To all you dads out there, I hope your Father's Day was as enjoyable as mine. My beautiful daughters treated me to an air-conditioned cabana at a local beach resort, complete with flat screen TV on which to watch the U.S. Open when I wasn't sunning by the pool. Not too shabby! They even sprang for a couple shots of Padron! Speaking of the Open, what a performance by the young Mr. McIlroy! Perhaps Tiger finally has a worthy opponent.
If you're a golfer, or a fan of golf, you probably know that our national championship, the United States Open, concludes (weather permitting) on Father's Day each year. It's a tradition that has made watching the Open just a little more special. This year, Gerry McIlroy, Rory's father, was right there beside the 18th green to witness his beloved only-child complete a rare, record-setting wire-to-wire victory. After sinking his final putt - eight shots clear of his closest competitor - Rory trotted off the green and into his father's warm embrace, a father who sometimes worked three jobs to support a young Rory's burgeoning links career. Now that's a helluva Father's Day!
The U.S. Open is televised on NBC, and a key member of the broadcast team is analyst Johnny Miller, himself an Open champion and the holder of the lowest final round ever shot in a U.S. Open (his spectacular 63 at Oakmont in 1973). Miller is known as a no-holds-barred commentator who is not afraid to skewer his fellow linksmen if he believes they deserve it. His candor, along with his expert observations have made him one of the most highly regarded analysts in all of sports, let alone golf. He is also known as a spiritual man, and a devoted father and husband, who, like millions of young men, was taught the game of golf by his father.
During yesterday's broadcast, Miller commented that the highest calling for a man is that of being a father. Amid the excitement of watching a record-setting performance by a sweet-swinging, fast-rising young Northern Irishman, Miller poignantly added perspective that elevated the moment, and the broadcast, without sounding preachy. And he's right, of course. As much as we men may see ourselves as providers, or heads of household or protectors, or whatever traditional or macho descriptor you can think of, there is no more important role we will ever play than that of father. Johnny Miller, you're the man!
So, happy belated Father's Day, dads. I hope your kids are as wonderful and special as mine. They're adults now, but they'll always be my kids. I'm honored, proud and humbled to be their dad!
T. Stauffer, Wishin' I Was Fishin'
Monday, June 20, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
A New Day. A Different Point of View. An Easter Tale.
I last posted to this blog in July - nine months ago. At that point, I realized the whole "blogging thing" had come to represent something I didn't want (or need). It had become a chore. I have enough chores; didn't need one more. So, I took a break - to rethink and regroup. No timeline for a return, if at all, but hopeful. In the interim, I've had plenty of time to reflect on why I began blogging in the first place and what I had hoped to accomplish by doing so. I've come to several realizations:
- I have a new and profoundly greater respect for people who earn their living writing every day.
- Being creative, clever, witty, topical and/or informative every day - or even simply on a regular basis - is, at best, difficult and challenging. At least it has been for me.
- Blogging anonymously while using the forum to make critical social commentary is gutless and it is irresponsible. It's voyeurism at it's most base, and it has become all too common in the blogosphere. I wasn't adding value, and I was becoming (more) cynical.
- I should be writing NOT because I need to get something off my chest (better left for the confessional or shrink's couch), but because I need to write. And because I want to share.
So, I'm back. Less negative social commentary - unless it's self-deprecating. Topics that are more upbeat and hopefully uplifting. (I'm predisposed to sarcasm, so I will endeavor to resist the temptation - unless it would genuinely contribute to humor.) Off I go.
I celebrated Easter this past weekend like millions of others around the world. In and of itself, that's not significant. However, one element of our family's celebration stands out that some people might find interesting. My adult son and daughter - ages 19 & soon-to-be-22 respectively - requested an Easter egg hunt. When my wife informed me, I was like, "Are you kidding?" Suddenly, my cranky side emerged. Why? Because selfishly, the last thing I wanted to do for the umpteenth consecutive Easter morning was trudge around my dew-covered yard, dodging piles of dog you-know-what, and trying to find yet another batch of clever hiding places in which to stash stupid little plastic eggs, while my big kiddies slumber away the morning.
How many years have I been doing this? Twenty, if not more! Next thing you're going to tell me is they also want us to leave a couple carrots out overnight for a certain Mr. E. Bunny! Get outta here! They're registered voters for crying out loud! Once more, instead of relaxing on the lanai with a steaming mug of java and my morning paper, seranaded by the osprey, cardinals, mocking birds and redheaded woodpeckers, I'll be attempting to conceal a hundred-or-so (seems like a thousand!) annoying plastic orbs in which Mom has graciously inserted varying amounts of our hard-earned cash and clever little fortune-cookie-like notes, all so that my overindulged offspring can cling ever-so-tightly to their youth. Bah humbug!
As I rounded the corner of the house for what seemed like the 50th time, trying to find one last hiding place for one last egg, and by now sweating like I just spent an hour in a sauna, it hit me. So what, ya big Scrooge? So what, if your still-living-at-home adult children want to race around the yard like a couple of giggling adolescents trying to beat each other by collecting the most eggs? Why the hell not? Have you paid attention to all those headlines and stories you read every day in your precious newspaper? Being a grown-up isn't all it's cracked up to be these days, Daddy-O. So what, if your kids want to be kids again for an hour on Easter morning? Cut 'em some slack! On Monday they go back to trying to find their way in a very complicated world and being held accountable like the rest of us. God bless 'em for wanting to hold on to a little piece of happier, simpler times! Rue the day when they ask no more! (Wow, self-served humble pie for breakfast. So mature!)
Well, I found a place for that last egg. Then Mom and I went about our remaining Easter Day chores: she, tidying up the house and filling vessels with Cadbury eggs, jelly beans and other tasty morsels, and I, preparing our Easter feast. As it turns out, hours would pass before the kids finally set out for the hunt (young adults keep late nights, you know!). They didn't roll out of bed until early afternoon, and there was the task of coloring real eggs first. Finally, mid-afternoon, as I was preparing to put the lamb on the grill, bags in-hand, they rushed outside and for the next hour or so, my grown-up kids were simply big kids. In typical fashion, Big Sis - she being "the competitive one" - hoarded more eggs than Li'l Bro (it seems to have become a tradition at some point), and secured bragging rights for yet another year. The odds were in her favor that she'd have the egg containing the $5 bill, and sure enough, as she pried open what seemed like her 500th egg, there he was: Honest Abe. Momentary glee (not the TV show), followed by a look of genuine satisfaction. Across the room, all Little Brother could do was shake his head, toss back a few more jelly beans and hope for better luck next year. Soon, we shared an excellent dinner, then, fully sated, I retired to the lanai for a cigar, another glass of wine and the company of my back-to-being-a-young-adult son and his guitar. Not a bad way to finish the day.
You know, maybe next year, I'll request that they hide a few eggs for me.
Happy to be writing again,
T. Stauffer, Wishin' I Was Fishin'
Friday, July 23, 2010
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
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
Sunday, July 4, 2010
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'
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'
Friday, July 2, 2010
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'
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'
Friday, June 25, 2010
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'
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'
Sunday, May 30, 2010
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'
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'
Friday, May 14, 2010
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'
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'
Monday, May 10, 2010
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'
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'
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
What Happened To Civility?
Racial epithets. Homophobic slurs. Verbal abuse on an unconscionable scale. In the halls of our nation's Capitol building, no less! And all because a committed and forward-thinking group of elected officials were trying to accomplish something no one else has been able to accomplish - provide affordable healthcare coverage to every American citizen. Gosh, what a brazen, reckless and ill-conceived thing to do! I mean, just imagine, the wealthiest nation on the planet, inhabited by some of the most intelligent people on the planet, might once and for all ensure that everyone, including and especially the poorest among us, the most infirm among us, the most destitute and desperate among us, will receive the medical treatment they need - when they need it. Won't work. Can't work. We'll go broke. At least that's what Rush and his merry band of lunatics have been screaming. And there was my fellow Buckeye, the poster child for Coppertone, John Boehnert, doing everything in his power to ensure that not a single Republican support the bill-of-ages. He, of the gutless GOP, which hasn't managed to move the meter one iota on national healthcare since Nixon took office!
So, people, this is what we've come to? Slinging the n-word at the venerable John Lewis who stood arm-in-arm with MLK, Jr. over four decades ago? Calling eight-term Massachusetts congressman, Barney Frank, the homophobic f-word simply because he supports legislation that requires every American to have healthcare coverage? Once again, my fellow Americans - my neighbors - through ignorance and a myopic willingness to be led down an extremist path, you have managed to embarass me and make me fear for a future devoid of common civility, rational discourse and simple respect for one another. Call it the next chapter in the ongoing dumbing down and polarization of America.
In my very first blog, I lamented the callous disregard and disrespect shown me by a self-absorbed luxury SUV driver who cut me off in traffic while yapping on his cell phone, only to then blare his horn at me as if I was the offender. People, what happened to civility? Regardless of how we feel about what is going on in Washington, and regardless of whether we believe freedom of speech gives us the right to say whatever we want, wherever and whenever we want and to whom we want to say it, it doesn't make it right when civility and common decency become casualties in the process! Merriam-Webster Online (that's a dictionary for you language-challenged readers) defines civility - a noun, of which the root word is civil, an adjective dating to the 14th century derived from the Latin civilis - as, a) civilized conduct, especially: Courtesy and Politeness, and b) a polite act or expression. Synonyms for civil are polite, courteous, gallant and even chivalrous. I'm sure you're familiar with the word polite. You know, like "if you can't be pleasant, at least be polite."
