What Gives You The Right?

I've commented before in this blog about what I perceive as the ongoing and relentless deterioration of civility and common decency in our society. I've used terms like narcissism and self-entitlement in reference to the behavior I witness - on what seems like a daily basis - among my fellow citizens who seem to think everything and everybody was put on this earth for the express purpose of satisfying and serving them. It happened again this week.

My daughter, God love her, worked hard to graduate in less than four years from college, and accomplished that in December of last year, earning a bachelor of science degree in the field of hospitality management. Like many of her peers and friends, she could have stuffed a backpack and headed for Europe, Eurail pass in hand, and bummed around for a year. Instead, she prepared to start her first post-graduate job, just six weeks after finishing classes, and in the midst of the worst job market since the 1930s. If you sense just a teensy weensy bit of pride in my tone, bank it. I couldn't be more proud.

She accepted an hourly position with a highly-regarded, upscale, international lodging company in the hope of eventually earning a promotion into management. In her front-line customer relations capacity, she deals with guests all day, every day, and it is in this capacity that she has borne witness to, and been the target of, some of the most aberrant and disrespectful behavior one could possibly imagine. And from whom? The top one tenth of one percent of all income earners. The haves. Yes, the very people one would think would, a) know better, and b) have been taught better, and c) had been raised better.

Thankfully, my daughter can handle herself, but even she has been amazed and discouraged by the borderline abusive manner in which these over-indulged, over-pampered "guests" treat the employees at this luxury resort. It is not uncommon for guests to literally scream at her because their room wasn't ready, even though they arrived hours before standard check-in time, or because the valet didn't bring their car around quickly enough. Screaming, in broad daylight, in front of God and everybody. To them, I say, what gives you the right?

Is it because you make more money than 99.9% of the rest of us? Because you're paying a premium price for premium accommodations and you think you deserve even better? Or is it the chip on your shoulders you carry around like a badge of courage because you've come to the realization that all the money you worked so hard for - or inherited - hasn't made you any happier, any less stressed, any more appealing or any more enlightened. But hey, who cares, you've got a black AmEx card! You expect a room upgrade because the bellman didn't open the door fast enough when you arrived or because the hand towels weren't folded perfectly in the shape of a sea shell or because a cloud blocked the sun for 2.7 minutes today while you lounged by the pool. You want your bill adjusted because the complimentary bottled water in your complimentary stocked refrigerator wasn't quite cold enough, nor was it Evian. Give me a break!

There is a bevy of adjectives in the English language used to describe such people. Snooty, uppity, boorish, self-important - the list goes on and on. There's also a fair number of adjectives to describe us poor bastards who have to put up with all those self-important, snooty, uppity boors, but the ones that I believe fit my daughter and me best are beleaguered and beseiged. I love these two words not only because they are so expressive and I'm a writer, but because essentially they are dead-on. They mean having a lot of problems or criticism to deal with. Like most average Americans these days, we have enough problems. We don't need overbearing, overindulged Dolce & Gabbana-draped whiners making matters worse.

I raised my children to live by the Golden Rule, and while we may not live up to that standard 100% of the time, we endeavor every day to come as close as possible. It totally astounds me then, that people who seemingly have everything going for them in terms of what our society deems successful, would treat others with complete and utter disregard for all that the Golden Rule represents. How did they get to be so nasty? More importantly, how did they get to be so successful? It's just more evidence that you can be the biggest a-hole on the planet and do one thing well, and the world will beat a path to your door. Me, I'm still going to live by the Golden Rule, and if it doesn't bring me riches, so be it. I'll shuffle off this mortal coil satisfied that I, at least, did right by my fellow man.

As for all you self-entitled, snooty boors out there, take it down a notch or three and eat a couple pieces of humble pie. If you don't, you might end up with a double room upgrade, but it won't get you any closer to the gates of heaven. Karma has a way of working things out.

. . . Wishin' I Was Fishin

Happy 234th, USA! Now Pass the Potato Salad!

Happy 234th Birthday, America! Ever wonder what we'd be cooking if this holiday fell in, say, October? I mean, the 4th of July conjures up images of Weber grills, red-and-white plaid tablecloths, watermelon, potato salad, burgers, brats and my favorite - ice cold beer. But what if Independence Day was on, say, October 13th? (Imagine, celebrating a holiday every few years on Friday the 13th! Picture Jason with a chainsaw in one hand, a sparkler in the other and his hockey mask painted red, white and blue!)

