubtedly too young to remember the 1960s motto of the quintessential American beacon of private enterprise and its spokesman Ronald Reagan: “At General Electric, Progress is our Most Important Product”.

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My life these days is so dependent on Mother Nature that I should be immune to surprise, yet any celestial institution that can cut a surgical path reducing one residence to rubble while leaving neighbors left and right untouched deserves both admiration and respect. I am barely 10 miles east of the Continental Divide (landmarked by the Eisenhower Tunnel) and the streets of Georgetown are void of snow. Silverthorne, just 10 miles west of the Divide sports 12-foot high drifts in its parking lots and a consistent cover of white – replenished almost daily – that will conceal asphalt until mid-spring.

I long ago discovered that I love snow and hate cold and especially wind, although the east coast damp chill that seeps into bones is infinitely more insidious than its dry counterpart of the west. A cold Paris drizzle can wither the spirit while crisp Colorado nights are bracing and bring comfort. Of course the debilitating Gallic dank drives the populace into warm cafes, toasty bistros, and dreamily olfactory restos. It’s an ill French wind that blows no good, and I have as many happy memories of shedding a winter chill with a “Cotes du Rhone chambray” and a confit de canard as I do of August romps in the Jardin Luxembourg and sweltering in long summer lines at the Louvre or the Musee Hotel de Ville.

#####

Governor Jindal of Louisiana may be a rising star on the national political scene, but he erred grievously in allowing his minions to cancel a proposed disaster response contract that promised me lucrative employ in the land where les bon temps rouler. And so it looks as though I will be stuck in paradise for some time to come, unremunerated but content.

…the adventure, propelled by a howling Chinook wind, whistles through the trees …

GORGETOWN/BOZEMAN 001

2008-12-24T14:01:00.000-08:00

On rare occasions we stumble serendipitously upon the truly special -- seminal moments, priceless glimpses. Less so for me, as I am notoriously anti-social, quite likely to politely refuse social invitations and never known to wangle same.

But several days past I was invited to a private (privileged but not exclusive) Christmas gathering at the Hamill House in Georgetown, a historic structure built in 1867 and named for its second owner, a British silver mining magnate.

A brisk walk (in truth a labored hobble) in sub-zero weather to the House and what at first appeared to be the quintessential mind-bending cocktail gathering. But the scene quickly warmed with traditionally garbed madrigal singers from the local high school – what some teens do in lieu of drugs – and an enthusiastic if less than philharmonic brass ensemble.

St. Nicholas arrived in traditional regalia, looking more like a Greek Orthodox priest than our modern Santa Clause. Lights dimmed and there followed the lighting of a 12’ Christmas tree, with real candles by an acolyte’s candlestick, the first by an octogenarian who told of the candle she lit in the same room as a 5 year-old, several others in memory of departed local historical figures and firefighters who gave their lives saving residents from fire and pestilence, another for deployed military. Then a particularly poignant offering for the fathers and mothers who sacrificed their sons and daughters in order that we might all remain free.

There followed a reading of “The Night Before Christmas” by a 6 year old in whispered tones that none could hear but all appreciated. Several additional Carols by the madrigals, and just before we departed a local historianne in hushed voice showed me (why me I cannot say) a dark corner where the 1930s restoration team had secretly left their initials. “Not one in 50 of the locals know about this,” she said, “and I suspect a majority of Historical Society members are also unaware.” An insignificant item perhaps, but a Christmas gift I will not soon forget.

Christmas wishes all around, and we dispersed into the night. I walked home under a moon CNN later informed me was the fullest in 20-some years. A friend reading my previous BLOGS commented that I might have found my home. I surely have found “a” home. The final resting place is yet to be defined.

#####

Year’s end is of course a time for reflection, analysis of the past year and contemplation of the next. Year 2008 brought copious quantities of hope and anguish. The anguish will surely subside and the hope has yet to be fulfilled. Let us trust that Will’s Law of Survival holds: when the world is in the toilet, hold on, it MAY get worse but it WILL get better. The converse is that when the world is all roses and sweet cream, enjoy it to the fullest, as it will not last.

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Departed snowy Colorado, leaving behind a foot of snow and zero degree temps. Arrived in Montana to find 18” and -10 degrees. But the warmth of family more than compensates for Mother Nature’s cold breath.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

GEORGETOWN 002

2008-12-14T07:13:00.000-08:00

The Georgetown Christmas Market – note that it is not a “holiday,” “winter solstice,” or “year-end” market – was a truly festive event. I was instrumental in the vending of some $5,250 of wieners and sliders (mini White Castle-ish burgers), coffee, hot chocolate, and spiced cider, for the benefit of the local Community Center. The crowd came largely from Denver, and judging from the number of inquiries whether the hot dogs were “pure beef, not pork,” I gather that those who keep Kosher were not put off by religious implications. There were few African Americans and Muslims, but one Burka-clad young woman with a delightful smile wished me Merry Christmas. I don’t know exactly why that made me feel so good, but it did. She obviously was enjoying my season as surely as I might take pleasure in a Sedar, Kwanza celebration, or Ramadan gathering.

#####

Weather has been delightful with an 8” snow day followed by several of sun and relative warmth, where white streets return to asphalt and the cycle repeats. Loveland Ski area is pristine and uncluttered, at least on weekdays when my midweek season pass is valid. The plan has been to arrive early and be among the very first to enjoy groomed runs while the few other hardy souls nearby seek the powder my ancient legs abhor. That worked well until earlier this week when I played “67 year old idiot pretending to be a 25 year old hotdog”, bruised a muscle and now hobble about in abject contrition. The family Kenesiologist consulted long distance suggests that absent any further sportive lunacy I should be back slopeside in a week or so.

#####

I know it must be right-wing paranoia obsessing over alleged media bias, but I have noticed a strong tendency of the media to highlight the party affiliation or political leanings of Republican/conservative miscreants, while ignoring or burying those of Democrats/liberals. The Associated Press story that broke concerning Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich’s arrest on corruption charges mentioned that he was a Democrat only in paragraph nine. Googling stories on such malefactors as Congressman Duke Cunningham or Alaska Senator Ted Stevens invariably lead with the word “Republican” or better yet, “Conservative Republican.”

Before the 2006 election, Speaker Pelosi waxed long and loud over Democrat pledges to clear Washington of Republican corruption. Little outrage was expressed over Louisiana Congressman Jefferson’s stash of $100,000 in cash in his freezer (he was not censured by his Party, and it took the people of Louisiana to turn him out), and countless other examples of Democrat malfeasance.

A consistent theme of this Blog has been that good and evil, right and wrong, sincerity and cynicism, et. al., exist in both mainstream parties, in all political circles, and at every social strata. Yet I am consistently provoked by academic luminaries, social sophisticates, Hollywood personalities, and liberals of every stripe who maintain with haughty certitude that they lay exclusive claim to high moral ground. Horse pucky!

#####

As I traveled dark night into day some weeks ago, I was reminded of my departure from Galveston earlier this year. I caught the 2am ferry to the Bolivar Peninsula (me and a 50’s-something pickup driven by a chap who looked like he bought it new as a retirement gift to himself). Then along the Gulf road (which no longer exists courtesy of hurricane Ike) swinging due north toward the metropolis of Winnie and Interstate 10 east.

All alone on a narrow country road in a pitch black world until someone came up fast behind, attached themselves to my bumper, bright lights reflecting off my rearview. After several miles I slowed down. He did also. My subsequent acceleration was matched with exactitude. The lady in my GPS told me it was 38 miles to Winnie. I thought she sounded concerned.

A random thought left a tight grip on the wheel as I imagined myself as a young black man returning from college with 2 friends zonked in the back seat, or with my wife cradling our sleeping baby. The image of liquored-up good-ole-boys fondling shotguns in the back of manure-encrusted pickups certainly lingers, and is a favorite of those who sip a crisp chardonnay and smirk at anyone with sunburned arms and fingernails concealing dirt. While such frightening images exist and should never be forgotten, they are somehow never equated with gangs of color that control inner-city neighborhoods and prey on innocents who wander across their imaginary boundaries. Sadly, hate knows no border, and can be found in every corner of our world. Those who believe it exists only on the other side of the philosophical tracks fan its flames as surely as those who roam the streets.

My appendage hung close and as we approached the lights of Winnie and the single track gave way to a four-lane, I hugged right and he swung left. At a stoplight under a street light I spied a geezer, older it seemed than I, and clearly no threat. No harm, no foul, but a ton of perspiration.

#####

Some months ago in pre-dawn darkness (I used to say running, then it was jogging, now just limping along) I was flagged by two husky individuals who asked if I had any money. I slowed long enough to suggest that I did not work out with the family fortune strapped to my back, then continued on, picking up the pace just a bit. They did not pursue. But such chance encounters do tend to focus the mind.

I have a friend whose philosophy is that if accosted, immediately give up whatever is demanded. She has family members who have experienced some unpleasant confrontations, this in a location that prides itself on the security of its citizenry, certainly in comparison to the mean streets of America. Your wallet is not worth your life, I believe she would say. But I wonder in such a situation when you hand over your tangible belongings you also forfeit your humanity? Of course I have no idea how I would react in such a hostile situation, but I do hope that I would emerge with my dignity intact.

#####

About 15” and still snowing this morning. The temperature today will not reach double digits, and as the wind in Georgetown can routinely reach 50 MPH, folks don’t much mention the wind chill factor. They simply stay indoors or bundle up and accept Mother Nature without whine or whimper. Christmas lights abound and will be judged this week. The many small bridges that cross Clear Creek and its several tributaries sport lights and holiday greenery. Gives one a warm feeling despite the harshest winter blast.

…the adventure is at speed and gaining momentum…

GEORGETOWN 001

2008-12-03T06:11:00.000-08:00

I’m never so content as when I rise before 3am on a crisp morning, leave a bed I have occupied for 6 hours and never will again, wake the night clerk to check out, enter a dark Interstate occupied only by the occasional trucker, find an Oldies station circa 1955, and settle in for a 12+ hour haul. I soon become a Pip or the 4th Vandella supplying Gladys Knight or Martha backup in the “shoo-whop-a-doo” style that defined my youth. The occasional refrain will recall a scene some 5 decades gone – slow dancing with Madelyn Hatz at the Friday night dance, slow dancing with Sandy Smith at the Holy Cross dance, slow dancing with Ruthie Bennett. I lost my interest in dancing when the slow variety ceased currency.

When the station finally fades and static overwhelms the music, I listen as long as possible, and lament the loss of a friend as I reluctantly begin the search for a new strong signal.

At this time of year, rural stations play genuine Christmas carols, not the cutesy tunes that commercialize and secularize the season. At truck stops and rural “filling stations” young girls and old men don white-trimmed red Santa caps, smile and say “Merry Christmas” without guilt. It evokes warm feelings, feelings that don’t come along as often as I recall they used to.

#####

An Econo Lodge in Greenville, IL and next door Mabry’s (10% discount for hotel guests, excluding alcohol and specials). A Belgian framboise on tap, and not a single lite beer! Trendy city Sports Bars and yuppie watering holes feature Miller Genuine Draft (in a bottle, of course), 4 lite beers and Becks or Heinekens. But more and more I run into out-of-the-way spots that feature real beer, like the Keg & Barrel in Hattiesburg, MS with 79 world brews on tap, or Cooter Brown’s near Tulane in New Orleans with over 100 in the keg and some 300+ in bottles. Grimbergen Doppel draught. Yum.

#####

The trip west passed uneventfully until about 5am on November 29, east of Limon, CO on the last leg of the journey. Wet road and snow flurries caused me to back off the accelerator, but all of a sudden I was traveling southeast while the road was paved in a northwesterly direction. Black Ice is something we hear about and are on the lookout for a patch thereof, but in this instance the entire roadway was so anointed.

Even 30 MPH in 4 wheel drive was a challenge, and over the next hour I passed at least a dozen wrecks, some just catawampus off the road, several overturned, all attended by the efficient Colorado State Police and local Rescue Squads. Near Denver the road became snowpacked, a condition certain to drive the Washington, DC driver round-the-bend, but a blessing on the plains of middle America. Traction of any stripe is your friend.

#####

As the first rays of light crossed the morning sky, I caught a majestic “V” of geese on the wing, and suddenly the lead peeled off and drifted to the back, while another took the leadership role. I wondered if this was some sort of Union guaranteed rest period, and whether those in the back could catch a NASCAR-like draft from their harder worker brethren (or sistern) farther front. The kind of sight that makes me smile.

#####

Georgetown (the former mining town in Colorado, not the inside-the-Beltway cocktail party haunt of progressive sophisticates), is home to 1,344 brave souls and now, one eastern immigrant. It sits surrounded by mountains some 10 miles from the Eisenhower Tunnel that insures year round transcontinental travel on all but the nastiest of blizzard days. Loveland ski area, the anti-Aspen of the Centennial State is 10 miles away, the stomping ground of down-home skiers and snowboarders with nary a socialite in sight. I join them tomorrow.

Georgetown has 4 restaurants (American, Mexican, Chinese, and Czech!), 3 Motels, 2 gas stations, and Mothers, a local bar in the finest Wild West tradition (happy hour PBR's for $1.50). No Golden Arches, no martini bars, and the lone gallery features “Western” art. I am home! Ensconced in a delightful apartment at the rear of a curio shop, one block from the main (and only) drag. In the mid 1800s the town was famous for its gold and silver mines. Today it achieves some notoriety when I-70 west of the Eisenhower Tunnel is closed due to blizzard, blowing snow, or avalanche threat. Population can near double and beds become coveted possessions that stranded tourists scramble for, and (say the locals) occasionally become aggressive over.

#####

While securing my membership card at the exceptionally well-appointed local library, I spied a hand-written plea for help at the upcoming Christmas Market. My response evoked a quick and passionate reaction from the volunteer organizer who lamented his annual agony over securing organizational support. “You are in luck,” I enthused. “I have a long and successful history of managing events large and small.” “Can you cook and sell hot dogs?” he asked. I assured him I could learn. My shift begins at 10am this Saturday.

…the adventure is back on track…

VIRGINIA 009

2008-11-22T04:11:00.000-08:00

Is anyone out there old enough to remember when pro football players would make a spectacular run, execute a bone-crushing tackle, or catch the impossible pass, then simply return to the huddle or retreat to the sidelines? No crazy dancing, undisciplined gesticulating, or wild celebration. It was their job and they performed it with pride and dedication, and felt no need to incorporate show business into the mix.