Now, I'm not suggesting that we get all huggy-kissy with one another (although a little more of that would go a long way indeed!) What I am suggesting is that every single one of us take a step back - if not two - and consider how our approach to everything from national healthcare to abortion to offshore drilling to Wall Street to red light cameras on Main Street to global warming to who goes first at a four-way stop, and every other issue that causes people to take sides, is polarizing us and making us distrustful and fearful of each other, even our friends and families. Civility. Respect. They're not just words, but ideals, and eminently worthy of aspiring to if we consider ourselves even remotely enlightened. If each of us would make it his or her priority to practice civility and respect on a daily basis, rather than honing our national narcissism, we would be amazed by what we might accomplish together. At worst, the tone of the rhetoric would be taken down a few notches and we might actually be able to have a conversation. Now, it seems all we can do is argue, threaten and browbeat.
Perhaps we should all take a lesson from that professional golfer - no, not that one - who in the midst of a playoff recently that could have resulted in his first PGA Tour victory, called a two-stroke penalty on himself for a rule violation that no one else would likely have noticed, due to his awkward and somewhat hidden stance in a hazard. His name is Brian Davis and his action not only cost him the victory, it cost him $415,000 - the difference between first and second place prize money. He proved that in golf, honesty is more important than victory, and that's a lesson we can all apply to life. If Brian Davis lacked respect for the game, his opponents the PGA and the fans, do you think he would have taken such action? If he was not a person who puts a priority on civility and honesty and integrity, he could very well have won that tournament, along with the future exemptions, accolades, and endorsements that might have followed. Yes, and our society's collective conscience would have taken another blow in the process. Brian Davis gives me hope; hope that more and more of my fellow citizens will discover their inner Brian Davises and begin to treat one another with respect and civility.
Perhaps then our national arguments will become national conversations. I can only hope. Until next blog, I'm . . .
. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'
So, people, this is what we've come to? Slinging the n-word at the venerable John Lewis who stood arm-in-arm with MLK, Jr. over four decades ago? Calling eight-term Massachusetts congressman, Barney Frank, the homophobic f-word simply because he supports legislation that requires every American to have healthcare coverage? Once again, my fellow Americans - my neighbors - through ignorance and a myopic willingness to be led down an extremist path, you have managed to embarass me and make me fear for a future devoid of common civility, rational discourse and simple respect for one another. Call it the next chapter in the ongoing dumbing down and polarization of America.
In my very first blog, I lamented the callous disregard and disrespect shown me by a self-absorbed luxury SUV driver who cut me off in traffic while yapping on his cell phone, only to then blare his horn at me as if I was the offender. People, what happened to civility? Regardless of how we feel about what is going on in Washington, and regardless of whether we believe freedom of speech gives us the right to say whatever we want, wherever and whenever we want and to whom we want to say it, it doesn't make it right when civility and common decency become casualties in the process! Merriam-Webster Online (that's a dictionary for you language-challenged readers) defines civility - a noun, of which the root word is civil, an adjective dating to the 14th century derived from the Latin civilis - as, a) civilized conduct, especially: Courtesy and Politeness, and b) a polite act or expression. Synonyms for civil are polite, courteous, gallant and even chivalrous. I'm sure you're familiar with the word polite. You know, like "if you can't be pleasant, at least be polite."
Now, I'm not suggesting that we get all huggy-kissy with one another (although a little more of that would go a long way indeed!) What I am suggesting is that every single one of us take a step back - if not two - and consider how our approach to everything from national healthcare to abortion to offshore drilling to Wall Street to red light cameras on Main Street to global warming to who goes first at a four-way stop, and every other issue that causes people to take sides, is polarizing us and making us distrustful and fearful of each other, even our friends and families. Civility. Respect. They're not just words, but ideals, and eminently worthy of aspiring to if we consider ourselves even remotely enlightened. If each of us would make it his or her priority to practice civility and respect on a daily basis, rather than honing our national narcissism, we would be amazed by what we might accomplish together. At worst, the tone of the rhetoric would be taken down a few notches and we might actually be able to have a conversation. Now, it seems all we can do is argue, threaten and browbeat.
Perhaps we should all take a lesson from that professional golfer - no, not that one - who in the midst of a playoff recently that could have resulted in his first PGA Tour victory, called a two-stroke penalty on himself for a rule violation that no one else would likely have noticed, due to his awkward and somewhat hidden stance in a hazard. His name is Brian Davis and his action not only cost him the victory, it cost him $415,000 - the difference between first and second place prize money. He proved that in golf, honesty is more important than victory, and that's a lesson we can all apply to life. If Brian Davis lacked respect for the game, his opponents the PGA and the fans, do you think he would have taken such action? If he was not a person who puts a priority on civility and honesty and integrity, he could very well have won that tournament, along with the future exemptions, accolades, and endorsements that might have followed. Yes, and our society's collective conscience would have taken another blow in the process. Brian Davis gives me hope; hope that more and more of my fellow citizens will discover their inner Brian Davises and begin to treat one another with respect and civility.
Perhaps then our national arguments will become national conversations. I can only hope. Until next blog, I'm . . .
. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'
Friday, March 19, 2010
Daylight Savings, March Madness and Tiger
We've had an abnormally cold winter here in the Sunshine State. All I have to do is look out my window and survey my ravaged landscaping to know that. Been here 12 years; never had a winter this cold for this long. Global warming - are you kidding? Of course, El Nino gets the blame, and for someone who DOES believe man has caused an accelerated warming of our planet, I have to admit I've been taken aback by our Florida winter anomoly this year. I mean, as if going broke in this crappy economy wasn't enough, now I have to find the resources to replace half the foliage around my little castle. Bad to worse; isn't that the way it always seems to go?
Finally two weeks ago we were prescribed our annual dose of hope with the onset of Daylight Savings Time, and I couldn't have been more pleased. When Congress extended the length of Daylight Savings a couple years ago, who knew it would be the last truly intelligent and worthwhile decision that venerable body would make! Daylight Savings, like the delicate and beautiful crocus, signals the onset of spring, and with it comes a feeling of renewal and optimism unlike any other time of the year. Bring it on!
Daylight Savings also signals the onset of March Madness and the build-up to the Masters. For a sports junkie like me, nursing my football season hangover, it doesn't get much better. My beloved Buckeyes made the field once again, and as a number-two seed to boot! But alas, even the national player of the year couldn't carry an entire team in the end against the scrappy Tennessee Volunteers, and bowed out in the round of 16. Nonetheless, life is good I tell you. We can all root for Butler. Go Bulldogs! No sooner than the fervor of March Madness will subside, lo and behold, the azaleas of Augusta will beckon and the year's first golf major will be upon us. Yes, Tiger will be there, rising from his self-imposed hybernation like Punxsutawney Phil to see whether Mother Nature will be kind or six more weeks of hell will be thrust upon him.
You'll not find judgment here for El Tigre. His personal life holds no interest for me. What the man does with 14 clubs and a little white Titlist is all I care about. It's the stuff of legend. I consider myself blessed to have witnessed the two greatest golfers of the modern era work their links magic during my lifetime - Tiger and The Golden Bear (a fellow Buckeye, by the way). When Tiger steps inside those ropes I, for one, will not be wondering whether his wife, estranged or otherwise, is among the crowd. I will only wonder whether his otherworldly mental acuity will reach its peak amid Herculean distractions, and after a four-month layoff. Will he shankopotomous off the first tee or stripe one down the middle about 315? Will Rae's Creek suck in his first approach to #12? When it comes to sports, you want drama? The Masters should provide drama aplenty this year - at least on Thursday and Friday. And should he make the cut - and why shouldn't he - we can settle in for what could be the greatest show on earth. I mean who else, by simply announcing his return to competitive anything could actually cause CBS' stock to go up! Love 'im or hate 'im, the man moves the meter.
So, as I publish this post, outside my window, beyond the brown, frayed edges of my cold-damaged flora, a cloudless blue sky beckons while the mercury inches its way toward 80. My old fishin' buddy, Ron, just phoned to remind me that tomorrow is the first day of grouper season, so it looks like we'll be playing a little hooky tomorrow. Yep, with temps pushing ochocinco, 0% chance of precip and calmer winds forecast, you'll find us about 60 miles out in the Gulf, not just wishin' we were fishin', but actually doin' it for a change! Ah, Spring! You make me smile. Until next blog, as always, I'm . . .
. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'
Finally two weeks ago we were prescribed our annual dose of hope with the onset of Daylight Savings Time, and I couldn't have been more pleased. When Congress extended the length of Daylight Savings a couple years ago, who knew it would be the last truly intelligent and worthwhile decision that venerable body would make! Daylight Savings, like the delicate and beautiful crocus, signals the onset of spring, and with it comes a feeling of renewal and optimism unlike any other time of the year. Bring it on!
Daylight Savings also signals the onset of March Madness and the build-up to the Masters. For a sports junkie like me, nursing my football season hangover, it doesn't get much better. My beloved Buckeyes made the field once again, and as a number-two seed to boot! But alas, even the national player of the year couldn't carry an entire team in the end against the scrappy Tennessee Volunteers, and bowed out in the round of 16. Nonetheless, life is good I tell you. We can all root for Butler. Go Bulldogs! No sooner than the fervor of March Madness will subside, lo and behold, the azaleas of Augusta will beckon and the year's first golf major will be upon us. Yes, Tiger will be there, rising from his self-imposed hybernation like Punxsutawney Phil to see whether Mother Nature will be kind or six more weeks of hell will be thrust upon him.