I know, that's sick. But hey, cut me some slack. When it's been pouring rain in what's known as the Sunshine State for the past 3 1/2 days and one finds oneself stuck in the house - again - on what should be a day of picnics, parades and cookouts, one's mind has a tendency to wander (and wonder) a bit!

Seriously, for those of you who, like me, associate food with every joyous occasion, from graduations to weddings, holidays to birthdays, anniversaries to sporting events - and generally most Sundays through Saturdays - what we eat on these special days is an important part of our culture (not to mention our waistlines!). In your mind's eye, picture that third Thursday in November. That's right, turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, etc., etc. December 25th? Ham for some, lamb or a standing rib roast for others, roast beast if you're from Whoville.

New Year's brings us pork and cabbage washed down with Moet. March 17th - although not a legal holiday - finds us filling our plates with corned beef and (once again) cabbage, and slurping copious amounts of green beer (or Guiness for you purists). In our house, Easter marks the return of ham and lamb, and come the fourth Monday in May, we're firing up the grill for - you guessed it - more burgers and brats. After all, Memorial Day heralds the start of summer, and what's summer without charcoal and lighter fluid? Besides, we need practice for that cookout-occasion-of-all-cookout-occasioins, the 4th of July, a mere five weeks in the offing. By Labor Day (the third in the triumverate of cookout holidays), we should be well-practiced and ready, by God, for a throw down with Bobby Flay!

So, on this the second official cookout holiday of the summer, rain or no rain, I'd like to take a moment to pay homage to the fine tradition of chowing down on holidays. Whether you choose traditional fare or opt for more exotic, ethnic, or religiously-relevent palate pleasers on your holidays, I wish you all good eatin'! Now pass the potato salad and say a prayer for our Gulf Coast brethren in Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi and Florida's Panhandle who don't have much to celebrate today. May your BP checks have lots of zeros preceding the decimal point!

. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'

Palin Doing Her Best Dan Quayle Imitation

They say imitation is the highest form of flattery, so I'm guessing Dan Quayle is feeling pretty good about himself these days. Come on now, tell me you didn't notice Sarah Palin does a damn good Dan Quayle. There are inescapable similarities, you know, so it only makes sense. Danny boy always positioned himself as a conservative Republican. Check. When Bush The Elder tapped the obscure senator from Indiana as his running mate in '89, the average voter had never heard of him. Ditto Sarah. Dan became Vice President. Sarah got close. Dan was famous for gaffes and sometimes buffoonish behavior. Need I say more?

There was Sarah, speaking to a crowd at a university fundraiser in California recently, and adroitly tapping her obviously-cavernous knowledge of an icon of Republicanism, Ronald Reagan. After all, what better place to invoke the name of The 'Ol Gipper than before a receptive group of Golden Staters? "This is Reagan country," Sarah practically shouted, "and perhaps it was destiny that the man who went to California's Eureka College would become so woven within and interlinked to the Golden State." Huh? It's bad enough she used the phrase "woven within and interlinked." (Maybe she thought she was addressing a knitting convention?) Apparently she gets her information from bad Wikipedia entries, because those who know even a modicum of modern history know that The Great Communicator was born and raised in Illinois; graduated from Eureka College in Eureka, Illinois; then started out as a radio sports announcer down the road in Davenport, Iowa. Any of those places conjure up images of wine country and Rodeo Drive? Apparently the four colleges Sarah attended purchased their history and geography textbooks from the same guys who make Chinese drywall!

So, there she was, in all her glory, poised to wow her audience on the grounds of that hallowed institution of higher learnin', Cal State University - Stanislaus, cleverly working Reagan into her remarks, completely oblivious to the fact that she really knew diddly about our 40th president. I bet if you asked her who John Hinckley, Jr. is, she'd say, "Isn't he the dude who shot John Lennon?"