This of course was at a time when they were paid pitifully little for the abuse they took, had limited access to rehabilitation, and were absolute captives of their team owners (i.e. no free agency). But now on Sunday afternoon just about every play finds someone on the field morphing from gridiron monster to karaoke queen. You knock someone down and you strut. Catch a pass and do a Jacko Moonwalk. Sack a QB and beat your breast like an unbridled King Kong. And all this restrained by penalties for “celebration.” How far we’ve come from the days of Norm Van Brocklin, Y. A. Tittle, and Jim Brown.

#####

Two days before the recent G-20 gathering in Washington, French Finance Minister Christine Lagarde said that “we see friction between Anglo Saxon capitalism on one hand and European capitalism on the other.” D’ya think? Mercifully, Sarko’s attempt at the meeting to fold North America into the EU was received with the healthy suspicion it deserved. For the record, I take no umbrage at Europe’s social and political inclinations, so long as it does not insist that I march to their drummer. Were you aware that in France a shop owner is not allowed to advertise a sale any time (s)he pleases, but only during semi-annual periods when the Government permits.

#####

I’m thinking of organizing a pool to predict the future date at which George W. Bush will cease being blamed for every planetary deficiency. I would think that somewhere north of the year 2030 would be a good bet. Clearly the Bush Administration has presided over substantial disasters and been directly responsible for some. But even the most rabid partisans cannot attribute 100% of global failure to our 43rd President. Well apparently, yes they can.

#####

Former Michigan Congressman David Bonoir just appeared on my TV to push for the proposed legislation that would, among other things, abolish the secret ballot for Union organizing campaigns. He maintained that is the only way workers will be able to “attain a living wage.” A quick Google tells me that the average Detroit auto worker today makes $75/hour, never mind the legacy percs and job guarantees. Where do I sign up?

And if abolition of the secret ballot in Union organizing is high on the new Administration’s agenda, perhaps some fears raised by “right-wing crackpots” are not so bizarre after all. How anyone could keep a straight face while advocating the removal of one of the most fundamental tenants of democracy is, well, a bit scary. Democrats in the House just elected their leadership by secret ballot, but Unions shouldn’t be so constrained. Say what?

And yet I choose to believe, unless and until proven wrong, that my new President will keep his promise to “bring us together.” His cabinet choices so far have been spot-on in my view. And my confidence is bolstered by the outrage coming from the far Left. The appointment of Hillary Clinton as Secretary of State has caused blown gaskets all over the radical landscape. In my view it takes a big man to appoint as his global spokesperson a woman who referred to him as “hopelessly naïve” in the area of international affairs. And while the Right takes umbrage at the appointment of the highly partisan and self-described “junk yard dog” Rahm Emanuel as Chief of Staff, my view is that his challenge will be not to contain the Right but to hold at bay the mad dogs of the Left.

…the adventure is coming back to life. Next time we meet I will be somewhere else…

VIRGINIA 008

2008-11-15T03:14:00.000-08:00

I was never much of a football player in my youth, but lacking strength and stature, I tried to balance the deficiencies with what was in the day called “pluck.” I remember one Pop Warner coach demanding that I try to block a punt, and as I still recall the terror (not to mention pain) of having a high-velocity pigskin slammed into my unprotected face. My helmet was just that, a head covering and nothing more. Today there are multiple bars and Plexiglas windows that render the face impenetrable from the outside world. Such defensive shield would have been a great help against the kid who tried to gouge out my eye at the bottom of a scrum where I was attempting to recover a fumble.

Nor was I was ever much of an Elvis fan, perhaps because he nearly got my nose busted one dark night back then. Ronnie was a recent transplant from Tennessee to our suburban Philadelphia neighborhood, and his entire family was very partial to “the King,” who had not yet been crowned but was well on his way.

Returning from a Friday night dance at Holy Cross (mass on Sunday and financial juggernaut on all other days), Ronnie had words with a throng of miscreants who slandered Elvis in the process. Upon reaching home, he committed the error of mentioning the scene to his father, who then demanded details of the revenge extracted. Upon learning that no blood had been let, he summarily hustled us, a misbegotten gaggle of 3 weenies plus Ronnie, into his car and we spent the next half hour driving the dark streets of Clifton Heights looking for the offenders. I came closer to my creator that night praying in fervent silence that we would not find the thugs, who in my mind had already gained half a foot and 20 pounds apiece. Alas, my prayers went unanswered, thus beginning a long stretch of ecumenical failure to communicate.

Find them we did, and father ordered us out of the car with explicit instructions as to how we should rearrange the body parts of these damned Yankees, ignoring the fact that all of us save Ronnie were just that. My short life flashed before my eyes as Ronnie went for the purveyor of most explicit slander, who just happened to be the smallest, while one of his chums, larger by half, sidled up to me and inquired “how bout we go a round or two.” Hoping to lighten the atmosphere I answered, teeth chattering, “around where?” But he took my attempt at levity as further provocation, and advanced apace.

“I’ll fight’cha in those woods outta the light,” and I took off on a tear, never stopping until I reached home well over a mile away, then shrinking for a considerable time in the shrubbery lest he see me enter and mark my doorway for a later return and unspeakable retribution. I tried mightily the following Monday to convince my cohorts that I had indeed done battle in those woods, but I was not to be believed, and became thus forever marked as one not to be quickly chosen when gathering resources for a rumble. It was a slight that I have never regretted.

Clifton Heights, PA was a well established Italian enclave, the residents of which were none too happy with the emergence of a post WW-II community of row houses into which moved all manner of undesirables, including Protestants and Jews, though no African Americans, as integration thereabouts in the early 1950s was as foreign in the Philadelphia of Pennsylvania as to its namesake city in Mississippi. I got a taste there of what it must be like to be a minority, as the horn rimmed glasses Mother chose for me coupled with my slight build won me the nickname Jewboy, a moniker not even perfect attendance at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church could shed.

Entertainment was stickball in the street, Saturday cowboy movie matinees (20 cents admission and 5 cents for Good & Plenty), and running behind the truck spewing a fog of DDT that passed through the neighborhood on humid summer evenings. Sport was boxing at the Police Athletic League on Saturday mornings, plus football and baseball, the advantage being that they were played outdoors on hardscrabble sandlots and didn’t require the extensive buildings and paraphernalia so necessary to modern day youth activity.

My off-and-on best friend was Joey, known far and wide as Pig Eye, so tagged by his admiration for swine, the origins of which were never discussed or long forgotten. For months on end, every Tuesday after school, he would offer “Hey Ritchie, my Mom’s makin tomato pie. Come for dinner.” Pie, I thought, with tomatoes, hmmmm. “Naw, I can’t Joey, I gotta get home.” It was long after he stopped offering that I first encountered pizza at the Holy Cross carnival, made as only Philadelphia Italian mamas could. Adults (and we kids when we could get away with it) washed down the tomato pie with Dago Red wine – in those days the word was a label of pride and not a slur.

Philadelphia and its environs never held much attraction for me and I rarely returned after college, but you ate well there with the best hoagies in the world – with mortadella, capicola, provelone, and projute, as the locals called ham, not a SUBstitute. And while Phillie cheese steaks are served around the world, the only one I ever found beyond the 190 to 192 zip codes that measured up was prepared by a an expat. Ed. Note: The only way you can be sure you’re in a genuine Phillie restaurant is if the waitress asks “Whattle yuz have”?

...the adventure has stalled in naive anticipation of meaningful employ, but will soon move westward, or otherward if opportunity knocks...

VIRGINIA 007

2008-11-04T22:21:00.000-08:00

Today I have a new President-elect. For those paying attention it should come as no surprise that the winner was not my first choice, although the runner-up did little to enflame my passions. It is probable that I will disagree with many Obama Administration programs going forward. Yet Bill Clinton emerged, after a shaky start, as a responsible leader of domestic policy, and one can always hope.

But Barack Obama is my president, and I will afford him the dignity and the civility due his office, and accept the judgment of the American people who have elected him, something those on the left have been unable to bring themselves to do these past 8 years.

While there is a strong likelihood of what I will do, there is metaphysical certitude of some things that I will not:

Ascribe to the new President’s every move a diabolical motive.

Revile him, and all who support him, in the most vicious and evil terms.

Trash and demean his wife and children.

Relentlessly ridicule his deficiencies.

Pass around on the Internet crude jokes, stupid cartoons, vile
accusations, demeaning caricatures, or outrageous rumors.

Join any radical fringe of condemnation.

Lie in wait and pounce on his every error (and he will commit a few)
and loudly proclaim his idiocy, ineptitude, or treasonous intentions.

Attend movies or watch TV programs that revile and humiliate him.

I will, in other words, try my best to dissent without abandoning civility, to object without condemning, to support alternatives without trashing the original idea. I will try my best to act with respect, and not as the left has conducted business since the year 2000. I will try to be better than they are.

Most important, I will applaud his successes, even those that spring from programs I do not embrace. I hope his policies fashion a better America and contribute to an improved planet. And if that means I must admit the superiority of some liberal policies to my own conservative values, I will pay that price willingly. Sadly, in this “enlightened era,” convictions and prejudices often supersede our desire for a better world, as in the radical left actively promoting failure in Iraq (General Betrayus!) to further embarrass Bush. That is not progress, but idealistic jingoism.

Like many life pursuits, be it a new job, a personal relationship, even a tangible purchase, the outcome, and in this case the wisdom of the electorate, will not be known for some time. The American people twice elected George W. Bush and in the end did not like what they had wrought. Now the slate is clean and a new scorecard stands ready.

God speed, Mr. President-elect.

VIRGINIA 006

2008-10-28T03:52:00.000-07:00

You may see me on Colorado ski slopes this coming season, but not in the company of unruly urchins. It came down to a choice between ski instructor and a correspondence course in brain surgery, and I confess to having taken the easy way out.

#####

I received an e-mail (from Old Europe, no less) with a color photograph of a Colorado lawn sign, in perfect depiction of the ubiquitous GOP campaign poster, but which read:

Geezer
&
Dingbat

I responded that as a proud geezer, I heartily approve, and also noted my delight in the left’s fixation on the Lady Sarah. I have learned from 5+ decades of looking over the political fence, that when the left mocks and ridicules, it is usually in panic mode. Remember how Ronald Reagan was the object of much derision and scorn until the rest of the world anointed him one of the better presidents of the 20th century. I absolutely love the way she gets, as the Brits would say, “up their nose.” But I must hand an accolade to the left, which has successfully portrayed her as grossly unprepared, while their own candidate’s resume is as bare as a snowbound mountain cabin’s larder in February.

#####

If the outcome next week is accurately reflected in current polls, one of the more odious scenarios I will have to endure going forward will be the genuflective ass-kissing of old Europe by the American intelligencia, desperate to once again garner its approbation and adoration. Actually, I have been amused by European horror at America’s go-it-alone attitude these recent years, as I felt it actually reflected a European, notably French, attitude.

One of my favorite quotes comes from the revered General De Gaulle who returned triumphant to France in August 1944, surrounded, of course, by a protective phalanx of American GI’s, and was later asked about post-war cooperation with the allies. To which he sniffed "France has no friends, it has only interests." This at a time when the graves of thousands of American soldiers interred in eleven military cemeteries in France has not yet had time to sprout grass. Now that, folks, is going-it-alone on steroids.

And it calls to mind the historical footnote that both De Gaulle and Churchill were rejected by their citizenry shortly after the war. It appears convenient to have heroes available in times of strife, so long as they retire quietly to the closet when the battle is won.

#####

I tuned in last night to “60 Minutes” for my weekly dose of “what’s wrong with America,” and heard Andy Rooney tell me that writers must be egotistical, as they need believe someone out there will be interested in reading what they scribble. An interesting thought that gave me pause, but I think, at least in my case, he missed the mark (again).

Though it may sound mawkish and whiny, I live by the dictum of expecting no accolades for my efforts, literary or otherwise, as none will likely result, and thereby one avoids disappointment through anticipation. And in those rare instances where an affirmative result is achieved, it comes as an unexpected call on a cold rainy night from an long-lost friend. And so, those who receive these words should feel no guilt if they react as the reader who noted “I am in the smallest room in my home with your BLOG before me. Soon it will be behind me.”

#####

The perfect economic storm may be morphing into the perfect political tsunami. But a word of caution to those with hands on champagne corks. Our political system has always worked best when “checks and balances” is more than an abstract notion in a civics text. Having the White House and both Houses of Congress in the hands of one party – either party – has not historically been in the best interests of the nation.

Nor, in fact, in the best interest of the “ruling” party. Remember how the euphoria of 1992 quickly evaporated and resulted two years later in the first legislative power shift in 40 years. Ditto Bush and Congress from 2000-2006. There is little doubt that a Democrat sweep would result in a hard left turn. And history tells us that such maneuvers usually end in whiplash and rarely result in an improved landscape. Liberals with capital gains should read the fine print of the Obama Economic Plan.

…the adventure continues as the west beckons…

VIRGINIA 005

2008-10-24T03:45:00.000-07:00

I’m conflicted over the “$$ for grades” craze sweeping the nation, where kids as young as 7 are awarded cash bonuses for good marks in school, with one program in New York even forking over cash for “C” grades. My enthusiasm for private enterprise (and not the misnomers “free enterprise” or “free markets” – neither markets nor enterprise are ever free), embraces rewards (monetary or otherwise) for exceptional performance. And yet I experience a vague unease when compensation need be proffered for behavior that has historically been rendered for the simple satisfaction of personal achievement.

We have already seen emergence of the oxymoron “paid volunteer.” Will the next step be to propose a stipend for citizens that report illegal behavior (we’re almost there with police hotlines remunerating tips “that result in arrest and conviction”). Will Boy Scouts request $2.00 for each aged citizen they escort through traffic? Will Red Cross workers pass the tip jar after rescuing the victims of famine and flood? Is there nothing we won’t do for free, for the simple joy of helping our fellow man?

#####

Flash: In the midst of the global economic crisis, Leesburg, VA, where my hat is temporarily hung, has approved $25,000 for a dog-walking park. I am considering petitioning for a diamond encrusted cat scratching post in the town square.

#####

A classic definition of bigotry is to ascribe negative attributes to an entire group or class of people. So those who condemn a minority as “lazy” or in any way inferior, are bigots. Likewise when Limbaugh labels all liberal females as “femi-nazies,” or Savage calls autism the "illness du jour," that would be bigotry (or in Savage’s case, bigotry compounded by idiocy).