You'll not find judgment here for El Tigre. His personal life holds no interest for me. What the man does with 14 clubs and a little white Titlist is all I care about. It's the stuff of legend. I consider myself blessed to have witnessed the two greatest golfers of the modern era work their links magic during my lifetime - Tiger and The Golden Bear (a fellow Buckeye, by the way). When Tiger steps inside those ropes I, for one, will not be wondering whether his wife, estranged or otherwise, is among the crowd. I will only wonder whether his otherworldly mental acuity will reach its peak amid Herculean distractions, and after a four-month layoff. Will he shankopotomous off the first tee or stripe one down the middle about 315? Will Rae's Creek suck in his first approach to #12? When it comes to sports, you want drama? The Masters should provide drama aplenty this year - at least on Thursday and Friday. And should he make the cut - and why shouldn't he - we can settle in for what could be the greatest show on earth. I mean who else, by simply announcing his return to competitive anything could actually cause CBS' stock to go up! Love 'im or hate 'im, the man moves the meter.
So, as I publish this post, outside my window, beyond the brown, frayed edges of my cold-damaged flora, a cloudless blue sky beckons while the mercury inches its way toward 80. My old fishin' buddy, Ron, just phoned to remind me that tomorrow is the first day of grouper season, so it looks like we'll be playing a little hooky tomorrow. Yep, with temps pushing ochocinco, 0% chance of precip and calmer winds forecast, you'll find us about 60 miles out in the Gulf, not just wishin' we were fishin', but actually doin' it for a change! Ah, Spring! You make me smile. Until next blog, as always, I'm . . .
. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'
Monday, February 15, 2010
I Wrote On My Hand Too . . . . . In 4th Grade!
OK, I admit, the whole crib-notes-on-the-hand thing had me going there for a minute or two. I honestly thought it was a big joke, you know, like it was all PhotoShopped or something, and after awhile Sarah-From-Moosejaw would give us the punch line, and we'd all chuckle. But alas, I'm naive. The High-Priestess of Conservative Values really did use her hand as a cheat-sheet as she stumped-for-dollars and did the obligatory talk show thing during her most recent whistle stop tour. She's in demand these days, our sexy Sarah Smile. Best-selling author, Fox commentator, tea party headliner. I swear I heard her next big gig may be to replace Mr. Las Vegas as Mrs. Las Vegas. Hey, Wayne, who knew the lady could wrap a mean Danke Shon, play 15 different instruments and top it off with a little bit of the ol' soft shoe? That's a talented woman, by golly.
And you thought we weren't taking the Hockey Mom-In-Chief seriously! I mean come on, what's not to take seriously? Here's a woman who literally fell from the Aurora Borealis and landed smack in the middle of a national, paradigm-shifting presidential campaign only to torpedo her own chances and those of her beloved national hero running mate by simply opening her mouth and ransacking the Republican party expense account - repeatedly. Oh, but it was the fault of her handlers, remember? She would have been all too happy to outfit herself at Bass Pro Shops, but no, they had to have a full makeover, and only Neiman Marcus would do. Oh, and by the way, those snowmobile racing onesies just won't do, Todd. We'll need you to schedule some quality time at N-M too. And hey, swing by Brooks Brothers while you're at it. We want the FFG (Future First Guy) to look all presidentially and stuff.
Isn't it ironic, that less than nine months after qualifying for the Guiness Book of World Records for the largest-ever department store return-for-credit, the Wonder of Wasilla can afford to buy just about any item of couture her little bridge-to-nowhere-lovin' heart desires. Thanks to mammoth hard-cover sales of Going Rogue, a big fat contract with Fox and speaking fees topping $100K per, the Darling of Danali is rapidly on the rise again, as well as on the verge of being Forbes-listed. Only in America! God, I love this country. (I hear the Smithsonian already has a space reserved for her iconic eyewear. Working title: How Sarah Saw Things)
So, Sarah, now that we're really supposed to be taking you seriously, when are we going to hear some genuine, thoughtful, proprietary intellectual property spill out of your mouth instead of the kitschy, cutesy, wrap-the-flag-around-me, ah shucks, gun-totin', you betcha, Obama's-palling-around-with-terrorists falderol you simply re-package on a week-in-week-out basis to the genuine delight of your misguided and apparently fairly shallow supporters? I mean, that's the least we can ask from someone who aspires to be chief executive of the most powerful nation on the planet. On second thought, keep doin' what yer doin'. Yep, take the money and run, don't look back, and smile all the way to the Bank of Wasilla. The heck with this runnin' for president thing. You should really consider teaming up with Ann Coulter. You'd knock 'em dead on The Strip as the Abbott & Costello (or maybe that's Andy & Barney) of the Ranting Right. Our country would be safer for it, and Mr. Las Vegas could ride off into the sunset, at peace with his legacy.
Ya know, all this jawin' and outdoorsy references, and small townsy references and Neiman Marcusy references just leaves me . . .
. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'
And you thought we weren't taking the Hockey Mom-In-Chief seriously! I mean come on, what's not to take seriously? Here's a woman who literally fell from the Aurora Borealis and landed smack in the middle of a national, paradigm-shifting presidential campaign only to torpedo her own chances and those of her beloved national hero running mate by simply opening her mouth and ransacking the Republican party expense account - repeatedly. Oh, but it was the fault of her handlers, remember? She would have been all too happy to outfit herself at Bass Pro Shops, but no, they had to have a full makeover, and only Neiman Marcus would do. Oh, and by the way, those snowmobile racing onesies just won't do, Todd. We'll need you to schedule some quality time at N-M too. And hey, swing by Brooks Brothers while you're at it. We want the FFG (Future First Guy) to look all presidentially and stuff.
Isn't it ironic, that less than nine months after qualifying for the Guiness Book of World Records for the largest-ever department store return-for-credit, the Wonder of Wasilla can afford to buy just about any item of couture her little bridge-to-nowhere-lovin' heart desires. Thanks to mammoth hard-cover sales of Going Rogue, a big fat contract with Fox and speaking fees topping $100K per, the Darling of Danali is rapidly on the rise again, as well as on the verge of being Forbes-listed. Only in America! God, I love this country. (I hear the Smithsonian already has a space reserved for her iconic eyewear. Working title: How Sarah Saw Things)
So, Sarah, now that we're really supposed to be taking you seriously, when are we going to hear some genuine, thoughtful, proprietary intellectual property spill out of your mouth instead of the kitschy, cutesy, wrap-the-flag-around-me, ah shucks, gun-totin', you betcha, Obama's-palling-around-with-terrorists falderol you simply re-package on a week-in-week-out basis to the genuine delight of your misguided and apparently fairly shallow supporters? I mean, that's the least we can ask from someone who aspires to be chief executive of the most powerful nation on the planet. On second thought, keep doin' what yer doin'. Yep, take the money and run, don't look back, and smile all the way to the Bank of Wasilla. The heck with this runnin' for president thing. You should really consider teaming up with Ann Coulter. You'd knock 'em dead on The Strip as the Abbott & Costello (or maybe that's Andy & Barney) of the Ranting Right. Our country would be safer for it, and Mr. Las Vegas could ride off into the sunset, at peace with his legacy.
Ya know, all this jawin' and outdoorsy references, and small townsy references and Neiman Marcusy references just leaves me . . .
. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Buckeye Fan in Gator Land
Today is January 2, 2010 - the day after. As in, the day after my supposedly-too-slow-to-keep-up Ohio State Buckeyes (4-point underdogs, I might add) stymied the vaunted Oregon Ducks' rapid-fire offense in the 96th GOTA (Grandaddy Of Them All) - the Rose Bowl - while completing a rather impressive, if not dominant, victory. In this morning's St. Petersburg Times, that rated a few paragraphs at the bottom of page-3. Behold, the life of a Buckeye fan in Gator land (actually, there are quite a few of us here in the land of reptiles and palm trees).
I'm an avid sports fan period, but particularly, college sports, and most of all, college football. Having lived in the Tampa Bay area for some 12 years now, I've witnessed the re-emergence of the Florida Gators football program as well as the veritable rise to prominence of the Florida Gators basketball program (mostly at the expense of my beloved Buckeyes!), and I must tell you, it hasn't been very pleasant. Not just because it was the Buckeyes often on the wrong end of a Gator victory, but because of the way Gator fans conduct themselves in general. And, by the way, that extends to "'Canes" and "'Noles" fans too. Lest we forget, aside from a nice run in the 90's led by "The Old Ball Coach," Steve Spurrier, the University of Florida's two major sports programs toiled in relative obscurity on a national scale for the lion's share of the 20th century. (And what about that nickname, "The Old Ball Coach"? A tad pretentious, no? Shouldn't that be reserved for someone who's actually old AND successful, e.g., Bobby Bowden or Joe Paterno? But, I digress.)
You see, in Florida - the fourth-most-populated state in the Union, where chads hang in disgrace and the only bigger joke than what passes as homeowners insurance protection is the perfectly-tanned, perfectly-coiffed Governor, who hasn't had the guts to genuinely pursue reform of anything, let alone insurance - sports enthusiasts must also suffer the rantings of over-confident supporters of the Gators (U. of Florida), Seminoles (Florida State U.) and Hurricanes (The U, excuse me, U. of Miami) who mistakenly believe that all roads lead to their respective campuses.
Now, unquestionably, all of the aforementioned Sunshine State football programs have experienced tremendous success at times during the '80s, '90s and '00s (though not concurrently). As the state's population mushroomed during those same decades, these programs have benefited from a seemingly bottomless in-state talent pool (not to mention seemingly bottomless financial resources) that is the envy of the country and still has enough left to feed the rosters of dozens of top-tier programs from the Atlantic to the Pacific. (Hell, even our local U. of South Florida made it to #2 in the national rankings a couple years ago - even if it was for but a week or two - largely on the backs of homegrown talent!). Today, Florida State and Miami endeavor to "rebuild" their football programs as the Gators prepare to welcome yet another bumper crop of blue-chip recruits amid the uncertainty of whether their on-the-verge-of-sainthood, $4-million-a-year coach will even be coaching next fall. And, it's reasonable to suggest that not only they, but possibly their step-siblings at U. of South Florida and U. of Central Florida will remain strong and get stronger in the years to come. I admit, when it comes to college football, the state of Florida has become a powerhouse and it's not going to change anytime soon.