You know, I used to think (or is it fear?) that there's a legitimate chance enough ignorant Americans are out there to actually get Sarah Palin the Republican nomination for President in 2012. Now, I pray that there are, because one of two things will happen: the electorate will get exactly what it deserves, giving Letterman, Leno, Kimmel, Fallon, Ferguson, et. al., enough material to last a decade, or, Palin the Pretender will once and for all be shown the door, and she'll retreat back to the igloo from whence she came, never to be heard from again. ("Not on my watch!" exclaims Rupert Murdoch.)

Until then, we'll just have to settle in for a steady diet of Quayle-esque quips and quotes from the Queen of the Northern Lights, always reaffirming that now-ubiquitous observation, "only in America," (or Italy). Sarah, darlin', you go, girl!

. . . Wishin' I Was Fishin'

Who Needs the Three Stooges? We Have BP!

It's been nearly a month since my last blog, in which I lamented the BP oil debacle, and as expected, the oil has now reached our Florida shores - no longer as mere tar balls, but as shiny, black, gooey, toxic waves relentlessly rendering the pristine beaches in Pensacola an utterly hideous hue. Next stop, Panama City! And while this is happening, BP manages to allow a robotic submersible to accidentally knock off a cap on the mile-below-the-surface gusher so that the volume spewing out practically doubles! Hell, who needs Larry, Curly and Moe when you've got BP! I'd laugh if it wasn't so damned tragic!

In short order, we will move well beyond any descriptive conceivable by even the most creative of poets and linguists. We will stand, mouths agape, voices silenced by the sheer magnitude of what lay before us. While the world tries to go about its business - blaring vuvuzelas signaling another World Cup come to South Africa - we cannot push the Gulf oil disaster to the back pages. It simply won't allow us to. From loose-lipped generals and history-making marathon matches at Wimbledon, to Tiger Woods' impending divorce and a Republican titan of corporate corruption running for governor of Florida, these are merely sideshows that steal a headline or two. THE story, now and for months, if not years, will be the GOM - the Gulf of Mexico.

Yesterday, a photograph in the St. Petersburg Times showed a thirty-something man kneeling on a once-pristine beach crying into his hands as the oil spread before him in both directions as far as the eye could see. This native Pensacolan, the article went on to say, had been taught by his father how to swim in the warm waters off this very beach, and it is where he, in turn, had taught his own son to swim. No more. Fathers won't be teaching sons or daughters to swim in these waters any time soon - if ever again.

You know, I've always considered myself a pragmatic optimist, if there is such a thing. I try to look at the bright side, yet I understand the limitations of man and our inclination toward self-indulgence and self-enrichment. So, not a lot surprises me, good or bad. When the former CEO of the largest for-profit hospital company on the planet, a company fined over a BILLION dollars for ripping off Medicare while he was CEO, throws his hat in the ring for the Republican gubernatorial nomination in Florida and proceeds to spend his way to the top of the polls in a little over ninety days, I simply shrug my shoulders and go about my business. I mean, the guy never went to jail, or was even indicted for that matter, so why not empty a few mil out of the ol' money market account and run for governor of the fourth-largest state? Who says being an elected official requires integrity? Why, maybe he's just the guy to extort enough $$$ from BP and it's drilling partners to pay for all the cleanup! And with his vast experience in milking insurance providers (Medicare is insurance, you know), perhaps he can sort out our ridiculous homeowners insurance situation in Florida. "Lets get to work," he says in his commercials.

Let's get to work, indeed! Let's elect Rick Scott, and then let's go and elect Marco Rubio - another pillar of electoral integrity - to the U.S. Senate. All he did was make a party-supplied AmEx card his personal piggy bank for a couple years while sitting atop the Florida legislature. He never so much as sniffed the glue on the sealed envelope of an indictment, let alone do time, so by God, let's plop him right down in the middle of Senate chambers in Washington and let him do his thing. He's a natural! He's the Roy Hobbs of the GOP! He's someone Florida can be proud of!

Ah, but I digress. What's the old saying? "Strap yourself in; it's going to be a bumpy ride." Not only is the oil disaster going to be a bumpy ride, it's going to be a long one, so pack a sandwich and while you're at it, a case or two of Dawn detergent, because we all might find ourselves scrubbing cormorants and pelicans and terns and turtles before this is all over. And hey, Rick and Marco, whether you win or lose, know that I for one, have no qualms about you running for office. After all, it's the American way. It's the getting elected part I can do without. All this talk about the Gulf gets me . . .