Then what do we do with Garrison Keillor who hangs the sobriquet “freelance racists, misanthropic frat boys, shrieking midgets of AM radio, tax cheats, nihilists in golf pants, brownshirts in pinstripes, sweatshop tycoons, hacks, fakirs, aggressive dorks, Lamborghini libertarians,…” on Republicans, not just the ones he particularly dislikes, but “Republicans.” Or Nancy Pilosi who finds total Republican fault but no Democrat complicity in the economic meltdown despite the pivotal involvement of Freddie and Fannie, long the darlings (and benefactors) of Democrat politicians. Or Air America/Daily Kos/MoveOn.org who, try as they might, cannot find an ounce of redeeming social value in anything conservative. Bigots, all? D’ya think?

And Good Golly, Ms. Molly, yes there are bigots on the right as well, scads of them. It’s just that I find the left so smugly superior in believing themselves better than “those people” on the other side of the philosophical tracks. Bigots to the left of me; bigots on the right.

#####

Today, mid-October, it is 3 degrees Fahrenheit in Georgetown, Colorado, and thoughts turn to white streets, ski slopes, and frosted window panes. And as in a dream in the midst of this reverie, I received (so help me) an offer of employment as a ski instructor in Colorado!!! If you find that difficult to process, coming from one bumbling well past the midpoint of his sixth decade, I did also and still do.

Thoughts of rosy-faced cherubs being turned into modern day Suzy Chapstick’s were quickly replaced by images of herding an unruly gaggle of 7 year olds across the frozen tundra. A final decision hasn’t yet been rendered, but I don’t anticipate seeing this métier on any future resume of mine, although it might mitigate the suspicion that age prevents me from walking and chewing gum simultaneously. And it might give pause to any of you who contemplate plunking down a king’s ransom for instruction at your favorite ski resort. Think of what you might get!

…the adventure bundles up and slaloms ahead…

VIRGINIA 004

2008-10-16T04:20:00.000-07:00

One significant beneficiary of the global economic meltdown is McDonalds, which will now have an ample supply of available labor from the pool of former financial executives out on the street. The next person who welcomes you to the Golden Arches may be your former bank manager or a recently departed Lehman Brothers Vice President.

Legions of Baby Boomers ambling toward retirement will be forced to muddle through the work-a-day world a bit longer, as their retirement nest egg shrinks to pea size. And still I encounter those who snigger at the ”fat cats” getting theirs, totally oblivious to the fact that their own pension fund has been sliced in half, and the likelihood that their companies will continue generous retirement contributions in the near future reduced to the probability of pork taking wing.

And yes, the giddy smirks on European faces become more muted daily as they twig the word “global” in “global economic crisis” really does include them. Of course, the USA garners the lion’s share of blame for the mess. If only all the others weren’t following so closely, emulating all our horrid practices they so publically abhor.

#####

Cable TV in Loudoun County, VA, has 38 channels devoted to public access (and another 10 or so reserved), an amazing number considering that until recently Britain had only 3 channels total, shared equally by the BBC (an excellent source for Botswanian crop reports) and gardening shows. This is not to be confused with BBC World News aired around the world, an excellent source for Botswanian crop reports as well as daily updates on the waning influence of America on the world stage.

Most of the public access channels feature community interest material, including a public school channel whose only apparent service is to announce school lunch menus for the coming week. In my day we would simply grab a tray and get in line. Approaching the steam table we would ask “What is it?” and Bertha, white uniform festooned with gravy stains and congealed Jello would answer in her charming eastern European accent “Thirty-five cents.”

But I did learn of one positive innovation. Local schoolchildren can now have their parents pay for school lunches by credit card on the Internet. Would have saved me years of humiliation (not to mention calorie deprivation) as bullies shook me down for my lunch money.

#####

Joe Biden talks about “my friend, John McCain” in terms describing someone I would not want to meet in a dark alley. Adds new meaning to adage “with friends like that….”

#####

I spied a lone McCain/Palin sign in the neighborhood yesterday amidst a sea of Obama/Biden posters. You can actually see shudders emanating from passers-by in this “upscale” community and see noses rise a half inch or so as they scurry past. Fun to watch.

#####

Predatory lenders are rightfully mentioned as villains in the economic meltdown saga. And as I have previously noted, irresponsible borrowers must also take a hit. Of course blame centers (as does virtually everything these days) on 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. But ironically, both the Clinton and Bush Administrations tried mightily but in vain to curb the evil twins Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, condemned by many as prime architects of this tsunami.

And who, you may inquire, were the foremost champions of these out-of-control “Government Supported Enterprises”? Most of Congress as it turns out, led by the likes of Barney Frank, Chris Dodd, and Charles Schumer, Democrats all who prattle on endlessly over the “failed policies of the Bush Administration.” Now it’s clear that there is blame aplenty assignable to all quarters of the political spectrum, but self-proclaimed white knights riding through the village in heavily soiled uniforms presents an image of egregious deceit. There are no clean hands here.

Clearly the White House and most Republicans lacked the courage and fortitude to challenge more aggressively the hypnotic notion of “homeownership for all,” but they were not the prime progenitors of this crisis. Perhaps that’s why Bush’s approval rating is way up there in the mid 30’s, while Congress lurks around 12%, headed for single digits. And yes, McCain did take about $25,000 from Freddie/Fannie over the last decade, while Obama garnered over $125,000 in less than 3 years.

…the adventure stumbles occasionally, but moves ahead…

VIRGINIA 003

2008-10-09T08:57:00.000-07:00

I don’t like, and regularly refuse to read lengthy treatises, whether they be articles, BLOGS, or whatever. Yet I find myself increasingly loquacious, with earlier posts averaging around 500 words and recent efforts exceeding 1,000. And so I have determined to write fewer words, hopefully not lesser thoughts. That might also mean more frequent posts, which some might find annoying. Thankfully, the Almighty (Bill Gates, of course) has endowed us with the delete button, an ever present comfort in times of garrulous excess.

#####

I may be the only person on the planet who has never consumed a peanut butter & jelly sandwich. As an adult the combination just didn’t appeal to me, and as a child the effort was beyond the mean culinary talents of my sainted mother, whose idea of gourmet fare was Spam garnished with a lettuce and sliced carrot salad. On special occasions she would toss in a handful of tiny marshmallows. May provide some explanation for the pull I feel toward L’Isle de France, even as certain other other factors push.

#####

I wonder if folks realize there are just over 100 days until the 2012 U. S. Presidential election campaign begins, assuming a hiatus between November 5 and January 20, an assumption that carries no assurance of fruition.

Someone (it sounds like Daniel Patrick Moynahan) once opined that we are all entitled to our own opinions, but not to our own facts. I have observed that this dictum is suspended during the political silly season, and now that campaigning is a 24/7/365 sport, appears to have been removed from the books entirely.

#####

Why, I wonder, are the young so overwhelmingly liberal, yet traditionally grow more conservative with age? Winston Churchill was misquoted (though only slightly) as noting If you're not liberal when you're young, you have no heart. If you're not conservative when you're older, you have no brain. The premise is anecdotally if not demonstrably true. The rationale should be unsettling for liberals.

#####

Geezers take lots of prescription medicines, and we are always warned against using heavy machinery, and thus I am constrained to ask: how heavy? A blender but not a bobcat? Electric tooth brush but not electric lawnmower? And two of the more popular drugs on the market, neither of which I’ve tried, caution me in the first instance against thoughts of suicide and in the latter to be on the lookout for erections lasting more than 4 hours. I wonder if taken together they cancel each other?

#####

I have taken to observing children at play, from a distance so as not to incur the suspicion of the ever vigilant guardians of morality, a practice as unfortunate as it is necessary in our troubled times.

Scarlet Ribbons was written in 1949 and performed by over 20 artists, from Doris Day and the Kingston Trio, to something called the Bonzo Dog Band. It’s a tender song about a child who prays for scarlet ribbons, for which her father searches the town in vain, yet they mysteriously adorn her bed at the morn. It used to bring me soothing images of the supernatural, but lately when I hear it I think of Elizabeth Smart, snatched from her bed in Salt Lake City.

Were the song written today, the ending might go something like this:

Through the night my heart was aching
Just before the dawn was breaking
I looked in and on her bed in gay profusion lying there
I saw ribbons, scarlet ribbons, scarlet ribbons for her hair

Called the cops and they came screaming
Convinced them that I wasn’t dreaming
Red lights whirling, sirens blasting
What a nightmare everlasting

Searched hi and lo for perps a’lurking
Insured my Glock properly working
Changed the locks; installed alarm
All to shield my child from harm

If I live to be one hundred
I’ll never forget that scare
Pervert leaving scarlet ribbons
Scarlet ribbons for her hair

…the adventure appears stalled for the moment, but should soon continue…

VIRGINIA 002

2008-10-05T03:43:00.000-07:00

Loudoun County, VA is touted as the fastest growing political jurisdiction in the United States. Several California counties dispute this assertion, although it has been alleged that they include in their population count species not certifiably human.

Some months ago in the Loudoun edition of the Washington Post there appeared an article lamenting the woes of a local Hispanic couple, he a trash collector (oops, Sanitary Engineer) –- a worthy but not notoriously highly compensated profession -- she a housecleaner. They had bought a $750,000 single family home and were now unable to make the required payments.

Several thoughts here. I consider myself upper middle class from a 2-wage earner household, kids out of college and relatively debt-free except for those pesky tuition obligations. I would no more think of buying a ¾ million dollar home than I would take a cruise around the world. Though I could afford both, I would simply consider it fiscally irresponsible.

Second, I can hear aloud the anguished cries proclaiming these poor folk must surely have been inveigled into an inappropriate purchase by a Simon Lagreesque lender whose sole intent was to swoop in and reclaim the property when disaster hit. Possibly so, but I am also aware of studies that show many students nowadays have no interest in learning basic math, including those annoying items like percentages and decimal points, integral to the calculation of interest rates and required monthly payments. It seems that while we have a failure to communicate, there is also an unwillingness to learn.

#####

Conservatives, the few of us left hanging about, are understandably anguished over whether to pour water on the smoldering flames of economic greed. There was a time when free market economics and private enterprise were tied to a social contract mandating responsible commerce with substantial penalties for ignoring the common good. Apparently such laws have been repealed.

But the best argument for action has come from Barack Obama who suggested that one should not ignore the blaze in a neighbor’s home simply because he was irresponsible and left food on the stove or smoked in bed. True enough, but must there not be some punishment for those acting irresponsibly, irrespective of their social status, and why must the poor schlub who plays by the rules always end up sharing disproportionately in the pain?

Reminds me of the frustration of Gulf Coast residents who did the right thing and bought insurance on their real and tangible property. Neighbors who did not received bright, new, pastel-colored double-wide FEMA-supplied manufactured homes rent free for at least two years, while the properly insured were left to fight with insurance companies denying claims left and right on the theory that Katrina was a “flood” and not “wind” event.

#####

I’m struck by the disparity between elocution and execution. To be well spoken has value certain, but true leadership requires more than rhetoric. Liberals are fond of demanding their government “walk the walk” rather than simply “talk the talk.” That cry has been strangely silent these past months, yet has been resurrected to question the qualifications of a lowly Governor to assume the mantle of highest office. To some, being the CEO of America’s richest state is inadequate preparation for leadership, while voting “present” in the Senate is a sure qualifier.

#####

And yet amidst the rhetoric swirling about the current economic mess, Senator Obama has been saying things reminiscent of Clintonomics. Where I able to believe these thoughts sincere and not simply campaign oratory, I could easily embrace such a domestic policy.

#####

There is a significant push in the American media to expose the “human side” of the current Iranian President. And there is much discussion over whether American leaders should have a chatty sit-down, perhaps to elicit some clarification of what was really on Ahmadinejad’s mind when he called Israel a “stinking corpse that we will wipe from the face of the earth.”

Such talk was relatively common in the months leading up to the fifth decade of the twentieth century. It was largely ignored with tragic consequences, so much so that a half-century later we build shrines and museums to honor the victims, and scholars opine as to how the world could have been so unfeeling and insensitive.

Yet Ahmadinejad rises to celebrity status in certain quarters and is treated to cute interviews with the likes of Larry King where he’s asked about his children. I can hear a young Larry now, “Tell me, Dolph, do you and Eva contemplate the patter of little feet around the compound once you sort out this Ayran world domination thing?”

#####

I have long felt it improbable that there could emerge serious competition to the distasteful gaggle personified by the likes of Rush Limbaugh and Michael Savage. As a conservative I cringe on those rare occasions, usually while driving, when I catch the foul snippets of these raving cretins. I know the Air America crowd and the Daily Kos bloggers regularly try their best, but they just never seem to rise to the level of hate and vitriol that so effortlessly emanates from the right wing radio waves.

But there is a new and formidable challenge on the left from MSNBC, led by Keith Olbermann and his Air America spawn Rachel Maddow. While the despised O‘Rreilly has dissenting views on virtually every program (who, granted, he does not always welcome with grace), I don’t believe I have ever seen on either Olbermann’s Countdown or Maddow’s new Show (which MSNBC runs back-to-back in prime time, and then, just to be sure no one misses the point, re-runs the same two hours immediately following). The “usual suspects” from liberal media are trotted out 5 nights a week, while Olbermann makes unrelenting charges against all things conservative, Republican, and Fox, and his guests nod vigorous approval, like the bobble-heads they so clearly are.

Perhaps the good news is that no one watches, as MSNBC in prime time is dead (long dead) last. But yes, I do watch, clicking on (and then off when the pain becomes unbearable). I am otherwise unable to know what is being hatched on the far far left, unlike the legions who despise all things Fox but never tune in, gaining their knowledge, I gather, through a mystical form of radical accretion available only to sophisticates.

And it might be noted that Olbermann & Co., are simply a response to the ludicrous Limbaughs, but the latter is heard on a rag-tag conglomeration of (mostly) rural radio stations, while MSNBC is a cable entity tied to one of the 3 national networks, whose parent is General Electric, a Fortune 500 giant whose stock has mysteriously been sliced in half over a time period roughly parallel to its hard left turn. Funny the way these things go.

#####

It has become fashionable in some circles to proclaim “I will never lie to the American people.” (Why do I hear someone in the background saying “I am not a crook?”) A short half century ago the liberal icon FDR proudly acknowledged his penchant for lying to the American people, claiming that in times of peril it was essential to obfuscate in order to confuse and confound the enemy. I don’t hear many Democrats condemning their hero, on the contrary loudly proclaiming that they will never be caught inflagrenti descepto.