That said, does there have to be so much chest thumping (and I don't mean that inane, pompous exercise conducted by way too many pampered, 'roid-raged players on the field during every game)? Is it necessary to appear so elitist? "The U" as it is so affectionately known, had a great run, collecting four national championships in nine years, but always - and still - under a cloud of suspicion for everything from recruiting violations to paying players. Lest we forget $220,000 in falsified Pell Grants to 56 football players and over $400,000 of improper payments to other football players cited by the NCAA, leading to multiple sanctions in the mid-90s? How bad does it have to be when the cover story in Sports Illustrated (June 12, 1993) calls for "The U" to temporarily shut down the program? So, where have the 'Canes been since my Buckeyes - and supposedly the referees - "stole" the national championship from them in 2002? Florida State, under the genuine, old ball coach, Bobby Bowden, hit its stride in the '90s winning two national championships, but they have essentially been a non-factor the past decade. Despite Coach Bowden's amazing 34-year tenure in Tallahassee, the Seminoles program has repeatedly fallen under suspicion for a variety of misdeeds, culminating with the most recent round of sanctions, a 4-year probation and reduction in scholarships handed down by the NCAA following an academic cheating scandal.
People, and this includes you, you local suck-up sportscasters, the SEC is a wonderful athletic conference, replete with world-class universities and world-class athletes - of both genders - in a variety of sports, but no more or less so than the ACC, Big 10, Pac 10 or Big 12, so get off your high horse. I understand being proud and happy because your recent performances have brought favor on your houses, but for crying out loud, get over yourselves! As the saying goes, act like you've been there! The football Buckeyes had long been getting perennial national media coverage by the time Miami finally became a blip on the radar in the early '80s. It took Florida and Florida State another 10 years. The first Michigan-Ohio State game was played in 1897, and 105 more times since. Probably more than any other, that game has had national championship implications in more years than any other single rivalry. Hell, it wasn't me, it was no less than ESPN, who in 2000 ranked it the greatest North American sports rivalry. And when you puff out your chests and squawk about "Gator Nation," please, give me a break. You want to talk about a "nation," Buckeye Nation counts 465,000 alumni worldwide, compared to U. of Florida's 300,000, and UF has been around 17 years longer than OSU (1853 vs 1870).
And finally, all you Gator Nation Tebow worshippers out there, there still remains only one two-time Heisman Trophy winner, and he played for The Ohio State University. Does the name, Archie Griffin ring a bell? Yes, history will likely show that Timothy Richard Tebow was one of the greatest collegiate football players to ever strap on the pads, and I, like you - regardless of how I feel about you as fans - thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated watching Timmy Boy tote and sling the rock these past four years. Remember, bottom line, I'm a sports fan and I appreciate athletic excellence regardless of the athlete's affiliation, but more importantly, when he or she behaves with class, and Tim Tebow has demonstrated class in everything he's done, on and off the field. As for your saint-in-waiting coach, good luck with that, Gator fans. Likewise, best of luck to you too, Seminoles and 'Canes. Remember, act like you've been there before, because, alas, you have. Y'all give this Buckeye a headache, and when I get a headache, I start . . .
. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'.
I'm an avid sports fan period, but particularly, college sports, and most of all, college football. Having lived in the Tampa Bay area for some 12 years now, I've witnessed the re-emergence of the Florida Gators football program as well as the veritable rise to prominence of the Florida Gators basketball program (mostly at the expense of my beloved Buckeyes!), and I must tell you, it hasn't been very pleasant. Not just because it was the Buckeyes often on the wrong end of a Gator victory, but because of the way Gator fans conduct themselves in general. And, by the way, that extends to "'Canes" and "'Noles" fans too. Lest we forget, aside from a nice run in the 90's led by "The Old Ball Coach," Steve Spurrier, the University of Florida's two major sports programs toiled in relative obscurity on a national scale for the lion's share of the 20th century. (And what about that nickname, "The Old Ball Coach"? A tad pretentious, no? Shouldn't that be reserved for someone who's actually old AND successful, e.g., Bobby Bowden or Joe Paterno? But, I digress.)
You see, in Florida - the fourth-most-populated state in the Union, where chads hang in disgrace and the only bigger joke than what passes as homeowners insurance protection is the perfectly-tanned, perfectly-coiffed Governor, who hasn't had the guts to genuinely pursue reform of anything, let alone insurance - sports enthusiasts must also suffer the rantings of over-confident supporters of the Gators (U. of Florida), Seminoles (Florida State U.) and Hurricanes (The U, excuse me, U. of Miami) who mistakenly believe that all roads lead to their respective campuses.
Now, unquestionably, all of the aforementioned Sunshine State football programs have experienced tremendous success at times during the '80s, '90s and '00s (though not concurrently). As the state's population mushroomed during those same decades, these programs have benefited from a seemingly bottomless in-state talent pool (not to mention seemingly bottomless financial resources) that is the envy of the country and still has enough left to feed the rosters of dozens of top-tier programs from the Atlantic to the Pacific. (Hell, even our local U. of South Florida made it to #2 in the national rankings a couple years ago - even if it was for but a week or two - largely on the backs of homegrown talent!). Today, Florida State and Miami endeavor to "rebuild" their football programs as the Gators prepare to welcome yet another bumper crop of blue-chip recruits amid the uncertainty of whether their on-the-verge-of-sainthood, $4-million-a-year coach will even be coaching next fall. And, it's reasonable to suggest that not only they, but possibly their step-siblings at U. of South Florida and U. of Central Florida will remain strong and get stronger in the years to come. I admit, when it comes to college football, the state of Florida has become a powerhouse and it's not going to change anytime soon.
That said, does there have to be so much chest thumping (and I don't mean that inane, pompous exercise conducted by way too many pampered, 'roid-raged players on the field during every game)? Is it necessary to appear so elitist? "The U" as it is so affectionately known, had a great run, collecting four national championships in nine years, but always - and still - under a cloud of suspicion for everything from recruiting violations to paying players. Lest we forget $220,000 in falsified Pell Grants to 56 football players and over $400,000 of improper payments to other football players cited by the NCAA, leading to multiple sanctions in the mid-90s? How bad does it have to be when the cover story in Sports Illustrated (June 12, 1993) calls for "The U" to temporarily shut down the program? So, where have the 'Canes been since my Buckeyes - and supposedly the referees - "stole" the national championship from them in 2002? Florida State, under the genuine, old ball coach, Bobby Bowden, hit its stride in the '90s winning two national championships, but they have essentially been a non-factor the past decade. Despite Coach Bowden's amazing 34-year tenure in Tallahassee, the Seminoles program has repeatedly fallen under suspicion for a variety of misdeeds, culminating with the most recent round of sanctions, a 4-year probation and reduction in scholarships handed down by the NCAA following an academic cheating scandal.
People, and this includes you, you local suck-up sportscasters, the SEC is a wonderful athletic conference, replete with world-class universities and world-class athletes - of both genders - in a variety of sports, but no more or less so than the ACC, Big 10, Pac 10 or Big 12, so get off your high horse. I understand being proud and happy because your recent performances have brought favor on your houses, but for crying out loud, get over yourselves! As the saying goes, act like you've been there! The football Buckeyes had long been getting perennial national media coverage by the time Miami finally became a blip on the radar in the early '80s. It took Florida and Florida State another 10 years. The first Michigan-Ohio State game was played in 1897, and 105 more times since. Probably more than any other, that game has had national championship implications in more years than any other single rivalry. Hell, it wasn't me, it was no less than ESPN, who in 2000 ranked it the greatest North American sports rivalry. And when you puff out your chests and squawk about "Gator Nation," please, give me a break. You want to talk about a "nation," Buckeye Nation counts 465,000 alumni worldwide, compared to U. of Florida's 300,000, and UF has been around 17 years longer than OSU (1853 vs 1870).
And finally, all you Gator Nation Tebow worshippers out there, there still remains only one two-time Heisman Trophy winner, and he played for The Ohio State University. Does the name, Archie Griffin ring a bell? Yes, history will likely show that Timothy Richard Tebow was one of the greatest collegiate football players to ever strap on the pads, and I, like you - regardless of how I feel about you as fans - thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated watching Timmy Boy tote and sling the rock these past four years. Remember, bottom line, I'm a sports fan and I appreciate athletic excellence regardless of the athlete's affiliation, but more importantly, when he or she behaves with class, and Tim Tebow has demonstrated class in everything he's done, on and off the field. As for your saint-in-waiting coach, good luck with that, Gator fans. Likewise, best of luck to you too, Seminoles and 'Canes. Remember, act like you've been there before, because, alas, you have. Y'all give this Buckeye a headache, and when I get a headache, I start . . .
. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Night Before The Night Before Christmas
T'was the night before the night before Christmas and there did I sit.
In front of my laptop thinking, "Man, I'm a twit!"
It's been near a month since I posted a blog,
So I thought, "why not now?" as I sipped some egg nog.
This blogging, I've learned, for the fainthearted it's not.
Keeping up, staying current, posting often - it's a lot!
When you consider my day job, and being a dad,
My "free" time is little, it's really quite sad.
Like most of my peers I have much on my plate.
Sometimes it's too much and I just want to skate.
But, no, that won't do, my wife's there to remind me,
She works just as hard, if not harder, you see.
For nearly three decades she's been by my side.
Through thick and through thin, through low and high tide.
My angel has been there, committed and true.
What more could I ask? What more could she do?
As I look out my window and ponder next year.
I do so undaunted, and free of all fear.
