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…
Saturday, November 22, 2008
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…
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