…the adventure limps along…

VIRGINIA 001

2008-09-25T13:28:00.000-07:00

It’s a funny old dog, this life we muddle through. Ike has devastated southeastern Texas, and it looks like there will be work there, but my Louisiana gig has ended, as it was specifically related to the evacuation and not long term cleanup. So rather than hang around the Gulf waiting for the phone to ring, I elected to slip back to Virginia, where, after a 12 hour drive I stopped in Bristol, Tennessee/Virginia, a town with a state line literally bisecting it. Enjoying a beer at the Stateline Bar, where I’m told you can straddle the border while sipping an adult beverage, my cell rang and I was asked if I wanted to go to New Mexico, a place to which some 12 hours earlier I had been 800 miles closer. But as it turns out I’m being “saved” for a larger challenge in Texas, and so for the moment I am back in the Old Dominion.

#####

Seeing pictures of Galveston Island, where I was living less than 3 weeks ago, is sobering even for a crusty cynic. The demolished Joe’s Crab Shack, a favorite CNN backdrop, was 50 ft. from my door. The hotel on stilts over the Gulf that provided background for many cable TV news shots was but a quarter mile away. I passed it on my early morning jogs and wondered about its fate in the event of a direct hit. It appears to have survived, although the roadway from Seawall Blvd. to its front door is gone. It’s virtually certain that my former accommodation is now flotsam bobbing in the Gulf.

#####

I had been on ice for so long I was beginning to feel like a fish. In the disaster response business, having able bodies (and in a pinch the not so able) close at hand and ready to roll is coin of the realm. And so when Gustav finally departed Louisiana and most of the residents were returned to their place of origin, I was told to “stand down but stand by” in anticipation of Ike, and thus until recently I remained parked in Baton Rouge. As I am not a first responder (I like to think of myself as a close second), I’m usually not deployed until the initial chaos abates. And so I sat ployed, awaiting marching orders.

At some point I will likely be heading to Texas, but everything depends on the companies I work with having contracts in the devastated areas. Many agreements are negotiated in advance, and “pre-positioned.” But for an intruder as rambunctious as Ike, there is always a scramble to put boots on the ground, and I am working to see that my steel toes are included.

In the meantime I watched My Cousin Vinnie for perhaps the 3rd time and continue my search for quality in film. I am currently watching Deep Impact, about to see the earth destroyed unless Robert Duvall can save us all. He ruined one of my favorite restaurants in The Plains, VA, so he owes me one. Postscript: Although the ending is a bit fuzzy, I gather that much of Europe, Africa, and the North American east coast were devastated, but California was spared. Hollywood lives!

#####

I prefer to patronize what are referred to as “budget” hotels (Ramada, Days Inn, Comfort Inn, etc), as I rarely use such establishments for other than slumber, and I find it unsettling to pay $150 and up to rent a mattress for 6-7 hours. The exception being long deployments where the addition of kitchen facilities (small fridge, microwave, stove, and a few utensils) is appreciated after a 13-14 hour shift, when the closest eatery is a smoky sports bar ass-to-tincup with good ole boys leaking testosterone.

It appears that the North American budget hotel industry has been taken over by former residents of the Indian subcontinent. I have been in a half dozen such establishments in the past 6 months, and all but one featured Asian management. This is solely an observation without prejudicial overtones, although I do note a tendency toward hyperactivity that makes the housekeeping staff edgy.

And perhaps I am subliminally biased, as a Mr. Patel recently ordered me from his establishment in Mississippi after I questioned his “special, preferred” $75 rate when I could book the same room on the Internet for $55, a 25+% reduction. I had never been banished from a public accommodation before, but when his agitation reached the level of threatening gestures and hi-octave shrieks, I decided that mediation would be inadvisable and negotiation fruitless. Wither the spirit of Gandhi?

#####

While driving north through Tennessee the radio treated me to John Lennon’s landmark song Imagine where I was asked, among other things to ”Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can…” What I wonder is whether John wrote those immortal words in The Dakota, his $3 million Manhattan apartment, or perhaps on his private jet sipping champagne with Yoko. It’s striking how the entertainment elite with their staggering wealth are so anxious to lecture those beneath on the evils of commercialism and sloth. Kind of like Al Gore traveling 3,000 miles in a private jet to give a 45 minute speech on the dangers of global warming and conspicuous consumption. I’ll compare my carbon footprint to yours anytime, Al.

#####

This is not a happy time for private enterprise. The global left is giddy over America’s financial woes, and such bedfellows as Iran’s Ahmadinejad, American Trade Unions, and much of Western Europe are jostling to be first in the queue to denounce the excesses and rejoice in the fall of the “fat cats.” What seems to escape these “nattering nabobs of negativity” (thank you Spiro Agnew) is that the bulk of union pension funds are invested in the stock market, Europe will surely suffer more deeply in the long run (although they accept pain more readily than North Americans), and the more off-shore entities and foreign governments acquire
U. S. assets (considered a horror by many), the more they have a vested interest in America’s recovery. When the fat cats hurt the lesser cats also feel the pain.

But for the time being the “America last” crowd, as Ronald Reagan dubbed them, both within and beyond our shores, are having quite a party. Smirks and self-satisfied sneers abound, and we will surely see increased regulation as a result. Some is warranted and appropriate, but it will certainly be too much, too late. As in Sarbanes-Oxley, the much heralded “business reform” legislation whose ultimate end is driving more and more global commerce to Europe, Dubai, Singapore, etc., and away from American shores.

Liberals always want more regulation, more government. Conservatives crave the minimum. The ideal is somewhere in the middle, and the trick is finding that balance. We almost always overcorrect. Something about escaped horses and barn doors belatedly secured.

#####

An interesting quote has emerged from the campaign coverage: ”Don’t vote for a president who promises to keep you from being stupid.” I think that might exclude one and all of the current field.

…the adventure continues…

LOUISIANA 002

2008-09-12T11:39:00.000-07:00

I promised myself when I started this Blog that I would not become a slave to it. As it happens, I don’t write when I am overwhelmed (understandable) or underwhelmed (questionable); but only it seems when whelmed, and that occurs less and less in my world. But when unencumbered, there is some motivation when encumbrance appears on the horizon. And so, as Ike looms, I move to button up Gustav.

#####

As is often the case, the goal was deceptively simple, its execution less so. Evacuate tens of thousands of Louisiana residents from the most vulnerable Gulf Coast Parishes and return them safely after Gustav. Transportation assets included over 700 coach buses, supplemented with school buses driven by National Guardsmen, paratransit vans, ambulances, Amtrak trains and both military and commercial aircraft, including 2 Ryan Air 737s, even though Ryan Air has no North American routes! Did they ferry from Dublin, I wonder?

I found myself in the Louisiana State Emergency Operations Center (EOC), a cavernous room in the State Homeland Security HQ. Some 600 souls working 12-15 hour shifts (I pulled a mind-bending 22 hour marathon at the height of the storm), including the Governor’s Office, DHS/FEMA, military (National Guard, Army Corps of Engineers), NGOs, political liaison (State House and Senate), Public Affairs, and at the core of the operation, 16 ESF stations. These are Essential Support Functions, originally designed by FEMA to cover critical needs in time of disaster.

My role in this monster tapestry is ESF-1, transportation. I work with the Louisiana state Department of Transportation and Development, arranging, documenting, monitoring, and troubleshooting the evacuation. By pure happenstance my station was located directly beside a makeshift podium, and several days ago I looked up to see Gov. Bobby Jindal readying a short “pump-up” speech to the assemblage. Several hours later I came face-to-face with DHS Secretary Chertoff delivering similar inspirational words. As he finished, my training as a White House Advance Man kicked in. I caught his eye and said “Thank You Mr. Secretary.” He turned to me, smiled, shook my hand, pivoted, and departed the room, leaving 600 people asking who the hell was the guy he shook hands with.

Shortly thereafter I was transferred to the graveyard (6pm – 6am) shift, and was therefore between the sheets 24 hours later when The Prez did his bit. No great loss, as I gather the crush to be photographed with The Man got a bit crazy. I have long believed that I was the only federal official in our nation’s history to have not a single grinning handshake photograph adorn my office wall.

Repatriation was more challenging than the evacuation, for while time pressure was not a factor, the evacuees were spread over substantial geography (6 neighboring states and northern Louisiana) and often not in the best of moods after enduring long days and uncomfortable nights days in makeshift shelters with overflowing toilets and no air conditioning. But return they did, and by most accounts the effort was judged a success. Then Ike appeared on the horizon.

The challenge now is to convince those returned to harm’s way to flee anew. Even though Ike promises to be stronger than Gus, and could well have a significant impact on southwest Louisiana, anecdotal evidence suggests that many, particularly the poor and infirmed, i.e. the most vulnerable, will resist. Not a good sign.

#####

For years, decades actually, I have proclaimed that my favorite movie, the only one I would recommend, was Picnic, starring Kim Novak and William Holden. Factoring out the Tom Mix and Gene Autry matinees featured each Saturday at the Clifton cinema, where I spent my 25 cent allowance on admission (20 cents) and a Good&Plenty or the 50’s equivalent of Skittles, I haven’t been in movie houses more than a dozen times in my life, provided, of course, that aircraft do not qualify as theatres.

Something has changed, and it is surely me rather than cinematography. After years of believing that virtually all Hollywood products and the vast majority of foreign efforts are drivel unworthy of critique or even condemnation, I am discovering that there is indeed quality, however rare, in film. Within the past week I have been treated to Potter (Beatrix, not the kid) and Secondhand Lions, two outstanding stories of love the way is should be, not what it has become.

These are films I might have once been embarrassed to promote, and now enthusiastically champion. One might suggest that age or sentimentality are encroaching; perhaps, but I would rather believe quality discovered. Of course neither received Oscars. Each lacked the requisite brutality, vulgarity, and banality so prized in Hollywood.

#####

Ike threatens the very spot I inhabited less than 2 weeks ago. A favorite cable news shot location (with the hotel built on stilts out in the Gulf in the background) is less than 2 blocks from my recent Galveston digs. Ike may well be the 08 Katrina, and I am grateful to be out of harm’s way.

I’ll likely be heading out of here soon, exactly where, TBD

The adventure continues…

LOUISIANA 001

2008-09-01T04:49:00.000-07:00

Dawn broke with deceptive calm over New Orleans on 30 August. I was ensconced in a 3rd floor corporate apartment technically within the New Orleans city limits, but just a shot-put throw from Metairie, quite close to where I spent several months in 2005 working for the Army Corps of Engineers. The Corps was under tremendous pressure, facing allegations ranged from shoddy work 4 decades ago when the original levees were constructed, to malfeasance surrounding the current restoration. Academics, activists, and a broad assortment of stakeholders (and stake wielders) weighed in on both sides of the argument.

That debate continues today, immeasurably heightened by Gustav’s imminent visit to the Crescent City. Cynics posit that Gustav might well be the final judge of the Corps’ work. The engineering challenges are huge, and I have no doubt that the Corps’ efforts have made the area safer. Whether safe enough is Mother Nature’s call.

#####

Well, there’s nothing like a strong Cat 4 hurricane to get my phone ringing. Yesterday I toiled in anonymity, virtually ignored by one and all. Today (August 30)I am a highly trained response professional in heavy demand. Three hours ago I was in New Orleans reposing on a Barkalounger watching a Mayor Nagin press conference. Now I am in the Louisiana State Department of Transportation Emergency Operations Center in Baton Rouge, getting briefed on the plethora of plane, train, and automobile transportation being mobilized to evacuate up to 30,000 residents from Gustav’s path. The current emphasis is on special needs residents -- those infirmed, physically or mentally challenged, and those without transportation. In the time it took to drive the 75 miles to Baton Rouge, Gustav bulked up from a middling Cat 3 to a strong Cat 4, and he appears to be going for 5, the Grande Enchilada on the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane scale.

#####

It is now 5am on 1 September, and the first rain and wind squalls are lacing my hotel parking lot. If the government (federal, state, and local) richly deserved condemnation for their collective response to Katrina/Rita/Wilma, so far the response to Gustav has been impressive. In the area I am working, a collection of federal, state, military, and private sector contractors have mobilized and dispatched some 700 busses (coach and school), Amtrak trains, countless ambulances and special needs vans to move thousands of residents to north Louisiana, and to Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee and beyond. Tourists were bused to Louis Armstrong airport, and military aircraft were placed on alert to move stragglers and anyone caught in a last minute surge. All this with qualified drivers, sufficient fuel, accurate directions, medical personnel, pet accommodation, etc., and so forth. Wags and talking heads will analyze the effort, and it will be found wanting (as wags and talking heads always seem to find), but it is immeasurably improved from what it once was.

#####

While still in New Orleans I spent some time with the Red Cross and found it no less dysfunctional than my Katrina/Rita/Wilma experiences. A stark contrast to the rigorous efficiency I am surrounded by here in Baton Rouge. I have told senior Red Cross officials in Washington that the overwhelming volunteer composition of the organization is both its greatest strength and most obvious weakness. But there is massive resistance to change. In the aftermath of the horrendous 2005 season the Red Cross brought on board as President a retired army general to improve operational efficiency. She lasted less than one year; she didn’t fit the vaunted “Red Cross culture” so passionately embraced by headquarters staff. It is a caring but dysfunctional culture that does not well serve its clientele – the poor, disadvantaged, dislodged, bedraggled victims of Mother Nature and international terrorism.

#####

The big question this morning is whether Gustav will become a quatre cinq? Apparently not. And the thought occurs: Gustav und Hanna. Awfully Teutonic sounding, or so it seems.

A lady on my TV just questioned whether Gustav would bring “The Rapture.” Now there’s optimism for you.

If there has been an overreaction to Gustav, so much the better. New Orleans Mayor Nagin, with his penchant for hyperbole called this “the mother of all storms” in one of his many press conferences. A bright spot in Katrina’s dark cloud is that she focused attention on the potential depth of Mother Nature’s wrath. A good thing.

The adventure continues…

TEXAS 002

2008-08-28T13:33:00.000-07:00

Galveston is, as previously noted, a beach resort overrun with sandwich shops and open air bars replete with old men sucking on longnecks (beer bottles for my uninitiated sophisticate readership) and gazing lazily toward Cuba. I occupy one of those solitary stools on occasion, and as Pogo might say “I have seen the enemy and it is I.”

#####

Texas tykes have begun another school year, and local news informs that the Texas legislature (the “Lege” made infamous by Molly Ivans and others) has passed a law making it illegal for students to offer teachers gifts in exchange for grades, a practice that was apparently in wide use by youngsters scrambling to avoid being “left behind.” This follows by several years a law mandating that students must have passing grades in at least some of their current courses in order to be eligible for sports (i.e. football).