With Christmas so close, only two days away,
I know what to write and I know what to say.
We may not be blessed to have presents galore,
But we're blessed nonetheless; what we have is much more.
Our children are here. We're all healthy to boot.
The love that we share makes the other stuff moot.
I can't think of anything more that I'd want.
To hell with the rest, if I may be so blunt.
My wife and my kids are what give my life meaning.
So Christmas with them is all I'll be needing.
Happy Holidays To All, On One of the Few Days I'm NOT . . .
. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'
In front of my laptop thinking, "Man, I'm a twit!"
It's been near a month since I posted a blog,
So I thought, "why not now?" as I sipped some egg nog.
This blogging, I've learned, for the fainthearted it's not.
Keeping up, staying current, posting often - it's a lot!
When you consider my day job, and being a dad,
My "free" time is little, it's really quite sad.
Like most of my peers I have much on my plate.
Sometimes it's too much and I just want to skate.
But, no, that won't do, my wife's there to remind me,
She works just as hard, if not harder, you see.
For nearly three decades she's been by my side.
Through thick and through thin, through low and high tide.
My angel has been there, committed and true.
What more could I ask? What more could she do?
As I look out my window and ponder next year.
I do so undaunted, and free of all fear.
With Christmas so close, only two days away,
I know what to write and I know what to say.
We may not be blessed to have presents galore,
But we're blessed nonetheless; what we have is much more.
Our children are here. We're all healthy to boot.
The love that we share makes the other stuff moot.
I can't think of anything more that I'd want.
To hell with the rest, if I may be so blunt.
My wife and my kids are what give my life meaning.
So Christmas with them is all I'll be needing.
Happy Holidays To All, On One of the Few Days I'm NOT . . .
. . .Wishin' I Was Fishin'
Monday, November 23, 2009
Giving Thanks
Ah, Thanksgiving Day. My favorite of all the holidays. My wife and daughters prefer Christmas. My son's kind of a fence-sitter. He understands why I prefer Thanksgiving and he agrees with my rationale, but I sense he generally likes one as much as the other, and that's OK. He's only 17. I do get a little rankled, though, when the girls address me as Scrooge!
I have a cynical Irish streak that I get from my mother, God rest her soul, and over time, I've come to view Christmas as more of a hassle than a holiday. (Ironically, my mom loved Christmas!) It would be convenient, and probably lazy, to chalk up my Yuletide cynicism to "the commercialization of Christmas." After all, there's nothing new about that. Most of us know Christmas was commercialized over a century ago. While I admit the commercial aspect of Christmas does play an important role in my general dislike of the holiday, there is more to it than that. I blame the religious right! Yep, it's those bible-toting conservatives again, this time messing up Christmas for me and God knows how many other people. My evidence? Read on.
(-Reprinted from To Celebrate: Reshaping Holidays and Rites of Passage, 1987): While the Gospel of Luke links the date of Jesus' birth to a census in Palestine decreed by Caesar Augustus, nothing is known of the time of year of his birth. The date of Christmas, like other Christian holy days, likely was established to provide an alternative to popular pagan festivals. It's known that December 25th was originally the date of the feast to the sun god, Mithras. After spreading from Persia into the Roman world during the first century, the cult of Mithras had become Christianity's leading rival by the third century. Although Christmas was intended as an alternative to pagan festivals, many of the practices of those festivals were simply incorporated into the Christian celebration and as Christianity spread through central and northern Europe, incorporation of the practices of local religions continued.
By the Reformation of the 16th century, many reformers wanted Christmas dropped as a Christian celebration. They viewed the popular practices of Christmas too similar to the old pagan festivals, and they emphasized the fact that there was no biblical sanction for Christmas. In 17th-century England, for a few years the feast of Christmas was even outlawed by the Puritan-dominated parliament. At the same time, Puritans in Massachusetts passed similar legislation. Between the 16th and 18th centuries, the widespread position taken against Christmas as a holy day by Puritans, Quakers, Baptists and Presbyterians ended up having consequences those religious groups could not have imagined.
Resistance to attaching religious significance to Christmas encouraged it's growth as a secular holiday. Through the 20th century (and now into the 21st) in Europe and North America, the popular celebration of Christmas remains an amalgam of Christian and non-Christian traditions. The lack of clarity about the celebration's purpose has remained, accentuating a new factor that arose in the 20th century - the commercialization of Christmas. The commercialization of Christmas did not take place in a social vacuum. It is part of our society, in which consumption for its own sake - regardless of need - is legitimized and encouraged. Without reluctance, comsumerism exploits religious beliefs and deep emotions to persuade people to buy.
Commercial Christmas, its underpinnings of Santa Claus firmly in place, continues its spiraling growth. It seems evident that its cultural pervasiveness makes future change little less than a distant dream. It is also true that many Christians and congregations accept the distortion of their holy day without challenge. The reason, one suspects, is not so much an insensitivity to the issues, but rather a feeling of impotence – not knowing what to do or how to do it. Aware that slogans such as "putting Christ back in Christmas," and ideas about "Christmas basket charity" are simplistic, many Christians opt to do nothing. The commercialization of Christmas is something everybody talks about, but nobody does anything about.
The previous four-paragraph passage was written 22 years ago, folks. It is still germane today, and will remain so as long as consumerism is at the heart of the celebration of Christmas. And who were the catalysts for that - you betcha, Sarah P. - religious conservatives. Of course, at the time, they had no way of knowing the consequences of turning their backs on Christmas would ultimately be Black Friday, but then, that's usually the case with the religious right. It's all about their interpretation of what Jesus would do and imposing that on the rest of us. Turning their backs on Christmas for nearly 200 years essentially guaranteed a more secular evolution. By the 19th century when those formerly-resistant Protestant groups (I suppose they saw the error in their ways) began to celebrate the birth of Christ again, it was not only a religious holy day, but a well-established secular holiday, for which Santa Claus, the North Pole and a sleigh with reindeer also represented the meaning of Christmas.
I guess what it comes down to is this: I resent the expectations that come with Christmas more than anything else. And I resent those in the religious community preaching about how we've lost the true meaning of Chritmas, while they queue up at Wal-Mart before dawn to get a shot at the new-and-improved Talking Elmo. Every year that passed as my children got older, I watched with regret as it became all about the presents, who got what, and making sure exactly the same amount of money was spent on each person. (Of course we couldn't have anyone feeling short-changed, now could we!) Getting dressed up and attending Christmas services was a mere sidebar to the bigger celebration back at the house - the celebration of consumpton. It's not "good little boys and girls" who get presents, it's the sons and daughters of prosperity, regardless of whether they are "good." And it's certainly not the poor, for whom the consequence of being "good" is generally getting nothing at all, because their families lack the resources to buy breakfast, let alone presents. Christmas is a cruel hoax to them.
Ironically, as the economy has taken its toll on my family, I may actually enjoy Christmas a little more this year. We can't afford presents. Our three children, now young adults, understand the situation, and we have shifted the focus to simply being together for Christmas. You know, sort of like Thanksgiving, where we give thanks for the good things in our lives, like the food on our table, the family surrounding us and the blessing of good health. And you wonder why I like Thanksgiving better than Christmas? It ain't just about the football, the turkey and the pumpkin pie! (But make no mistake, drumstick in hand, I'll be watching those Cowboys and Lions on Thursday. Hey, it's tradition!) Happy Holidays!
. . . Wishin' I Was Fishin'
I have a cynical Irish streak that I get from my mother, God rest her soul, and over time, I've come to view Christmas as more of a hassle than a holiday. (Ironically, my mom loved Christmas!) It would be convenient, and probably lazy, to chalk up my Yuletide cynicism to "the commercialization of Christmas." After all, there's nothing new about that. Most of us know Christmas was commercialized over a century ago. While I admit the commercial aspect of Christmas does play an important role in my general dislike of the holiday, there is more to it than that. I blame the religious right! Yep, it's those bible-toting conservatives again, this time messing up Christmas for me and God knows how many other people. My evidence? Read on.
(-Reprinted from To Celebrate: Reshaping Holidays and Rites of Passage, 1987): While the Gospel of Luke links the date of Jesus' birth to a census in Palestine decreed by Caesar Augustus, nothing is known of the time of year of his birth. The date of Christmas, like other Christian holy days, likely was established to provide an alternative to popular pagan festivals. It's known that December 25th was originally the date of the feast to the sun god, Mithras. After spreading from Persia into the Roman world during the first century, the cult of Mithras had become Christianity's leading rival by the third century. Although Christmas was intended as an alternative to pagan festivals, many of the practices of those festivals were simply incorporated into the Christian celebration and as Christianity spread through central and northern Europe, incorporation of the practices of local religions continued.
By the Reformation of the 16th century, many reformers wanted Christmas dropped as a Christian celebration. They viewed the popular practices of Christmas too similar to the old pagan festivals, and they emphasized the fact that there was no biblical sanction for Christmas. In 17th-century England, for a few years the feast of Christmas was even outlawed by the Puritan-dominated parliament. At the same time, Puritans in Massachusetts passed similar legislation. Between the 16th and 18th centuries, the widespread position taken against Christmas as a holy day by Puritans, Quakers, Baptists and Presbyterians ended up having consequences those religious groups could not have imagined.
Resistance to attaching religious significance to Christmas encouraged it's growth as a secular holiday. Through the 20th century (and now into the 21st) in Europe and North America, the popular celebration of Christmas remains an amalgam of Christian and non-Christian traditions. The lack of clarity about the celebration's purpose has remained, accentuating a new factor that arose in the 20th century - the commercialization of Christmas. The commercialization of Christmas did not take place in a social vacuum. It is part of our society, in which consumption for its own sake - regardless of need - is legitimized and encouraged. Without reluctance, comsumerism exploits religious beliefs and deep emotions to persuade people to buy.