. . . Wishin' I Was Fishin'

BP, oh, BP

Well, so much for the "junk shot," and the "top kill" and the "little dome" and the "big dome." So much for "relief valves" and "blowout preventers" and "drilling mud" and chopped-up golf balls. Now we get to sit back and watch helplessly while BP endeavors to employ a "lower marine riser package," that even if it works, will only "minimize the amount of oil reaching the shore," not stop it. Five weeks and counting. Next, we'll just have to wait another month or two or three for the "relief wells" while another bazillion gallons of crude soil the waters and connected ecosystems of our beloved Gulf of Mexico. Oh, and there's the possibility that it will spread to the Atlantic coast as well. Oh yeah, and by the way, hurricane season starts this week! Take that, Louisiana!

As Exxon rakes in record profits for the umpteenth year in a row, two decades after their brush with infamy called the Valdez, BP has now trumped their oil brethren with the worst man-made environmental disaster ever recorded in the United States. And it ain't over yet! Now that's something to be proud of. If you can't out-earn them, by God, out-spill them! And of course, along with it comes news that BP has been, according to headlines, "less than forthcoming with information about it's oil spill," and is losing credibility as each effort to stop the spill fails. Duh!

From the Associated Press also comes the now-all-too-obvious revelation that, "On almost every issue - the amount of gushing oil, the environmental impact, even how to stop the leak - BP's statements have proved wrong. The erosion of the company's credibility may prove as difficult to stop as the oil spewing from the sea floor." I smell a rat; a gooey, filthy, oil soaked, Xs-for-eyes, floating rat. Get ready, people, as more and more information leaks out (leaks - ironic, no?) - in the form of internal memos and e-mails and such - we're going to learn that - brace yourself here - another humongous, multinational, Fortune 100 conglomerate was playing hanky-panky with the rules so they could make a few extra bucks. And, the very folks being paid by our taxpayer dollars charged with oversight of said conglomerate, were essentially complicit in their failure to enforce those rules. Gee, do you think there could be a connection between the fact that the people who work for the hopefully-soon-to-be-defunct Minerals Management Service, who pretty much all previously worked for the companies in the industries they're charged with overseeing and the fact that oversight was, shall we say, a bit lax? My, doesn't that have a familiar ring to it? Can you say, "banking industry redux?"

So, once again, the insanely-compensated suits parade before Congress and proceed to blame one another as we watch in disbelief on C-Span, all the while lobbying for their own financial liability to be capped. BP had net profits in 2009 of nearly $17 billion. That's billion with a "b." And that was on the heels of over $21 billion in net profits in 2008. What do you think folks? Does that sound like a company that should have its damages capped? Expecially one that knowingly failed to follow appropriate protocols which would have prevented the spill in the first place? Not only should they pay - all of them (that means you too, Transocean, and you too, Haliburton) - but every executive in every liable company should be required to don those protective jumpsuits, rubber gloves and masks and man the front lines in the cleanup effort. And, they should not be allowed to stop until the President of the United States tells them they can. Then, seeing as how they're top-notch businessmen, you know, best and brightest, cream of the crop and all that, they should be required to help rebuild every company that will be decimated by this catastrophe, and just for good measure, pay off the mortgages and other indebtedness that will inevitably befall the residents of these coastal regions after the loss of their livelihoods. Sorry BP shareholders, it's going to be a millenium or two before you see another dividend check in your mailboxes.

Amid the outrage that followed the Exxon Valdez we heard the cry, "never again!" Well, again happened, and on a scale that will eventually make the Valdez look like a piker. This time will the rallying cry be the same "never again?" Here on the Gulf Coast of Florida, we look out across the green-blue water and wonder when. When will it hit us? Our brothers and sisters in Louisiana and Alabama already have their answer as they put on their jumpsuits, gloves and masks and grab a bottle of Dawn. And I'm guessing they're not thinking, "never again." I'm guessing it's more along the lines of, "What in God's name are we going to do now?" BP, turn off the oil and get out your checkbook. While there's still fish to fish for, I'm . . .

. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'

Hey, Mad Men, Step Up For The Prez

If you've ever seen an episode of Mad Men on television then you'll understand why Madison Avenue should come to the aid of our President as attorneys general from nearly half the states in the union file suit against the goverment on the grounds that the healthcare bill is unconstitutional. Unconstitutional because it forces U.S. citizens to buy something - in this case, insurance. For all intents and purposes, Madison Avenue has, in it's own verrrrry persuasive way, been forcing us to buy stuff for the better part of the past century and nobody's suing them! Ergo, support the prez, Mad Men, or you may be next in line to get sued! Slippery slope and all that.

I mean, come on, looking back, don't you feel like you were coerced, at least a little, when you bought that Coca-Cola thinking you'd be in perfect harmony with the rest of the world? Or how about the first Marlboro you ever smoked after seeing how devastatingly cool the Marlboro man was. Why on earth would anyone have ever purchased a Pinto or a Gremlin if advertising hadn't made them so appealing? And what about that cute little Corvair? My own brother had two of them back in the '60s. Fortunately, he's still alive to tell about it. I believe it was America's consumer guardian angel, Ralphie Nader himself, who made his bones getting everyone to realize what a disaster that product was. Wasn't selling the Corvair to an unsuspecting, gullible public borderline unconstitutional? I mean, come on, where in the flashy advertising, even in the caveat emptor fine print, was the word "deathtrap" included?

So, my point is, while technically, advertising doesn't force us to buy things, theoretically, it does. The rise of comsumerism in the early 20th century, driven by the industrial revolution in partnership with Madison Avenue, drove us to buy things we really didn't need. And we've been doing it with gusto ever since. We just don't feel forced. We can't help it. Like lemmings, we blindly line up before dawn at the doors of St. Apple Cathedral for a chance to be the first to acquire an iPad. I dare say not one of those early adopters would admit to being forced to buy an iPad, but deep in their subconscious, there wasn't an ice cube's chance in hell they would forego such a cutting-edge opportunity. "Honey, did the second mortgage come through yet? We've got to get down to the Apple store before all the iPads are gone! Oh, and don't forget your iPhone. And bring my iPod. We might be stuck in line for awhile."

Remember when the government told us we had to wear seatbelts? That was a much more subtle and circuitous route to making us buy something. They pulled that off by requiring the auto makers to make seat belts standard in all vehicles years before actually telling us we had to wear them. If you want to buy a car, you'll be buying the seat belts with it, because it doesn't come any other way. No one screamed about that at the time because, hey, "I'll show them. I just won't wear the damn things. You can put 'em in there, but you can't make me wear 'em! Ha!" Last time I checked, in my home state of Florida, an officer can legally stop me on the highways and byways for nothing more than not wearing my seat belt. I believe the clever Madison Avenue tag line is "Click It, Or Ticket." Sly devils they were way back when. But really, you say, that's different. Seat belts save lives. Oh, OK. Adequate health insurance for everyone won't save lives? Explain that to me.

So, here we are, once again being told by our government that we have to do something - buy something - because we'll all be better protected. Safer. Key word there is A-L-L. It will better protect ALL of us. Now, I don't necessarily agree with everything that's in the new healthcare bill, and I do encourage civil and healthy debate over what ultimately should be included in the bill, but unconstitutional? Come on, Attorney General McCollum. You're running for governor of Florida so you took advantage of your position and grabbed the lead on this thing to impress your GOP cronies. You know, it's against the law in Florida to drive a motor vehicle if you don't have automobile insurance. So, I Look Like Alfred P. Newman McCollum, as attorney general of the state of Florida, you force me to buy insurance. Why, that's unconstitutional! I must write my legislators! It's my God-given right to get behind the wheel of my car without insurance and t-bone a couple of my neighbors. Let them sue me if they want me to pay for the damages, but by God I shouldn't be forced to buy insurance! Right? Where's that Tea Party when I need them?