I have been told that some of the largest sports books outside of Vegas exist for high school football in Pennsylvania and Texas. Lest that seem improbable, I can attest to the absolute chaos that reigned one Friday evening in a Keystone Commonwealth tavern when the cable channel showing a local high school football rivalry suddenly went blank. A car was dispatched (I swear) to the local cable company office half a mile away, and the picture re-appeared some 8 minutes later, likely avoiding miscellaneous bloodletting and sundry carnage.

#####

Update from the age discrimination front: The company that was all over me to manage a major project for them, has, since learning of my high school and college graduation dates, been struck mute. No surprise. CNN and MSNBC cannot mention the name McCain without noting his age. So convoluted has the rhetoric become, that CNN has glommed onto the phrase “oldest non-incumbent to be nominated.” Of course his political affiliation may have also been a factor. In less than 30 minutes of CNN entertainment last evening, the talking head referred to Michele Obama 3 times as “First Lady,” before being reminded that the appellation is premature.

#####

Locals refer to this area simply as Galveston, but with Gustav bearing down on the Gulf, I notice the parlance is shifting to “the island.” With only two paths of egress, the tail end of I-45 across a causeway that intersects the strip, and a ferry to the Bolivar Peninsula on the eastern tip, the term “evacuation” takes on new meaning. A bartender told me that twin sisters Katrina and Rita were responsible for silencing much of the “it won’t run me out, I’m planning a hurricane party” bravado. Gustav has not yet entered the Gulf, but I see lots of 4x8 plywood sheets being whisked about in the beds of F-150s and Silverados.

#####

The plan as of yesterday was to depart “the island” tomorrow on the 3am ferry for the Bolivar peninsula, meander the coast a bit, then catch I-10 for New Orleans and a planned rendezvous with an acquaintance laboring away to erase the lingering remnants of Katrina. Gustav and Hanna may have something to say about that, and at the moment I am drawn to where this all began. If Mother Nature so directs, I will head to Hattiesburg, MS and its strategic (some might say unfortunate) location 75 miles NE of New Orleans, and 75 miles directly north of the Mississippi Gulf Coast where the Girl Scout Hilton awaits, a pavilion behind the Hattiesburg Red Cross building where a ragged collection of volunteers spent 3 weeks sleeping on cots after Katrina.

And so, the next time we meet I will definitely be somewhere else.

The adventure continues…..

TEXAS 001

2008-08-20T07:17:00.000-07:00

I’m 17’ above sea level, and I know this because the sea is less than 100 yards from my door and there is a 17’ seawall between it and me. At the moment it is raining, pelting actually, and the noise from the roof drowns out the TV. Makes one wonder what a Cat 1 hurricane would sound and feel like.

#####

As a younger man I would typically seek out challenges the more arduous the better, perhaps in an effort to prove myself worthy of some cosmic trial. But now I confess to being drawn to less demanding pursuits, and while watching the Olympics yesterday I may have glommed onto something. While viewing the rowing competition, described as one of the Games most demanding, I noticed the chap in the back with a little megaphone exhorting the actual rowers to ever greater effort. Now I gather the responsibility includes determining and communicating the proper cadence, but I couldn’t help fanaticizing the acquisition of Olympic Gold for aerobic screaming. Something to look into.

#####

My accommodation here in Galveston is a recently converted garage, clean, quiet, funky, dry, with all modern amenities, fully furnished and parking at the door. I walked to the water’s edge and squinting I could almost make out tropical storm Fay gathering steam in the Central Atlantic. During all my previous experience along the Gulf I was under contract to companies that promised “swift and early” evacuation, although this was never necessary. This time I’m on my own, and separated from the mainland by a causeway, which causes me to think ahead, hence perhaps the name.

#####

Pedagogical gurus fret over the likelihood that youngsters using calculators will eventually lose the ability to perform manual calculations, a result that may or may not hasten the downfall of civilization. In a similar vein I fear that if deprived of my vehicle GPS, I might enter a spiral of perpetual geographic confusion, and fall victim to the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle.

My fancy, expensive Garmin (which became much less expensive the very week after I bought it) sped me breezily around a Dallas rush hour accident that completely closed I-45, and led me through some convoluted and poorly marked spaghetti in Houston. I am indebted to the lady in the box, who instead of admonishing me when I accidently or purposely ignore an instruction (no “make an immediate U-turn” scolding), simply and pleasantly says “recalculating.” Would that those around me were as understanding of my deficiencies.

#####

I’ve been warned about Texans by a close acquaintance charged with serving the needs of vacationing Lone Star residents, but so far no great evil has befallen me. They’re not very good spellers (I actually passed the “Cavalry” Baptist Church) and they do have some odd road signs, including one appearing every few miles that warns “State law requires that all warning signs be obeyed.” Glad they clarified that for me. And I have noticed a tendency for some (I assume out-of-staters) to add an extra “s” to the State name, likely a political commentary on the populace.

#####

Most folks I’ve met along the planet’s byways are rather inarticulate in describing their political proclivities. Liberals talk in generalities about justice for all of humanity and saving the earth, to which conservatives respond “tree huggers and bleeding hearts.” The right professes to promote individual responsibility and personal freedom, which the left dismisses as the “haves” screwing the “have-nots”.
My own conservative leanings were molded on the belief that however well-intentioned, government has a well developed knack for bollixing things more than the forces of nature originally designed. My own decade as a federal bureaucrat solidified these feelings, and as time passes I am greeted with a continuum of examples that confirm these inclinations.

Government efforts to stamp out discrimination of every stripe provide a wealth of illustrations. Efforts to eliminate age discrimination are a relatively new phenomenon, and arrived on the scene just in time for me, as before entering my 7th decade I always seemed to have more opportunities than the time to execute them, but afterward I was left in a wasteland of “don’t call us, we’ll call you” responses.

In recent times I encountered two instances of age discrimination so egregious and well documented I felt they were slam-dunks, at least until George Tenant forever trashed that sobriquet. I pursued neither, preserving a life-long track record of neither bringing suit nor being successfully sued (though several have tried).

Besides the federal government, every state and most local jurisdictions of reasonable size proudly sport an EEOC, while most NGOs and many companies feature the equivalent. In the “age” arena they boast of federal and state statues forbidding (on pain of severe punishment) employers from asking applicants their date of birth.

But I am now engaged in a mating ritual with a company that claims to have great interest in my services, and the last hurdle they require of me is to specify the exact month and year of my graduation from high school and college. Now it has occurred to me that they may have actuarial talent on staff that could invoke some complex algorithm to elucidate what my government has taken great pains to protect me from divulging. All perfectly legal.

I’m told that Asian cultures revere age as much as western society distains it. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time.

#####

Were I to seek a Masters in Sports Medicine, my thesis would be titled: "Comparison of jogging in 60 degree weather at 10,500’ and at sea level in 90+ heat and 100% humidity". Research would be concise and conclusion as to preference terse: “Neither.”

#####

Mother Nature often seems intent on pursuing an equal opportunity posture, and is at the moment steering Fay through Florida and away from Texas where Dolly and Eduard made landfall. But some are now calling for the lady to enter the Atlantic, gain strength, then turn left and rumble through the panhandle and possibly the Texas Gulf coast. Film at 11.

…the adventure continues

COLORADO 002

2008-08-09T07:34:00.000-07:00

High intrigue on the free local bus. A (very) ragged person taking his good time ambling aboard was admonished by the driver to expedite the process. Words were exchanged, and as the bus was departing the station, driver slammed on his breaks and demanded VRP’s immediate exodus.

VRP refused, and in fact suggested, rather politely, that if driver could not treat his passengers civilly, it was he who should exit the vehicle. Driver then radioed his supervisor to summon the authorities, and departed the bus, leaving motor running.

Then things got interesting. VRP, sensing an opening, leapt up and slipped into the driver’s seat, emitting a maniacal cackle. Several brave souls (female) determined this should not pass, and cleverly created a diversion by shrieking at the perp (now no longer a passenger) the Spanish equivalent “Oh my god, he’s going to kill us all.” Distracted perp jumps up and makes a very unwise move. Instead of bolting the scene he heads for the driver with fists clenched and obscenities sputtering.

Willy Sutton would have been jealous. Three local police cars and 2 sheriff’s vehicles descend on the scene, and it soon appears that this is not just one of your typical “$750,000 fine and 16-years in jail” capers. It seems that his brief stint in the driver’s seat has escalated the offence to busjacking (notwithstanding the absence of vehicle movement). Virtually ignoring the perp, who by now is beginning to twig that his outburst is being taken far more seriously than he thought possible, the assembled constabulary pull out rule books and begin a heated debate on what charges to levy.

Then I see perp, who had been standing with hands behind his back virtually begging to be manacled, looking furtively at his backpack lying on the ground near the group. He edges closer, but alas, just before he executes a snatch and split, one of the keen-eyed cops spots the feint and orders him to the ground. Uncharacteristically, I found myself rooting for the perp, to no avail.

I suspect that in Summit County a bank robbery warrants calling out the National Guard.

#####

High intrigue, Part Deux. Some weeks ago, the Denver Water Commission, which controls a monster dam in Summit County, closed the well-traveled Dam Road one midnight without advance warning to citizenry or local officials. The road is all of 3 miles long, and I-70 runs parallel with convenient exits at either end. But locals rose in high dudgeon, and everyone from the Governor to the Girl Scouts weighed in. Unspecified “security concerns” were cited for the closure. Fever pitch was reached when the local Fire Chief tried having the Water Commission Director jailed for “blocking an essential emergency route.”

I am happy to report the road has now re-opened from 6am to 10pm (perhaps on the theory that terrorists prefer darkness, 911 notwithstanding). Police, at $42/hour overtime, according to the local paper, stand at each end watching traffic whiz by, stopping the occasional truck for a peak inside. But erring on the side of caution, 18-wheelers over 13,000 pounds GVW are banned.

Water rights in the west are serious business. Historical footnote: When the dam was constructed in the late 1940’s it displaced the entire existing town of Dillon, which re-emerged several miles away, with many of the original structures jacked-up and hauled to their new location.

#####

I suspect a lack of scientific validation, but on the theory that hurricanes, like lightning, tend not to strike twice in the same place, I have elected to follow Edouard to Galveston, TX., the island south of Houston directly on the Gulf. My digs will be less than 100 yards (100 meters, give or take, for my International readers) from the beach, yet behind a 17 ft. seawall designed to keep the waters in their place. The move will put me closer to likely carnage, now that it is fairly obvious that the Midwest has decided it can recover from spring flooding without my help.

#####

In the midst of my physical and mental preparation for the descent to sea level, the John Edwards “sex scandal” broke. Although it does seem these days, at last among politicians, those NOT accused of infidelity are the exception. The only aspect I find odd is the stampede among liberal Democrats to condemn the indiscretion. It may be the early Alzheimer’s, but for the life of me I can’t recall similar liberal outrage over the Clinton peccadilloes. One expects the opposition to gloat and posture, but the Democrat Party faithful were tripping over themselves to voice their outrage. Perhaps it’s the embarrassment over the timing, with the Convention near upon us. Or sympathy for his cancer-stricken wife and small children. Or could it be that morality is taking hold inside the Beltway? Naaah.

I’m off, down the mountain, across the plains, and toward the sea. The next time we meet I will be somewhere else.

The adventure continues…

COLORADO 001

2008-07-24T06:41:00.000-07:00

Wildernest is a condo community occupying a mountainside just outside Silverthorne, Colorado. I am subletting one-half of a 2-bedroom condo for the month of July. The Peruvian tenant has returned home for the month, leaving behind sister Racee (roll the R hard) and husband Sergio, a delightful couple that ply me with ceviche and introduce me to the wonders of their homeland (“we have a canyon Grander than yours”). Their English is sketchy, but infinitely superior to my Spanish.

The 10,000 ft. altitude presents some interesting challenges. While on a modest 4-mile trail hike last Saturday I happened upon several aging volunteers engaged in trail maintenance. Having little to occupy my world at the moment, I returned “home,” donned work boots, gloves, and hard hat, and trekked back to the work site where I joined these “mature” nature helpers who appeared rather fragile as they hacked away at roots, dug water runoff trenches, and “revegitated” areas that errant hikers had “devegitated.”

Determined as always to do my part and then some, I failed to include altitude in the equation, and several hours later, when the group stopped for lunch (after I earlier announced that “I do not eat lunch,”) I sank meekly to mother earth and began to pray for rain.

I vowed to stay until the 3pm terminus, not least because one of the clan announced she had cold beer in a cooler at the trailhead, but when lightheadedness morphed to minor hallucinations (i.e. a root I was about to dislodge shrieked “don’t kill me,”) I tucked tail neatly between legs, mumbled something lame about meeting friends in town, and staggered back to the trailhead, where in my ultimate humiliation I grabbed the free bus back to my condo rather than walk.

#####

The free bus connects the towns of Silverthorne, Dillon, Breckenridge, and Keystone, the latter two being major ski resorts. It is a lifeline to the large immigrant population that supplies labor for the area. I am often the only English-speaking rider as we wend up and down the steep hillsides.

Typical of resort areas that post notices imploring tourists to have fun, but not too much, the busses carry the scary warning that “disturbances are punishable by up to $750,000 in fines and up to 16 years in jail.” Now in Colorado a Class II felony (including 2nd degree murder) carries an average 27.2 year sentence, and with good behavior, one rarely serves more than half that time. If I wanted to do away with someone in Summit County, I would think long and hard on how to get them to create a transit disturbance.

In fact I overheard a disheveled local (a “ragged person” in Paul Simon parlance), recount that last St. Paddie’s Day, returning from the requisite revelry and belting out his favorite Irish ditties, the bus driver ordered him, not to stifle himself, but to exit the bus. When he protested, he was directed to the posted sign outlining potential consequences. I wonder if there is anywhere else on the planet where one can get hoosgowed for 20% of his lifespan for singing off key?

#####

Though it comes as no surprise, the demise of Tony Snow received (except from Fox) only minimal mention, while the requiem for Tim Russert lasted weeks. Like Russert, Snow was considered fair and was well respected, but of course being conservative, his passing was noted curtly by the mainstream media. The outrage is that an obit circulated by the AP and comments on the LA Times and Daily Kos blogs found it appropriate to take vile parting shots at the 53 year old father of three. Even in death…

#####

Despite calls from the Midwest for increased disaster relief, my phone has until recently remained silent. I am reminded of my Red Cross Katrina deployment at a holding operation in Montgomery, AL. For 4 days Red Cross officials told our milling throng of some 500 volunteers that there were no calls for assistance in the ravaged areas, while on a wide screen TV in the corner, Governors Barbour of Mississippi and Blanco of Louisiana were close to tears in their urgent pleas for help. FEMA wasn’t the only body overwhelmed by this natural tragedy.