Commercial Christmas, its underpinnings of Santa Claus firmly in place, continues its spiraling growth. It seems evident that its cultural pervasiveness makes future change little less than a distant dream. It is also true that many Christians and congregations accept the distortion of their holy day without challenge. The reason, one suspects, is not so much an insensitivity to the issues, but rather a feeling of impotence – not knowing what to do or how to do it. Aware that slogans such as "putting Christ back in Christmas," and ideas about "Christmas basket charity" are simplistic, many Christians opt to do nothing. The commercialization of Christmas is something everybody talks about, but nobody does anything about.
The previous four-paragraph passage was written 22 years ago, folks. It is still germane today, and will remain so as long as consumerism is at the heart of the celebration of Christmas. And who were the catalysts for that - you betcha, Sarah P. - religious conservatives. Of course, at the time, they had no way of knowing the consequences of turning their backs on Christmas would ultimately be Black Friday, but then, that's usually the case with the religious right. It's all about their interpretation of what Jesus would do and imposing that on the rest of us. Turning their backs on Christmas for nearly 200 years essentially guaranteed a more secular evolution. By the 19th century when those formerly-resistant Protestant groups (I suppose they saw the error in their ways) began to celebrate the birth of Christ again, it was not only a religious holy day, but a well-established secular holiday, for which Santa Claus, the North Pole and a sleigh with reindeer also represented the meaning of Christmas.
I guess what it comes down to is this: I resent the expectations that come with Christmas more than anything else. And I resent those in the religious community preaching about how we've lost the true meaning of Chritmas, while they queue up at Wal-Mart before dawn to get a shot at the new-and-improved Talking Elmo. Every year that passed as my children got older, I watched with regret as it became all about the presents, who got what, and making sure exactly the same amount of money was spent on each person. (Of course we couldn't have anyone feeling short-changed, now could we!) Getting dressed up and attending Christmas services was a mere sidebar to the bigger celebration back at the house - the celebration of consumpton. It's not "good little boys and girls" who get presents, it's the sons and daughters of prosperity, regardless of whether they are "good." And it's certainly not the poor, for whom the consequence of being "good" is generally getting nothing at all, because their families lack the resources to buy breakfast, let alone presents. Christmas is a cruel hoax to them.
Ironically, as the economy has taken its toll on my family, I may actually enjoy Christmas a little more this year. We can't afford presents. Our three children, now young adults, understand the situation, and we have shifted the focus to simply being together for Christmas. You know, sort of like Thanksgiving, where we give thanks for the good things in our lives, like the food on our table, the family surrounding us and the blessing of good health. And you wonder why I like Thanksgiving better than Christmas? It ain't just about the football, the turkey and the pumpkin pie! (But make no mistake, drumstick in hand, I'll be watching those Cowboys and Lions on Thursday. Hey, it's tradition!) Happy Holidays!
. . . Wishin' I Was Fishin'
Thursday, October 29, 2009
On Being Yellow
Ever since the Democrats took control of both the White House and our national legislative branch, then proceeded to run healthcare reform right back up the national flagpole, the rhetoric coming from inside AND outside the Beltway has been elevated to levels not seen since the Pulitzer vs. Hearst yellow journalism days of the late 19th century. I have to admit, in sort of a voyeuristic way, watching all this from a distance at times is pretty amusing, until, that is, I realize that there are boatloads of my neighbors out there who buy into all this crap.
"Yellow journalism, in short, is biased opinion masquerading as objective fact. Moreover, the practice of yellow journalism involved sensationalism, distorted stories, and misleading images for the sole purpose of boosting newspaper sales and exciting public opinion." This is an excerpt from an educational article on the Oracle Education Foundation website, ThinkQuest.org. The article goes on to explain that this type of sensationalistic journalism tended to appeal to the "shorter attention spans and interests of the lower class." (Gosh, remind you of anyone?) It also goes on to explain that following this dark period in journalistic history, generally considered to have ended around 1910, newspapers and journalism were never the same. Now there's a revelation!
Fast forward to today and we find that yellow journalism is no longer the exclusive domain of newspapers, and hasn't been for a long time. The so-called 24-hour news cycle is now driven electronically by cable television and the web. Newspapers simply aren't as relevent as they once were, just prior to the start of the 20th century when 98% of the population - that's right, 98% - got their news from newspapers. Being all things yellow also now seems to be the bastion of the right (although the left can lay claim to a few fact-benders too). My problem is not so much with all the truth-stretching and yellow shading going on on both sides. Rather, I'm disturbed by the fact that waaaaaayyyyyy too many of my fellow citizens get their information exclusively from these sources. They form their opinions based soley on what they are being told from a narrow and extremely biased perspective. People are lazy. They listen to whatever suits their own proclivities. They will not proactively seek out opposing viewpoints. They won't search for truly factual, objective information in an effort to form a more educated opinion. What's worse, when challenged, they become defensive and combative, rather than being open-minded.
The electorate, my friends, is largely ignorant. We, are largely ignorant. (Not stupid, but ignorant. If you don't know the difference, look it up.) Oh yeah, and apathetic to boot. How else can you explain voter turnout of only 64% in the 2008 presidential election - virtually unchanged from 2004. For all the hullaballoo about voter registration and electing a black president, the fact is, the percentage of registered voters who voted did not change. It was the makeup of the voters that changed: 2 million more black voters, 2 million more Hispanic voters and 600,000 more Asian voters made up the lion's share of the 5 million-voter increase from 2004. And for whom did they vote? Go on, take a wild guess.
So, all you WASPy right-wing haters out there, keep rattling your yellow sabres and spewing your yellow misinformation. It served you well in last year's elections didn't it? Until you can give your ignorant, apathetic constituents truly compelling reasons to get off the couch and turn out at the polls, the GOP will continue to be the party of exclusion, not inclusion. Oh yeah, and just to make yourselves even more appealing, why don't y'all line up alongside my obviously-doesn't-have-enough-to-do-in-Washington, fellow Floridian, Rep. Ginny Brown-Waite. In unison insist that Pres. Obama must ask Congress for permission to accept the Nobel Peace Prize. That should make you a lot of friends. You Republicans, you're a funny lot. And Ginny, keep trying to be controversial, if not relevent. You fit right in with your fellow GOPers - loud, proud, grasping for straws and still completely clueless.
Ya know, when all this yellowness gets to be too much, I find myself . . .
. . . Wishing I Was Fishing.
"Yellow journalism, in short, is biased opinion masquerading as objective fact. Moreover, the practice of yellow journalism involved sensationalism, distorted stories, and misleading images for the sole purpose of boosting newspaper sales and exciting public opinion." This is an excerpt from an educational article on the Oracle Education Foundation website, ThinkQuest.org. The article goes on to explain that this type of sensationalistic journalism tended to appeal to the "shorter attention spans and interests of the lower class." (Gosh, remind you of anyone?) It also goes on to explain that following this dark period in journalistic history, generally considered to have ended around 1910, newspapers and journalism were never the same. Now there's a revelation!
Fast forward to today and we find that yellow journalism is no longer the exclusive domain of newspapers, and hasn't been for a long time. The so-called 24-hour news cycle is now driven electronically by cable television and the web. Newspapers simply aren't as relevent as they once were, just prior to the start of the 20th century when 98% of the population - that's right, 98% - got their news from newspapers. Being all things yellow also now seems to be the bastion of the right (although the left can lay claim to a few fact-benders too). My problem is not so much with all the truth-stretching and yellow shading going on on both sides. Rather, I'm disturbed by the fact that waaaaaayyyyyy too many of my fellow citizens get their information exclusively from these sources. They form their opinions based soley on what they are being told from a narrow and extremely biased perspective. People are lazy. They listen to whatever suits their own proclivities. They will not proactively seek out opposing viewpoints. They won't search for truly factual, objective information in an effort to form a more educated opinion. What's worse, when challenged, they become defensive and combative, rather than being open-minded.
The electorate, my friends, is largely ignorant. We, are largely ignorant. (Not stupid, but ignorant. If you don't know the difference, look it up.) Oh yeah, and apathetic to boot. How else can you explain voter turnout of only 64% in the 2008 presidential election - virtually unchanged from 2004. For all the hullaballoo about voter registration and electing a black president, the fact is, the percentage of registered voters who voted did not change. It was the makeup of the voters that changed: 2 million more black voters, 2 million more Hispanic voters and 600,000 more Asian voters made up the lion's share of the 5 million-voter increase from 2004. And for whom did they vote? Go on, take a wild guess.
So, all you WASPy right-wing haters out there, keep rattling your yellow sabres and spewing your yellow misinformation. It served you well in last year's elections didn't it? Until you can give your ignorant, apathetic constituents truly compelling reasons to get off the couch and turn out at the polls, the GOP will continue to be the party of exclusion, not inclusion. Oh yeah, and just to make yourselves even more appealing, why don't y'all line up alongside my obviously-doesn't-have-enough-to-do-in-Washington, fellow Floridian, Rep. Ginny Brown-Waite. In unison insist that Pres. Obama must ask Congress for permission to accept the Nobel Peace Prize. That should make you a lot of friends. You Republicans, you're a funny lot. And Ginny, keep trying to be controversial, if not relevent. You fit right in with your fellow GOPers - loud, proud, grasping for straws and still completely clueless.
Ya know, when all this yellowness gets to be too much, I find myself . . .
. . . Wishing I Was Fishing.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Sleepless in Tampa Bay
So, what keeps you awake at night? The possibility of another terrorist attack? Can't pay the mortgage? You're afraid your kid's smoking God-knows-what or ingesting God-knows-what and headed for rehab like Amy Winehouse? You think the wife/hubby might be doing the wild thing on the side with a tattoo artist from Seattle? How many interns did Dave really have sex with?