You know, I'm trying very hard not to become cynical. After all, in the words of H.L. Mencken, "A cynic is a man who, when he smells flowers, looks around for a coffin." I have to admit though, it's getting tough. The forces on the far left and those on the far right are beating the centrists and moderates to a pulp. Look at Florida's own governor, Charlie Crist, widely acknowledged as a centrist Republican. He's been pilloried and abandoned by his own party to the point where he declared himself non-affiliated so he could still run for the U.S. Senate. Now, I've never been a big Charlie fan, but to watch him crucified by his now-former party because he gave a man-hug to the Prez and accepted stimulus money, is an absolute disgrace. It's bad enough the Republicans have lost all perspective. Now they're actually eating their own!

So, come on Mad Men. You've got plenty of attorneys on your payrolls too, not to mention the creativity you so adeptly employ to force us champion consumers to buy your wares. How about offering a little pro bono support to the Prez so he can fend off these marauding states' barristers who cloak themselves in the Constitution. After all, if I have to buy auto insurance, I might as well have to buy health insurance. I might slip and fall or take ill some day, you know, and I wouldn't want my neighbors to be on the hook for my care, now would I.

. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'

Barking for Whybark!

You're 19 years old, maybe 20; a not-quite-of-drinking-age young male athlete. You're a college golfer and your team has just qualified for the national championship. You, as an individual, find yourself in a playoff to take individual medalist honors. Your opponent, a senior, may be playing his final collegiate match if you can take him out in the playoff. Like any competitive athletes, particularly two playing at the college level, at this particular moment, the testosterone levels on that tee box must be palatable.

So, what do you do? If you're Grant Whybark, you address your ball, settle into your stance, and promptly drive the ball 40 yards right of the fairway and out of bounds. Double-bogey. The opponent pars. Second place. You're crushed, right? I mean, you've spent most of your young life preparing for this moment and what do you do? Shankapotomous. Choke-a-rooney. End of story.

Except, that wasn't the end of the story. You see, young Mr. Whybark wasn't bitten by a sudden case of nerves. No, he hit his tee shot out of bounds - ON PURPOSE. That's right, folks, he did it intentionally. In yet another instance of a selfless and totally classy act that reaffirms my faith in my fellow man, Grant Whybark, sophomore golfer for the University of St. Francis, purposely hit his drive out of bounds so that his opponent, Seth Doran, of Olivet Nazarine, would claim individual medalist honors. You see, Doran was competing only as an individual. His team had already been eliminated from the Chicagoland Collegiate Athletic Conference Championship last month, so the only way Doran could make it to the NAIA National Championship was to win his match against Whybark. Whybark knew he was going to nationals because his team had already locked up the conference team championship. For Doran, a senior who had never made it to finals and a young man known throughout the conference as a very good player AND a good guy as well, it was his last chance. So, Whybark made sure Doran advanced.

I know this is the second blog in a row in which I've referenced an incredible act of conscience and sportsmanship committed by a golfer - this time at the collegiate level - but it really doesn't matter the sport. Like the two young ladies who carried an opponent around the bases when she injured her ankle running out a home run she had just hit so that she could cross the plate in the final game of her final season; or the two high school basketball teams who colluded to call a timeout at the end of a game to allow for a substitution, a young man with learning disabilitites who had been a loyal manager on his team for many years, was in his final season before graduating and had never seen one second of playing time prior to that day. He suited up, entered the game and proceeded to hit five three-point shots in a row to end the game. He was carried off on his teammates' shoulders.

Sportsmanship. It's a term that represents respect not only for one's opponent on a field of play, but respect for the very game itself. Too often in today's me-first, 24-hour-news-cycle world, we hear of the gun-toting celebrity athlete or the philandering celebrity athlete or the steroid-using celebrity athlete. Key word there being celebrity. We bear witness to the garish, selfish, juvenile displays of celebration when a linebacker sacks a quarterback or a wide receiver catches a pass for a first down - you know, just doing their jobs! It tarnishes the word, sportsman. Then along comes Grant Whybark, and for a minute we forget about all that is bad in sports and remember the sheer joy of playing the game, playing by the rules, and the purity that can be sports when played the way they were intended - with honor, dignity and respect for the opponent and the game. Grant Whybark should be awarded an ESPY - if not the key to the city - but I have a feeling he's a guy who would be embarassed by the honor. He didn't do what he did for the recognition; he did it for the love of the game and out of respect for a deserving fellow competitor. And that's why I'm barking for Grant Whybark. Woof! Woof! Woof! . . .

. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'