But continuing problems in the Midwest and Dolly’s whack at Texas have shaken the tree a bit, and at the moment 3 firms have requested I stand by. So perhaps after nearly 6 months of “ployage” I will soon be de-ployed. Be still my heart.

MONTANA 005

2008-06-19T08:43:00.000-07:00

Absolutely zilch of general interest had been occurring in my world, and while that might suggest unlimited opportunities for blogging, the reality is that without meaningful things on which to discourse, one is forced to invent cute and witty vignettes and thus become as 99% of all bloggers. I resist inflicting inanities on those so generous as to accept my ministrations. And yet I recently received several e-mails inquiring as to the next post. Flattery works.

Then Mother Nature, perhaps as a warm-up to the impending hurricane season, wreaked floods and assorted tornados on the Midwest, creating the possibility of disaster response activity. My bag is packed.

And then Tim Russert died.

I must say, within my lifetime potentates and presidents have passed with less fanfare. The 24/7 news cycle screeched to a halt as the journalistic world scrambled to honor a giant among them. While it’s clear that there was added emphasis in homage to one of their own, it is equally apparent that Russert achieved a balance rarely found in modern reportage. He was surely a Democrat leaning liberal – he worked for Senator Daniel Patrick Monaghan and Gov. Mario Cuomo before embracing journalism, but he had that rare and fading ability to be tough and fair, incisive without being derisive, penetrating but not pompous, forceful but never vicious.

Although it’s arguable that all earthly departures are “untimely,” his apparent good health, boyish appearance, and age (58), brought the life/death cycle into clear focus, if only fleetingly.

Of all the stories, vignettes, and recollections tossed about over the weekend after his death, perhaps the most illuminating was an interview with Tom Brokaw promoting his most recent book, Wisdom of our Fathers. He speaks of a childhood devoid of play dates, summer camp, automobiles as sweet-16 birthday presents, and all the privileges now felt essential to shower upon children to insure their normal progression and guaranteed acceptance by the Ivy League.

He speaks instead of being a garbage man (sanitation worker, if you will) through 4 years of college, a job his father, Big Russ held, and which Russert came to respect even as he attended (on scholarship) a Jesuit high school with the sons of doctors and lawyers. Instead of teachers who worked overtime building self esteem, he recalls the priest who slammed him into a wall after some indiscretion, and when he asked for mercy, the priest replied, “God grants mercy; I administer justice.”

His passing also focuses on longevity, and suggests that a short life well lived will trump aging in mediocrity every day of the week.

#####

My recurring theme of the age of incivility has led me, quite by accident, to The Second Civil War, by Ronald Brownstein, which summarizes in 484 small-print pages the contention in my last blog that we are in an age of hyper-nastiness in American politics.

It is a fascinating, if heavy read, with historical documentation castigating both right and left (surprising, for a Los Angeles Times columnist), interweaving the excesses of Tom DeLay and the Daily Kos, Rush Limbaugh and Al Franken. He finds ample blame in every camp, though I must confess that I am not yet at the 2000-2008 chapters, which I suspect will fairly smolder with indignation.

Brownstein was more fair than I, as I attributed the current state of decline primarily to the left, when blame can and should be spread across the political spectrum. But he reaches an unsettling conclusion, at least in my interpretation, suggesting (perhaps inadvertently) that while periods of civility – he chops 150 years into 4 discreet packages, 2 of comity and 2 of incivility -- appear to be eras of good feeling, they often ill-serve the populace, as opposing views simply accommodate each other in order to gain acceptance of their own.

I may have to read the book again (once I have gotten through it the first time), but I believe his bottom line is that during periods of mean-spirited, backbiting, scorched-earth, take no prisoners politics, voters are treated to much clearer choices, and able to avoid the droppings of vast herds of un-gored oxen, rumbling through a society where everyone gets their way and no clear ideological path is discernable. So much for my “kinder and gentler” pleas.

#####

Over time I have derived some satisfaction, even pleasure, exposing the fallacy of certain “news” items, the most recent being Ronald Reagan’s trashing of George W. Bush as a moron and worse, which made planetary rounds at the speed of light and certainly brought untold glee to legions of the left. It happens that this was one of a plethora of “urban legends” that sound plausible but in fact are totally false.

Well, I have apparently been “gotcha-ed” by my reprinted “metaphors” supposedly taken from “real high school essays.” While I found them far more humorous than the typical fare I get sent in bulk e-mails, their true value was that these were (supposedly) high school kids stretching the limits of prose.

They actually came from a Washington Post Style Invitational in 1997, and while “supposedly” from high school essays, were almost certainly the product of fertile adult minds. While researching the subject I did find that a number of “respected” academic websites (I thought they all were) had reprinted the list as genuine. And so, Dear Diary, my ultimate humiliation, that of being lumped in with (shudder) respected academics.

#####

I am occasionally asked about the pathology of fretting over the lack of disasters that might otherwise afford me work. My best response is that I doubt emergency room staff go about praying for carnage, yet without same they would be out of business. And so, while I do not burn incense imploring Mother Nature to elevate and extend her wrath, I stand ready to pick up various bent and broken pieces of our national fabric rent asunder by natural or man (and woman)-made disasters. The excesses of the mighty Mississippi may afford that opportunity. Film at eleven.

MONTANA 004

2008-05-06T10:32:00.000-07:00

My first job ever was in management. At age 14, with no portfolio whatsoever I became day manager of a Dairy Queen, which provides a clue as to how desperate were the two brothers-in-law, belatedly realizing just 3 months after their impulsive purchase that this was not the path to untold riches foretold in the franchising brochure.

My second foray into the business world was the less inspiring delivery of telephone books. I was recruited off the playground in the closing days of fifth grade to work with Ray, a gaunt, seedy and very creepy type with pencil mustache, who projected an air that kept me sitting with legs tightly clamped together in the front seat of his 49 Chevy.

And so another circle has rounded the third quadrant and is heading for home as I, a half century later, again found myself delivering “the book”, not the Yellow Book, the Other Book. As I have grown a bit, so has the book (proportionally much greater), and there are now a plethora (consistently pointed out by recipients, “My God, not another one?”)

And while I won’t suggest the modest compensation was unappreciated, other factors, those obvious and others to become so, factored into my decision.

After paying some dues slogging through snowy trailer parks and dank college-student apartment buildings, I was treated to long drives through some of the planet’s most dazzling geography. I made it half way to Canada, crossing again and again the Yellowstone river, ending in White Sulphur Springs. Then south to the Wyoming border and Yellowstone, crossing again and again the magnificent Madison, where solitary anglers caught early spring rays looking to entice winter-starved fish. Spectacular snow-capped mountain ranges everywhere.

And along the way some delightful Americana:

The (apparently) one-room Pine Creek school, where the teacher, cute as a button (odd phrase, that) and looking all of 15-years old, replied to my question “is this really a one-room school?” with “Oh no, Sir we have two rooms and a Biology lab in the basement.” She looked as proud as the headmaster of any Charter School, and likely more accomplished at imparting basic education to her charges.

Rural libraries, sans computers and A/V rooms, where youngsters sat enthralled by the pictures in 20th century artifacts called “books.”

Small towns with one gas station, a small grocery, and 3 bars, by late afternoon packed with locals who likely sat astride the same stool since FDR’s CCC was paving their main street, and still discussing whether that bit of “progress” was, indeed so.

The all-in-one: gas station, grocery, liquor store, feed warehouse, and U. S. Post Office; although most villages now sport shiny new Postal emporiums that vastly outclass all other local real estate and are as out of place as would be a Starbucks.

The sad elderly, who, the minute I would (attempt to silently) place the book-enclosed plastic bag on the door knob, thrust open the door, act as though this “gift” was the year’s most exciting, and implore (beg) me to alight for tea. Post boxes are now at street level, avoiding unnecessary walks for Postal employees, and time-wasting encounters with our forgotten citizens. (I know a retired “letter carrier” (as they were known in pre-PC days) who was consistently admonished for being late on his route, as he insisted on stopping to exchange pleasantries with the aged, infirmed, and housebound).

…and various wonderful locals with comments like: “I don’t have a phone, but these burn well in winter”…”when my husband died they took our name of the of the book, so I won’t have one in my home any more”…”why are some pages yellow? Can’t you make them green for the environment?”…and my favorite, “my dog loves your book. He won’t go on anything else.”

#####

Amidst this excitement I threw on a tie, hopped aboard a Horizon Air prop plane painted yellow and orange by in celebration of not having flown recently into a mountain, and departed for Seattle, where I addressed the State Emergency Operations Center as an SME (subject matter expert) on a Subject whose Matter I was somewhat familiar with but not necessarily Expert. Anyway, I was asked back, the consultant’s equivalent of a standing ovation.

I reflect that such peripatetic hopping about is a recurring theme of my life, having once transmogrified in short order from the Director of U. S. Government Pavilions at international trade shows to a humble itinerant wandering aimlessly through Europe in a VW camper, taking up embroidery to fill long days. Variety for me may be the spice(s) of life, with short wiffs of curry, cumin, cinnamon, and rosemary in quick succession. Makes for interesting fare.

#####

I’m not a smoker, had my last on March 13, 1977, and I do enjoy the improved air quality in bars and restaurants from Dublin to Paris, London to Rome, and now increasingly here at home. But I wonder if we are not forgetting the lessons of Prohibition, where far more chaos was wrecked in the forbiddance than the permissiveness.

Governing bodies have struggled for centuries with bans of various stripe, and typically are no more successful here than in other areas of social conformance. There are places in America where the cultivation of a few marijuana plants can yield a stiffer sentence than for murder, especially if the violent criminal has had a difficult childhood and finds a good lawyer.

The issue is more complex than many would care to admit. Why should I care if some biker wears a helmet? Well, every time I get a hospital bill that charges me $15 for a 25-cent disposable thermometer, I care, understanding that the price is inflated by the care provided to uninsured bikers.

But soon, one way or the other, we will have universal health care, where no one need worry about such trivial issues as cost. Issues of quality may replace those concerns, but then we must pay a price for progress. I have walked the dark, dingy, halls of British hospitals, and was fed aspirin for a week by a French dentist who did not possess the skill to diagnose that I had a tooth cracked to the root, so I know something of which I speak.

#####

And more metaphors taken from actual high school student essays:

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

Even in his last years Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut

Next time I will be somewhere else...the adventure continues...

MONTANA 003

2008-04-20T06:33:00.000-07:00

I can’t believe I missed it. Actually, I can’t believe my liberal acquaintances allowed me to miss it. Grace of my newfound relationship with the Public Library, I recently read Garrison Keillor’s Homegrown Democrat. And I thought that after Running with Scissors, nothing new could induce the high vapors.

Published just before the 2004 presidential election, and undoubtedly intended to influence it, the book accomplishes what together Air America, Move-On.org, the Times’ of NY and LA, and Media Matters have been unable to achieve. The normally passive Minnesotan stages an attack on Republicans that words like savage, vicious, spiteful, and malicious cannot begin to accurately portray. Lest you think I exaggerate:

“The party of Lincoln and Liberty was transmogrified into the party of hairy-backed swamp developers and corporate shills, faith-based economists, fundamentalist bullies with Bibles, Christians of convenience, freelance racists, misanthropic frat boys, shrieking midgets of AM radio, tax cheats, nihilists in golf pants, brownshirts in pinstripes, sweatshop tycoons, hacks, fakirs, aggressive dorks, Lamborghini libertarians, people who believe Neil Armstrong’s moonwalk was filmed in Roswell, New Mexico, little honkers out to diminish the rest of us, Newt’s evil spawn and their Etch-A-Sketch president, a dull and rigid man suspicious of the free flow of information and of secular institutions, whose philosophy is a jumble of badly sutured body parts trying to walk. Republicans: The No.1 reason the rest of the world thinks we’re deaf, dumb and dangerous.”

Keillor is described as an obsessive workaholic on the road some 32 weeks a year who arrives on location with Prairie Home Companion entourage on Monday, and stays locked in a hotel room subsisting on fast food and writing his Saturday script until emerging sometime Thursday for rehearsal. He rarely smiles. Little wonder. Homegrown Democrat clearly shows that this American wit has lost his grasp of humor.

Now I can visualize the smirks and a bit of giddiness out there, but look for a moment at what we have here. Keillor makes abundantly clear, consistently throughout the book that he is talking not about Bush, Gingrich, DeLay and Company, but all Republicans. He allows that there may have been a few passable ones around the time of Lincoln, but they’re long dead, and not since Teddy Roosevelt has there been a smidgen of compassion or basic humanity in the black hearts (Republicans apparently don’t have souls) of any who associate with the Grand Old Party.

Be ye liberal and excessively so, (and assuming this weapon does not already grace a prominent position on your bookshelf) you should run, not walk, to Barnes & Noble or your favorite used bookshop – the library won’t do, as you’ll surely want to read and re-read, then circulate it to all your friends, and yes, place it between the covers on cold winter nights as it will surely warm your toes as it has your psyche. Others may find the library an acceptable alternative and thus not be confronted with disposal options at its conclusion.

I recall in my lifetime when great political orators like Everitt McKinley Dirkson, James William Fulbright, Robert C. Byrd, Daniel Patrick Moynahan, Mike Mansfield, Howard Baker, and a legion of others could argue for hours with passion and conviction, and then repair to Jim Wright’s commodious House office for bourbon and branchwater, further debate, and finally, in comity, to hammer out a compromise acceptable to all and good for the Nation. And they went away proud of their accomplishments and not incensed over what they had given up.

Somewhere at some time all that changed. I trace the beginning of the end to January 3, 1995, when, after 40 solid years of Democrat legislative rule, the other guys finally got a chance. And it has been downhill from that date. It seems that the folks who ruled the playground were in no mood to share, and that has led to what we have today, a mentality (on both sides of the political aisle) where “my team is perfect and the other side is composed of naught but scum-sucking low lifes”.

I find this not promising for the Nation nor any of its individual constituencies. Screeds are not helpful to a national dialogue. We are becoming more like the Bloods and the Crips, the Jets and the Sharks. No one wins in gang warfare. Not for long, anyway.

Those wishing a more reasoned dialogue might read Daniel Patrick Moynahan’s Miles to Go. The (now departed) New York Senator was considered one of the twentieth century’s most liberal politicians, yet he was a scholar, a statesman, a great thinker and master of compromise. He was what we were; now we are Keillor. Those were the days, my friends.