Maybe you're worried that that little nest egg you've been salting away for the past umpteen years, in the hope of bailing for a double-wide on a picturesque hillside in North Carolina, will end up a Bernie Madoff-type casualty? Or how about simply wondering whether come Friday you'll be called into the Poobah's office (or worse, the HR director's office) and told to turn in your office key, your key-card and have your desk and/or locker cleaned out by the end of the day? (Oh, and by the way, you'll have to sign this waiver that says you won't sue us. Otherwise we won't be able to pay you the disgustingly, insultingly paltry excuse-for-a-severance we have so generously awarded you for your many years of selfless service. Oh yeah, and your e-mail access has been cut off. Best of luck, and, oh, I almost forgot, if you want a recommendation, our company policy requires that we merely acknowledge that you were employed here.)
OK, let's see a show of hands. You been there? There now? Got any kin in Michigan? How about California, where you get a promissory note instead of a paycheck (Hey, Ah-nold, did Vons accept your promissory note for payment when you stopped to buy milk and eggs on the way home?)? If you're sleeping easily these days, (and I'm not sure I'd admit that openly in mixed company) then I would suggest you're in the minority - or an already-successful dermatologist in Florida who just hit a $181-million PowerBall jackpot, or taking 1,500 mg of Ambien nightly. Either way, you're one of few (or in the good doctor's case, the only). In the interest of full disclosure here, I do fall asleep fairly easily each night. I just don't stay asleep. It's what happens a couple hours later that's pertinent to this discussion. Now that I've passed 50, I find myself waking up pretty regularly in the middle of the night, needing to drain my bladder. (One could argue that in my case this has less to do with my age and more to do with the numero de las cervesas I've consumed over the course of the evening, but I would contend that it's both - A&B - Age & Beer!)
Regardless, once awake, my mind begins to race with the Mount Everest of issues I will contend with come morning light. Bills to pay; fires to put out at work; fires to put out at home; the house repairs I've put off for months and months because the money's just not there; the "I should have known better" penny stock I bought on a "tip" that tanked within 48 hours of buying it and has yet to rebound, thereby reducing the value of my already-diminished retirement account; my aging parents who are 1,000 miles away and in ill health; the what-used-to-be-manageable-but-now-seems-Jabba-The-Hut-size house payment coming due; the Russian Roulette I'm playing with our family's vehicles (not to mention my loved ones' safety!) - all of which are approaching 100,000 miles (the vehicles, that is) - as I allocate scarce resources to repairs. Sleep, you say? What the hell is that!? After two hours-or-so, of tossing and turning and ruminating and fretting, I'm lucky if I conk out from sheer lack of sleep for a few glorious minutes before the dreaded alarm goes off (just as I'm in the middle of a rather disturbing dream featuring Martin Sheen and Sigourney Weaver, with Martin handcuffed to a bed and, . . . oh, never mind).
The point is, as the pundits repeatedly use terminology like, "not since the Great Depression," the cold reality is that thousands, and tens of thousands, and hundreds of thousands of well-meaning, hard-working, tax-paying, home-owning, business-owning, used-to-put-$50-in-the-envelope-at-church-every-week, won't-ever-happen-to-me people - YOUR NEIGHBORS AND FAMILY MEMBERS - are not just struggling, but are on the verge of financial collapse.
Now, it's easy - and I would add, convenient - to suggest that we all had it coming to us. We borrowed when we should have been saving. We bought on credit when we should have paid cash. We leveraged when we should have been more conservative. We speculated. We got complacent. We ran up the market. We got greedy. Etc., etc., etc. But let me ask you, who is the "We" I refer to? Us? You and me? Couldn't the word be just as easily changed to "They." They, as in those mercenary-to-a-fault, won't-stop-'til-I-have-my-Ferrari-and-my-house-in-the-Hamptons Wall Streeters, and their myopic, insulated corporate C-level cronies who nearly drove The Big Three off a cliff and nearly flushed B of A and AIG down the sub-prime toilet.
While we - you and I - lay awake at night wondering how the electric bill (which, by the way is 25% higher than last year) is going to get paid, our Wall Street bretheren are simply gearing up for another round of yearly seven-figure bonuses. After all, we are approaching November. Year-end will be here before we know it, and I've had my eye on that luscious little Aston-Martin coupe with the leather ashtray! Bailout, shmailout. Didn't you see the Dow crack 10,000 again the other day? It's biz-as-usual here in the land of Bears & Bulls. After all, we have to pay these bonuses if we have any hope of attracting and keeping the best and the brightest, now don't we? Jesus, these guys make Gordon Gekko look like Mother Teresa!
Tell me again, what real value are these folks creating as they gaze out over the Manhattan skyline? Traders. There was a day in this country when a trader was someone who exchanged a tangible piece of property with someone in return for another tangible piece of property - or currency. You know, like fur traders, and spice traders, and silk traders. Now, traders are on Wall Street, and they are not so much trading tangibles as much as they are simply buying and selling the electronic equivalent of the future value of something we can't even touch in the first place - a stock (when was the last time you saw, or held, an actual stock certificate?), or a derivative (can anyone really tell me, in terms that I will actually understand, what a derivative is?), or a future (is that your future, my future, or the future price of the ear of corn my cousin grows on his farm in Ohio?).
Like two of the three little pigs, in many respects, it seems we've built our economic house out of straw and sticks. And in the process, we've ceded the oversight of our now-fragile economy to men and women who cut their teeth in the very halls of commerce they have now been tasked to oversee and regulate. At first glance, it would seem to make sense that someone with first-hand knowledge and experience in the industry he or she has been hired to oversee would make the best choice, but when he or she was previously the beneficiary of the same outsized bonuses and perks, how can he or she then rule with a firm, objective hand? The heck with the big bad wolf! The damn fox has been in the hen house for years, while we were too busy sucking the equity out of our homes to finance that Carribbean cruise or that shiny used Lexus or that beautiful 1/16th-acre lot in Ashville, NC!
When the Feds chose Elliot Ness to bust Public Enemy #1, Al Capone, do you think their list of required credentials included, "Must have stolen copious amounts of money. Must have wiped out numerous competitors (literally). Must possess a total disregard for collateral damage. Etc, etc." This romantic idea that it takes a thief to catch a thief is a crock. Think like a thief, maybe - been a thief, I don't think so.
What's my solution to all this? I don't have one. I'm just a guy in the middle, wondering about things and occasionally spotting the inequities that seem to separate the haves from the have-nots a little more every day, and wondering how this is all going to shake out. And losing a little more sleep every night. And as my head begins to ache, from all this inequity-spotting, I start to think, man . . .
. . . I Wish I Was Fishing.
Maybe you're worried that that little nest egg you've been salting away for the past umpteen years, in the hope of bailing for a double-wide on a picturesque hillside in North Carolina, will end up a Bernie Madoff-type casualty? Or how about simply wondering whether come Friday you'll be called into the Poobah's office (or worse, the HR director's office) and told to turn in your office key, your key-card and have your desk and/or locker cleaned out by the end of the day? (Oh, and by the way, you'll have to sign this waiver that says you won't sue us. Otherwise we won't be able to pay you the disgustingly, insultingly paltry excuse-for-a-severance we have so generously awarded you for your many years of selfless service. Oh yeah, and your e-mail access has been cut off. Best of luck, and, oh, I almost forgot, if you want a recommendation, our company policy requires that we merely acknowledge that you were employed here.)
OK, let's see a show of hands. You been there? There now? Got any kin in Michigan? How about California, where you get a promissory note instead of a paycheck (Hey, Ah-nold, did Vons accept your promissory note for payment when you stopped to buy milk and eggs on the way home?)? If you're sleeping easily these days, (and I'm not sure I'd admit that openly in mixed company) then I would suggest you're in the minority - or an already-successful dermatologist in Florida who just hit a $181-million PowerBall jackpot, or taking 1,500 mg of Ambien nightly. Either way, you're one of few (or in the good doctor's case, the only). In the interest of full disclosure here, I do fall asleep fairly easily each night. I just don't stay asleep. It's what happens a couple hours later that's pertinent to this discussion. Now that I've passed 50, I find myself waking up pretty regularly in the middle of the night, needing to drain my bladder. (One could argue that in my case this has less to do with my age and more to do with the numero de las cervesas I've consumed over the course of the evening, but I would contend that it's both - A&B - Age & Beer!)
Regardless, once awake, my mind begins to race with the Mount Everest of issues I will contend with come morning light. Bills to pay; fires to put out at work; fires to put out at home; the house repairs I've put off for months and months because the money's just not there; the "I should have known better" penny stock I bought on a "tip" that tanked within 48 hours of buying it and has yet to rebound, thereby reducing the value of my already-diminished retirement account; my aging parents who are 1,000 miles away and in ill health; the what-used-to-be-manageable-but-now-seems-Jabba-The-Hut-size house payment coming due; the Russian Roulette I'm playing with our family's vehicles (not to mention my loved ones' safety!) - all of which are approaching 100,000 miles (the vehicles, that is) - as I allocate scarce resources to repairs. Sleep, you say? What the hell is that!? After two hours-or-so, of tossing and turning and ruminating and fretting, I'm lucky if I conk out from sheer lack of sleep for a few glorious minutes before the dreaded alarm goes off (just as I'm in the middle of a rather disturbing dream featuring Martin Sheen and Sigourney Weaver, with Martin handcuffed to a bed and, . . . oh, never mind).
The point is, as the pundits repeatedly use terminology like, "not since the Great Depression," the cold reality is that thousands, and tens of thousands, and hundreds of thousands of well-meaning, hard-working, tax-paying, home-owning, business-owning, used-to-put-$50-in-the-envelope-at-church-every-week, won't-ever-happen-to-me people - YOUR NEIGHBORS AND FAMILY MEMBERS - are not just struggling, but are on the verge of financial collapse.
