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.
#####
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.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
GEORGETOWN 002
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…
#####
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…
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
GEORGETOWN 001
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…
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…
Saturday, November 22, 2008
VIRGINIA 009
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…
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…
Saturday, November 15, 2008
VIRGINIA 008
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...
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...
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
VIRGINIA 007
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
VIRGINIA 006
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…
#####
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…
Friday, October 24, 2008
VIRGINIA 005
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…
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…
Thursday, October 16, 2008
VIRGINIA 004
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…
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…
Thursday, October 9, 2008
VIRGINIA 003
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…
#####
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…
Sunday, October 5, 2008
VIRGINIA 002
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…
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…
Thursday, September 25, 2008
VIRGINIA 001
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…
#####
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…
Friday, September 12, 2008
LOUISIANA 002
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…
#####
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…
Monday, September 1, 2008
LOUISIANA 001
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…
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…
Thursday, August 28, 2008
TEXAS 002
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 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…..
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
TEXAS 001
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
#####
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
Saturday, August 9, 2008
COLORADO 002
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…
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…
Thursday, July 24, 2008
COLORADO 001
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.
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.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
MONTANA 005
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
MONTANA 004
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...
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...
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