#####

There was a time I found it unsettling to so enjoy the immense musical talents of Streisand and the sparkling humor of Keillor, when their personal views seemed so shaped by hatred and single-minded values. And then it came to me that in the same way that the physically challenged find compensation elsewhere – the blind with an acute sense of smell, the deaf with exceptional sight or touch, and the mentally challenged, sometimes called savants, who can multiply eight-digit numbers accurately to six decimal places -- Mother Nature (or your preferred deity) has elected to compensate for deficiencies by assigning advantages.

And so it must be that great artistic talents are penalized in other areas. This surely explains Hollywood, and allows me to freely enjoy the strains of “The Way We Were” or the Sunday humor of Prairie Home Companion.

#####

And, as promised, more metaphors chosen from actual high school essays:

“They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with a picket fence that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.”

“The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.”

…the adventure continues…

MONTANA 002

2008-03-27T08:35:00.000-07:00

This item appeared in the Montana Craigslist under resumes, proving that youthful entrepreneurship is alive and well in the American west. I share it unedited:

RANCH EXTERMINATOR

"I only exterminate with shotguns and rifles so you might want to have some land. anything from gophers to coyotos. ill take care of it! i only can do this on weekends untill the week of june 7th, after that full time anytime.

-my charges is just a flat fee of 35.00$ NOTE: not a 100% chance of geting your request on that day, but free the untill i get the request.

-please know that i am only 14yrs. old but i have done this for almost 2yrs. now and preety knowledgable about tracking and exterminating the pests.

-also know i will not go past three folks or Livingston."

This youngster can’t drive himself, can’t work weekdays until school’s out, and is geographically confined (probably because Dad won’t spring for long-distance gas money). But he is learning a trade still valued on the plains and prairies. One can almost picture a young Wm. H. Bonney placing a similar ad in the Wichita, KS Gazette in the year 1863.

And yes, I note the inadequacies in spelling, punctuation, and grammar. But it’s clear he wrote this himself without parental assistance. I grow weary of Letters to the Editor written by nine-year olds that appear to have graduated from the Columbia School of Journalism. Out here kids are encouraged to go it on their own, blemishes and all.

##########

The London Daily Mail reports that last year some 43,576 British patients were kept waiting for longer than one hour in ambulances outside emergency rooms before being taken inside. It seems the British Government instituted a rule requiring that patients entering emergency rooms be seen within 4 hours, and in busy periods the bureaucratic dilemma is solved by leaving them outside so the 4-hour clock wouldn’t start running. Lest you smirk, such scenarios may soon become commonplace in a hospital near you. One would hope that Michael Moore doesn’t fall ill in the English capital.

##########

Billy Hamill (NY sportswriter Pete’s father) thought that the only unforgivable sin was self pity. I don’t know if it’s the only one, but it has definitely become fashionable to hoard one’s joy while sharing pain with all and sundry. I recall a time when the exact opposite was true. But now, grace of the ever-expanding psycho-drama we call modern living, we are told it is OK, we are encouraged, to share our misery, the way folks used to share fried chicken on long train rides across the plains. What good is pain if it can’t be used to elicit a little sympathy.

I was on a flight some time ago when my “seatmate” (there was a time when they were just passengers and not “mates”) volunteered that he was traveling to see his grown children to inform them that his wife, their mother, was having an extramarital affair. Just what the children need, I thought, and I’m sure he must now feel so much better that he has spread the grief around a bit.

And because modern life cannot exist without an equal and opposite reaction (society catching up with physics), I read recently of a man who died painfully of cancer, yet smiled to the end so as not to burden his family. But at the funeral he was roundly faulted for not sharing his last days with them “honestly and openly.” My Nana often said that she “couldn’t win for trying,” and I think she was right.

##########

I am awash in spam, typically the recipient of several hundred a day, offering breast enhancement, breast reduction, adjustment of other anatomical components, and so much more. But I also note that the flow diminishes dramatically on weekends. Even the idiots and scammers require a day of rest it seems.

##########

I mentioned that I now have a library card. I don’t recall hitherto having set foot inside one of these institutions since college, save several Saturday morning story sessions with my children when they were toddlers.

In college I believed the library existed for the purpose of securing Saturday night dates. I recall that on Mondays and Tuesdays the place was a ghost town. Volume picked up on Wednesday, and by Thursday it was beehive, every nook and straightback occupied (these were the days before Barkaloungers were installed at public expense to assist digestion of the written word).

Stacks were clogged with anticipation accompanied by furtive glances, shy smiles, and quiet whispers. This was, after all, the 1960s, when “hooking-up” meant a soda in the Student Union, not a liaison necessitating the purchase of latex products. Fridays radiated desperation, with wild-eyed singles plowing ground well thinned by previous traffic. Saturdays were almost too depressing to bare, as well I know, having spent all too many post-football late afternoons in those grey and desolate places, hope trumping reality.

##########

Spring snow again outside my window. Grey clouds 10 minutes ago, and now the ground is covered. What folks in Washington, DC would call a blizzard, sending thousands of bureaucrats scurrying for their cars to light out before the one inch mark and chaos. I like snow. I’ve often thought that snow in our nation’s capital is God’s way of slowing down the bureaucracy and keeping it from spinning out of control.

##########

Bloggers often end their posts with cute taglines. While I’m not into cute, I have stumbled across metaphors submitted by English teachers, taken from actual high school student essays. I will share one at the end of each forthcoming post. Remember, these are high school essays.

“He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.”

…..the adventure continues…..

PS: Because I have elected not to foist these posts on anyone unannounced, and because they appear sporatically, I send a short notice "New Post on My Blog" to interested followers. To be added to or subtracted from these notices, send request to: solovoyager@gmail.com

MONTANA 001

2008-03-19T11:57:00.000-07:00

The peripatetic scramble subsides for the moment, as I curl up at the foot of the Montana Bridger mountains. Although it should be known that I have received a tentative cat-sitting offer in Paris for mid-April, confirming my suspicion that if one hangs about long enough a suitable métier might just pop into view.

The most dispiriting news is that on return from France my cheese was confiscated, not by the ever-vigilant U. S. Agriculture police and their olfactorilly-advanced canines, but by French security. It seems in France fromage falls into the “liquids and gels” category, particularly, I suspect, if your larder is bare and you don’t want to be inconvenienced by a detour to the fromagerie on the way home from security detail.

Protestation was (predictably) to no avail, and a request to speak to a supervisor was met with a blunt and smirky “non.” I then offered my bagette to M. le Cheese Police, reasoning that he could hardly enjoy the dairy without the wheat. “Non, zees cheese goes wis ze garbage,” he replies, and I respond “yes, I know, that is why I wanted you to have the bread.”

His English was quite good, advanced enough in fact to catch the idiomatic slur, and I trundled off in haste lest La Belle France insist on extending my stay under circumstances far less attractive than the Marais from which I had just departed. But I fret over the dangerously slipshod application of French security measures, considering that I have passed unmolested with similar contraband at least a half dozen times in the past several years (I was assured that the “no cheese” policy had been in force “for many years”).

#####

I had occasion to pass several hours today in the local community hospital. I consider it an odd phenomenon that in our citadels of wellness and healing the majority of its practitioners and staff are overweight, some grossly, others morbidly. Not to mention those clothed in whites or scrubs huddled in freezing doorways puffing on Sir Walter Raleigh’s gift to England and all the civilized world. I am certain that this observation has offended one or more of you, and so I add my standard disclaimer “present company excepted.”

#####

I am attempting a noble but daunting experiment. My current digs are tubeless, devoid of the vast electronic wasteland. I know that Blitzer, Cooper, Matthews, O’Reilly, Olberman, et al will survive nicely in my absence. Less certain is how this former news junkie will fare. One day at a time…

I do have a new library card, an interesting experience for one (correctly) described as a “reluctant reader.” But my lack of literary knowledge has already gotten me into trouble. Thinking I was checking out “Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten,” I somehow ended up with “Running with Scissors.” I am now faced with the task of inventing a new English-language word to describe the book. All suggestions appreciated.

#####

I attended (but did not participate in: I'm working at getting back into shape) a local 10-k race this past Saturday. It highlighted yet another difference between the civilized Coasts and the wild west. All the races I have attended (mostly in the east) were surrounded by masses of flags, cones, police cars re-directing traffic, ambulances at critical junctures, water stations, mile markers, communications vehicles ready to detail any possible disaster, and so much more.

This event was run partly on snowy, muddy trails, with not a single official vehicle or personage in sight. A teenage volunteer with a ratty handheld “Stop” sign attempted (mostly without success) to limit traffic near the finish, and small children ran into the path of exhausted runners to cheer on Mom or Dad in their final 50 paces.

Oh, and the race ended at a pub. Each runner got a free beer. I love this place.

…the adventure proceeds apace…

French Letters 004

2008-03-04T03:59:00.000-08:00

Back from the USA as I continue my ping-pong volley across the Atlantic. Montana to Virginia to Paris in 1½ giant steps, trying not to give the appearance of a bon vivant, but neither a mechant vivant.

Back to the Marais I left less than a month ago, to take advantage of a friend’s generosity before her apartment is rented for the coming year. Back, it seems, to where I left off weather-wise, a steady drizzle and bone-numbing cold. The kind of day that makes you wish you were in London! The kind of day where even reprobates like myself carry, and use, an umbrella. The kind of day that gives you an excuse to have a glass of wine at 10am, returning from the marche bedraggled, besodden (not yet besotted), yet fortified with brie, bleu d’Auvergne, several odd-shaped chevres, a lettuce for one Euro, twice the size of the one at the Leesburg Farmer’s Market that cost $5.50, assorted olives, farm butter cut from a 20 lb. block, walnuts for the salad, and a tradition noix, a bagette festooned with nuts.

For several decades and more the friend mentioned above has with exceptional generosity made various digs around the city available for visits of varying length. I first signed on as a cat-sitter, but when Petit Gris and Chat Botte departed for their grande somme in that great sandbox in the sky, I became just a sitter.

This friend has asked nothing in return save the occasional request to transport small items unavailable in France. In earlier days when our homeland didn’t require securing, this was a chore of no moment, but now with miscellaneous agents rummaging through tightly packed valises, how does one explain 5 changes of underwear and 15 packages of Butter Lover’s popcorn? Bounce (the stuff women put in dryer’s to make freshly laundered clothing…bounce?...) caused a raised eyebrow or two in voyages past. Yet miraculously this trip the 3 pounds of bacon and two loaves of raison bread did not set off bells at either end of the trip. I had visions of replacing the infamous Richard Reid – the shoe bomber -- as the diabolical chemist who discovered the volatile connection between pig and raison, and terrorized the civilized world therewith.

I was treated to one mild day where the sun considered making an appearance then demurred. Then we were back to damp and dank. Stayed on the 96 bus past St. Germain des Pres when drizzle turned to serious rain. Near Montparnasse a group of 8 Spanish teenage lasses (i.e. teenage lasses speaking Spanish) ascended, surrounding me with intermittent giggles and comments on my hat (which Europeans appear to associate with gangsterism).

As I was clearly the center of attention, I felt the need to do something, and so began humming, semi soto voce the Beatles “Yellow Submarine,” quite uncharacteristic for one who eschews public displays of anything. Soon they were all in the act (much louder than I), including an enthusiastic 6-year old several rows away, whose mortified grandma tried unsuccessfully to shush him into silence. It sounded something like “dum dum dum dum yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine, dum dum dum dum yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine"...reprise.

As the bus approached its terminus at Montparnasse and I descended, the happy chorus followed, like nubile serpents trailing St. Patrick out of Dublin. For a moment I wondered whether I had acquired this appendage for some extended period, but the sound dwindled, and as I turned they were waving good-bye. Not only in Paris, but not too often elsewhere.

Today snow is predicted, but the sun is out casting brilliance and warmth across the Marais. But wait, I see a cloud...it's now snowing, I swear...a full 10 minutes from sunshine to neige.

…the adventure continues…

On the road 002

2008-02-24T09:30:00.000-08:00

If the spirit of the west is disappearing, it has not vanished. A chili cook-off led us to the Bozeman, Montana Fairgrounds, which included the additional offerings of a livestock sale, craft fair, and local adult ice hockey.

All very different from more civilized events in the sophisticated corners of our great land. Out here everyone gets to play. Four dollars a head buys it all: everyone gets to taste some 40 pots of chili and vote (in California, judges decide for us); you don’t need a bidding paddle to enter the livestock sale (one of our group pointed toward the auctioneer and almost bought a stud horse); and several hundred people sit respectfully as a dozen “youngins” nervously clutch their prize chickens and answer serious questions on the care and feeding of same. Several were hardly bigger than the animals they so proudly displayed. I wonder if they even know of Brittney and Paris; when there are stalls to muck there is less time for TV.

Many of the men wear hats similar to mine, all brim, no bill, the kind that people in the east smirk at and mock. Even the jalapeno pepper eating contest was fun to watch. No gorging on hot dogs or cramming lemon meringue down the pie-hole, just a dozen college kids trying to win dinners for their girlfriends. Good fun, clean fun. In the same way that comedians like Dick Van Dyke made us laugh without being rude, crude, disgusting, or vicious, so have these folk found ways to enjoy life without resorting to excess. They’re not boisterous, they don’t laugh much, but they are content.

The day ended in a geothermal hot spring high in the mountains off a road half-way to Yellowstone. In return for promising not to pee in the pool, you are allowed to relax waist-deep in steaming water, sip adult beverages and gaze at crystal clear sky and stunningly bright stars as evening falls. The kind of day that leaves a smile on your face as you slip into contented slumber.

Sunday morning was reserved for walking down main street Bozeman in bright sunlight and 20 degree temperatures. Families, teens, collegegeans, all out for a stroll and possibly a light brunch. Simple, unadorned, and glorious.

Sitting recently in a doctor’s office, I became aware of a previously unheralded benefit of the chronic tardiness of the medical profession. Perusing 3 to 6 month old news magazines, I was told how McCain was dead, the Clinton juggernaut was about to make mincemeat of Obama, and a plethora of startling predictions that turned out so incorrect as to be snickerfodder. But the most telling observation was how forcefully the pundits put forth their prognostications. Few maybes and hardly a perhaps. And, today, of course, these same geniuses, with nary a guilty glance rearward, are bloviating a new batch of prophesy with the ring of absolute certitude. That we rush to consume their drivel says perhaps more about us than them.

Walking across the sprawling Montana State U. campus today, I was struck by how many of the students had cell phones glued to their ears. In a totally unscientific poll I observed the next 20 that passed me by, and 9 were in conversation.

I remember clearly my grandparent’s phone, unique such that neighbors asked to make use of it for a variety of (mostly) imagined life and death communications. Black, heavy, no dial. You lift the receiver, stare into it for a second or two, depress the button several times, and wait. “Good evening, Hilda, this is Harry,” announced my grandfather in an exaggerated tone of seriousness. “No, Harry from 3rd Street. Can you connect me with George?” “No, George from Walnut St.” “Thank you Hilde. Yes, I’ll wait.”

Long distance calls could take hours as mysterious “circuits” were untied. You place the call then sit and stare at the receiver, only to jump when the loud ring announced a connection.

Bill Gates has lamented that the pace of technology proceeds agonizingly slow. Well, it is clipping along quite fast enough for me, thank you very much.

Departing Montana, and next time I will be somewhere else.

the adventure continues…

On the Road 001

2008-02-15T09:47:00.000-08:00

An intermittent vegetative state has descended, resulting in a dearth of fecundity in the blog department. Several restful but uneventful days in Virginia morphed into a hectic departure in advance of impending weather. A marathon 16-hour drive ended in Topeka, KS, where I had the serendipitous fortune to dine in a sports bar at the exact moment the Kansas State Jayhawk basketball team (main campus in Topeka) was shellacking the University of Kansas for the first time since John Quincy Adams ascended to the presidency.

I was hugged by a bearded man of indeterminate but intense olfactory bouquet, and had my Dos Equis toppled by a band of jubilant celebrants, who promptly bought me 3 refills, a noble gesture my already drive-mottled brain scarcely required. But apparently being the first solid cup of cheer visited on this eastern Kansas outpost in decades, I was determined to accept the revelry in good spirit.

After a short night I arrived in Silverthorne, CO at the end of a second butt-blistering 10 hour day. Snowpacked streets that will not see asphalt before spring and snowbanks that dwarf me are the order of the winter here, and the altitude, 11,000+ ft., conspires to keep the pack hard and crunchy with little slush. I suffer from a marked sensitivity when thrust skyward toward the stratosphere, and felt wobbly for several days, said condition certainly aided by generous sampling of the many craft beers that proliferate in the Rocky Mountain west.

There appear to be but two classes of citizen here: vacationers who come to drink and ski and drink some more, and “seasonals” who come to snowboard non-stop, but cursed with having to serve the vacationers in some capacity. Like virtually all service personnel in vacation spots around the globe, they distain those who provide their sustenance, and they are on balance justified. Why so many vacationers forget to pack their manners, common sense, and good will is a conundrum that has mystified sociologists throughout history. Why travel a thousand miles only to grouse that the local wine stocked in your neighborhood 7-11 is not available at your destination?

A single day on the slopes of Copper Mountain reinforced the wavering conviction that there is some juice left in the bottle. Mountains devoid of powder, bumps, wind, crowds, and snowcats are my decided preference, and I was fortunate to find all said conditions present on a bright February Tuesday morning.

My planned departure north was inconvenienced by a two foot dump on local mountain communities (Denver, 50 miles to the east got zero) and I-70 at the Eisenhower Tunnel was closed for nearly 24 hours due to avalanche potential. But one day later I scurried up I-25 to I-90 west in blowing snow, and arrived in Bozeman, MT before nightfall, a mere 11 hour drive-in-the-park.

Bozeman, nearly surrounded by mountains, is beautiful year round, but the lack of altitude, a paltry 5,000+ feet, yields a continual cycle of freeze-thaw, crunch and slush. Yet the crisp, dry western air is deceptively accommodating, tempting the naïve to venture out in light attire, only to find within several moments the still wet hair from the recent shower is frozen solid and the ears feel like rodents have been gnawing thereupon.

I have long felt the American west is one of the few remaining bastions of the cowboy spirit, of rugged individualism where folks are afforded the opportunity to rise and fall, succeed and fail, soar and plummet, individually reaping the rewards or misery of their actions, while much of the remainder of the planet seems intent on wealth distribution, blame allocation (always to others; never to self), and political correctness.

But with each visit I see the culture of independence slipping away. Colorado has led the way, with Boulder (where I once lived and now commonly referred to as “the Peoples Republic of…”) in the vanguard. It and other western climbs are increasingly populated by east- and west-coasters who have ruined their respective ends of the country and relocate to escape, only to participate enthusiastically in the ruination of their newfound home. Surely there should be some small patch of earth reserved for the dwindling few who wish to exist within the village without being absorbed by it.

Might not we aspire to a world where Brittney, Roger, and Paris (she, not it) grab fewer headlines and where schoolteachers, firefighters, and volunteer mentors gain a bit more visibility?

the adventure continues…

French Letters 003

2008-01-29T10:50:00.000-08:00

Here I sit in the departure lounge of Roissy Charles deGaulle airport Terminal One. It’s a bit surreal to recall that when I first traveled to Paris circa 1969, both Dulles airport and Roissy were sparkling new facilities, the pride of 2 nations. Now both are in the midst of massive upgrades and refurbishment, although Dulles is simply expanding, while Roissy, in perhaps an attempt to separate the elite from the savages, has build new terminals for Air France and it’s airborne buddies.

Last summer the city of Paris purchased and installed some 20,000 bicycles, each locked into racks and extricable with a credit card. It was originally speculated to be part of the Mayor’s plan to thin the population, but so far there has been only one reported death, and the official Velib website notes only that “the number of bicycles used in Paris is growing constantly while the number of bicycle accidents is remaining stable.” But I see several heart-stopping near-misses each day, and notice that the hair of many city bus drivers has gone completely white. I also observe that racks at the high points of the city are often empty while those in the low areas are overflowing. Could our fitness-focused friends be coasting downhill and riding the Metro back up?

The worldwide press is often breathless in its haste to skewer big business, and French journalists enthusiastically hop the bandwagon. My TV screen just shrieked “(has Capitalism gone crazy?) and of course there is a rush to blame the U. S. (that Bush guy again) for the current crise economique. But remember that the first casualties of the sub-prime debacle were 2 hedge funds run by BNP Parisbas, so there’s enough blame to go around. And now a commentator has ascribed the 6 billion Euro fraude at Societe General as “the greed of capitalism.” Interesting that the idiot (genius??) who masterminded this stood not to personally gain a sou. It appears more to have been a game of outsmarting the bureaucracy, which he certainly did for a long time.

Just to show I had no hard feelings, I returned to the Taverne on St. Germain des Pres where I got food poisoning 2 years ago. It was the occasion of a delightful long lunch sitting inside a glass-enclosed porch, watching the city on parade. Two of us ate totally different meals, not even tasting the other’s selection, and both came down with serious gastric distress. I spent most of the next 3 days in the smallest room of the apartment where we stayed. On this visit I had a beer. It tasted a bit flat.

When I first came to France so many years ago I was horrified to find that it would take 6 to 18 months to get a phone installed. Friends at the Embassy were aghast and envious that the apartment I finally rented came with a working phone. No matter that I had no one to call, the phone was prestige, like driving a Mercedes.

Today everyone has a “mobile,” old ladies on the bus who jump and fumble when it rings, and speak loudly “j’ecoute, j’ecoute” (I hear you, I’m listening), and teenage girls trading secrets and giggling, so consumed with their conversations that they bump into fellow pedestrians. Last evening in a small restaurant I saw a young couple dreamily gazing into each others eyes, she massaging his arm sensually with one hand while holding her mobile in the other, carrying on a muted conversation with her cinq a sept perhaps?? (old fashioned slang for the amorous carryings-on of (usually men) in the period after work (cinq or 5pm, and sept, 7pm), after which they return to their wives and children.

Several days ago I gave directions to a Frenchman. It felt so good, and perhaps marked a watershed in my 4 decade struggle with the language. Of course the poor fellow may still be walking in circles, but I think I did him right. Yesterday I watched a young Japanese girl with a suitcase twice her size staring at a large bus and Metro map. She seemed frozen, transfixed, and although it is not my style to become involved in the affairs of strangers, I approached with a tentative “ou allez vous?” (where do you want to go). As my Japanese is limited to ordering beer (beer-u) she pointed to a far-out Metro stop. Luckily the #11 line was only 2 blocks away. I escorted her to much bowing and what I took to be enormous thanks and immense relief. It occurred to me that in the years I visited and lived in Paris as a single man, not a single attractive young female required my assistance.

The next time we meet I will be somewhere else…the adventure continues…

FRENCH LETTERS 002

2008-01-24T03:00:00.000-08:00

I am beyond desole. Not even the stock market in freefall can match my dismay at finding one of my favorite boites in Paris apparently gone forever. Nearly 4 decades ago when I first ventured to the City of Light, not a word of French in my kit bag, one of my first gastronomic experiences was at La Friterie, little more than a window opening onto rue Galande where it meets rue St. Julian le Pauvre at Place Maubert, smack in the middle of the left bank student quarter.

For one franc (25 cents in those pre-inflation days) you got a brimming portion of pommes frites (French fries) wrapped in a paper cone, luscious, thin cut, heavily salted and well done in the type of oil New York mayor Bloomberg has banned in Manhattan. They were served by a tall thin middle-aged matron, blonde hair piled high, with glasses I can only describe as similar to those worn by the “kiss my grits” waitress on the critically acclaimed “Mel’s Diner” TV series of the 1970s, or perhaps by the “ladies” in Tuna Christmas.

Over the years little has changed, especially not Mme. She appeared the same last summer as she did in 1969, same hairdo, same glasses, meme visage. And in my many, many visits to Paris in the intervening generation, there was always a stop at La Friterie.

Until this evening, when approaching on rue St. Severin from Blvd. St. Michele across rue St. Jacques, I found the windows boarded and a sign saying that if I just had a bit of patience, a new Wok City would soon be open to serve my every need. Right!

I got some frites at a nearby falafel stand. Cheaper, but not thin cut, not nearly well enough cooked, and apparently made with Bloomberg-approved oil. I fed them to the pigeons sitting on the bulwarks along the Seine. One pecked a stick, cocked his head at me, and walked away. I hear you, mon vielle, the world is changing and not all for the better.

The sun came out in Paris yesterday. For some 12.3 minutes. Citizens rushed into the streets and fell on their knees. When locals describe their “City of Light,” they refer to electricity and not Mr. Sun. At least not in winter months.

A friend sent me packing the other day to Bazar Hotel de Ville (BHV), a massive department store with a basement that would make Filene blush, although this sous sol is packed with hardware rather than discount clothing. I was armed with samples of the little trucs I was to bring home.

Many employees about, most standing in groups of 2 or 3 discussing weighty issues of the day. I show one an item and get the response, “Yes, we have them, but they are much bigger than this.” OK, but where do I find them? The response, “la-bas” sent me back 30+ years to a time I was working for a freight forwarder handling trade shows in Paris. I would be given a ticket with a case or pallet number, gather my trusty trans-pallet (a type of manual hauling device given to those not trusted to drive a forklift), and head off into the massive warehouse.

I would show the paper to one of the workers (most standing in groups of 2 or 3 discussing weighty issues of the day) and ask in my pigeon French where to find the material. The response was invariably “la- bas.” If in a good mood they might point in a general direction.

I asked a friend what “la bas” meant. She said “it just means “over there.”” But I came to believe the idiomatic translation to be “Just far enough away so you don’t pester me with your questions,” or “Ask someone else, can’t you see I’m busy.”

…the adventure continues…

View from a Small Planet

2008-01-20T04:09:00.000-08:00

This blog will chronicle my personal insights, observations, and impressions as I zig and zag about the globe with no particular itinerary or purpose. It has no political or social agenda save the author's proclivities and prejudices.

I make no claim to accuracy or authenticity, and in advance reject all criticisms of spelling (particularly foreign), grammar, or punctuation. Those who persist will be directed to the Solovoyager Style Manual, available at US$575/copy.

I will translate foreign phrases only when it appears that readers are insufficiently schooled to figure things out for themselves.

Posts will be sporadic and subtitled based on the lat/long where I find myself at the time of writing. All responses will be carefully considered then likely ignored. Always keep in mind that you are getting approximately what you pay for.

FRENCH LETTERS 001

This inaugural post begins on a cold, rainy, and wonderful January day in the Paris Marais. Those not conversant with British slang might Google "French Letters slang." The French refer to the article in question as Capotes d'Anglais.

High dudgeon at the Richard Lenoir street market on an otherwise tranquil Sunday. While perusing the available selection at the nut and olive stand for my midday salade, several hundreds of Euros of glass shattered to the hard ground, jostled from a rickety table at the stand adjacent. Possible culprits included a rather large dog intent on sniffing the crotch of a nearby six-year-old; the toddler himself, grabbing said crotch and screaming “non, non, non”; the dog’s rotund female owner pulling frantically on fido’s leash; and the protective maman of toddler interposing her body between inquisitive nose and infant genitals.

The North African standkeeper went predictably ballistic, and an equally predictable crowd quickly formed, dividing into canine and human support groups, save for one elderly gentleman near the rear loudly proclaiming George Bush to be at fault, in this and all other maladies befalling La Belle France.

Was this an innocent doggy minding his own business or a chien mechant, candidate for the needle of death? Conversely did we have a rowdy, mal eleve brat who likely pulled doggy’s tail when no one was looking, or an unfortunate innocent, forever scarred by his first sexual encounter? Our standkeeper didn’t care. He had progressed beyond shock and even lamentation, and was now in haute colore, incensed by all and sundry: “Go away, everyone, I don’t want your business, you are all savages, I hate you all and I hate this place,” or something to that effect (my grasp of North African is limited).

Fido, either in his own defense or in reaction to the growing throng, began to howl; toddler had never stopped screaming and now kicked his screech up an octave to meet the canine competition. The crowd became restive, as 20+ conflicting and contradictory opinions filled the chilly air.

I grabbed my nuts and olives and departed, in full realization that no resolution would result. Such street theater plays out daily on the streets of the City of Light, and residents participate with a verve and vitality that would make Ibsen jealous. Why would anyone pay 60 Euros for a narrow seat in a stuffy theater when such quality is available “libre en plaine aire”.

########

I saw Art Buchwald in the third Arrondisement yesterday. Apparently he did not pass on to the great newspaper in the sky, and is living happily in the Paris Marais. If this was not Buchwald, the observed perp has stolen the revered columnist’s hat, smile, and physique. If it truly was Buchwald and he wishes to remain anonymous, he needs a better disguise.

…the adventure continues…