Now, it's easy - and I would add, convenient - to suggest that we all had it coming to us. We borrowed when we should have been saving. We bought on credit when we should have paid cash. We leveraged when we should have been more conservative. We speculated. We got complacent. We ran up the market. We got greedy. Etc., etc., etc. But let me ask you, who is the "We" I refer to? Us? You and me? Couldn't the word be just as easily changed to "They." They, as in those mercenary-to-a-fault, won't-stop-'til-I-have-my-Ferrari-and-my-house-in-the-Hamptons Wall Streeters, and their myopic, insulated corporate C-level cronies who nearly drove The Big Three off a cliff and nearly flushed B of A and AIG down the sub-prime toilet.
While we - you and I - lay awake at night wondering how the electric bill (which, by the way is 25% higher than last year) is going to get paid, our Wall Street bretheren are simply gearing up for another round of yearly seven-figure bonuses. After all, we are approaching November. Year-end will be here before we know it, and I've had my eye on that luscious little Aston-Martin coupe with the leather ashtray! Bailout, shmailout. Didn't you see the Dow crack 10,000 again the other day? It's biz-as-usual here in the land of Bears & Bulls. After all, we have to pay these bonuses if we have any hope of attracting and keeping the best and the brightest, now don't we? Jesus, these guys make Gordon Gekko look like Mother Teresa!
Tell me again, what real value are these folks creating as they gaze out over the Manhattan skyline? Traders. There was a day in this country when a trader was someone who exchanged a tangible piece of property with someone in return for another tangible piece of property - or currency. You know, like fur traders, and spice traders, and silk traders. Now, traders are on Wall Street, and they are not so much trading tangibles as much as they are simply buying and selling the electronic equivalent of the future value of something we can't even touch in the first place - a stock (when was the last time you saw, or held, an actual stock certificate?), or a derivative (can anyone really tell me, in terms that I will actually understand, what a derivative is?), or a future (is that your future, my future, or the future price of the ear of corn my cousin grows on his farm in Ohio?).
Like two of the three little pigs, in many respects, it seems we've built our economic house out of straw and sticks. And in the process, we've ceded the oversight of our now-fragile economy to men and women who cut their teeth in the very halls of commerce they have now been tasked to oversee and regulate. At first glance, it would seem to make sense that someone with first-hand knowledge and experience in the industry he or she has been hired to oversee would make the best choice, but when he or she was previously the beneficiary of the same outsized bonuses and perks, how can he or she then rule with a firm, objective hand? The heck with the big bad wolf! The damn fox has been in the hen house for years, while we were too busy sucking the equity out of our homes to finance that Carribbean cruise or that shiny used Lexus or that beautiful 1/16th-acre lot in Ashville, NC!
When the Feds chose Elliot Ness to bust Public Enemy #1, Al Capone, do you think their list of required credentials included, "Must have stolen copious amounts of money. Must have wiped out numerous competitors (literally). Must possess a total disregard for collateral damage. Etc, etc." This romantic idea that it takes a thief to catch a thief is a crock. Think like a thief, maybe - been a thief, I don't think so.
What's my solution to all this? I don't have one. I'm just a guy in the middle, wondering about things and occasionally spotting the inequities that seem to separate the haves from the have-nots a little more every day, and wondering how this is all going to shake out. And losing a little more sleep every night. And as my head begins to ache, from all this inequity-spotting, I start to think, man . . .
. . . I Wish I Was Fishing.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Garrison Keillor
You've heard the voice. I know you have; that smooth, soothing, melodic baritone, waxing philosophic, or poetic or nostalgic - or all of the above - as the narrator of (and giver-of-life-to) A Prairie Home Companion. If not, then perhaps you've read his syndicated column (or his 77 Love Sonnets). If none of the above applies, then I'm afraid you, sir or madam, have truly missed out; there is a hole in your life you don't even realize exists! I implore you, find his column (in the editorial pages, for those of you who still read newspapers), find his books, or find A Prairie Home Companion somewhere on your radio dial (590 public radio stations carry the weekly broadcast), on the internet, or via podcast. Trust me, your life will be better for it. (Want to find out more? Go to http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/
People, Garrison Keillor is a national treasure. Yes, a walking, talking, wiser-than-most-of-us-could-ever-hope-to-be NATIONAL FREAKING TREASURE. And we nearly lost him recently - to a stroke. He's a national treasure, but he's human - and he ain't gettin' any younger. He's OK, thankfully, and brilliant as ever. So that's why I pay tribute to him here - while he's still very much vertical. He deserves to be recognized in the here-and-now, rather than the here-after.
There are those who might say Garrison is old-fashioned, or even out of touch, considering his wistful Lake Wobegon ways and references to bygone days, but trust me, this dude has it going on, and has for over three decades. Don't judge a book by its Lake Wobegon cover. Consider this excerpt from a recent Keillor column:
"The right believes that if you throw enough mud, some will stick, and if you characterize healthcare reform as an evil plot by one-eyed space aliens, you can defeat the thing. The fact is that there are 40 million uninsured Americans and soon, if nothing is done, there will be more. This is a moral dilemma, the same as if habeas corpus only applied east of the Mississippi or that green-eyed children will only be educated through the sixth grade. Not acceptable in the country I live in. And it's up to people who care about the common good not to be scared off.
The right is operating in the grand old irreverent American middle-finger spirit of contrarianism. The cars full of kids who drive country roads busting mailboxes with baseball bats are expressing the same freewheeling spirit, and the computer hackers, and graffiti artists, and every conscientious rock 'n' roll band for the past 50 years.
But the price of being an angry jerk is that nobody wants to invite you over for supper except your mother, and even she feels a little uneasy. . ." (copyright, Garrison Keillor, all rights reserved.)
Brother, that's good stuff! Eloquence need not be uppity. It doesn't require arcane, high-brow Dennis Miller-esque references that only a few people ever really get. We need more Garrison Keillors - people, who with wit and wisdom, evenhandedness, depth of knowledge and incredible, insightful, historical perspective, can declare that the emperor has no clothes and do it without sinking into the hateful, spiteful mosh pit of a monologue (Yes, monologue, because a dialogue requires two voices, and we seem to hear only one these days. You know the one, its full name is Seanglenn Rushann Limbaughcoulter-Hannitybeck) that has become the standard for those who lean to the right.
So, this day, I revel in the survival of our National Treasure, Garrison Keillor, and I raise a pint to his ongoing battle against the forces of ignorance (and clogging arteries), and his love of the Lake Wobegon life, where the fish are biting, "all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average." And that makes me think . . .
. . . I Wish I Was Fishing.
People, Garrison Keillor is a national treasure. Yes, a walking, talking, wiser-than-most-of-us-could-ever-hope-to-be NATIONAL FREAKING TREASURE. And we nearly lost him recently - to a stroke. He's a national treasure, but he's human - and he ain't gettin' any younger. He's OK, thankfully, and brilliant as ever. So that's why I pay tribute to him here - while he's still very much vertical. He deserves to be recognized in the here-and-now, rather than the here-after.
There are those who might say Garrison is old-fashioned, or even out of touch, considering his wistful Lake Wobegon ways and references to bygone days, but trust me, this dude has it going on, and has for over three decades. Don't judge a book by its Lake Wobegon cover. Consider this excerpt from a recent Keillor column:
"The right believes that if you throw enough mud, some will stick, and if you characterize healthcare reform as an evil plot by one-eyed space aliens, you can defeat the thing. The fact is that there are 40 million uninsured Americans and soon, if nothing is done, there will be more. This is a moral dilemma, the same as if habeas corpus only applied east of the Mississippi or that green-eyed children will only be educated through the sixth grade. Not acceptable in the country I live in. And it's up to people who care about the common good not to be scared off.
The right is operating in the grand old irreverent American middle-finger spirit of contrarianism. The cars full of kids who drive country roads busting mailboxes with baseball bats are expressing the same freewheeling spirit, and the computer hackers, and graffiti artists, and every conscientious rock 'n' roll band for the past 50 years.
But the price of being an angry jerk is that nobody wants to invite you over for supper except your mother, and even she feels a little uneasy. . ." (copyright, Garrison Keillor, all rights reserved.)
Brother, that's good stuff! Eloquence need not be uppity. It doesn't require arcane, high-brow Dennis Miller-esque references that only a few people ever really get. We need more Garrison Keillors - people, who with wit and wisdom, evenhandedness, depth of knowledge and incredible, insightful, historical perspective, can declare that the emperor has no clothes and do it without sinking into the hateful, spiteful mosh pit of a monologue (Yes, monologue, because a dialogue requires two voices, and we seem to hear only one these days. You know the one, its full name is Seanglenn Rushann Limbaughcoulter-Hannitybeck) that has become the standard for those who lean to the right.
So, this day, I revel in the survival of our National Treasure, Garrison Keillor, and I raise a pint to his ongoing battle against the forces of ignorance (and clogging arteries), and his love of the Lake Wobegon life, where the fish are biting, "all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average." And that makes me think . . .
. . . I Wish I Was Fishing.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Momma Said There'd Be Days Like This
I'm a guy, so like lots of other guys, life sort of goes like this when it comes to the influence mothers have on our lives:
- Infancy and Early Childhood: Mom can do no wrong. She feeds us; bathes us; clothes us; protects us; comforts us; encourages us; gives us ice cream and animal crackers and above all else, believes in us.
- Adolescence: Except for the bathing part (other than when she threatens to do it herself if we don't), repeat bullet #1, and add in a healthy dose of what we now come to view more as nagging.
- Pre-Teen (or what these days is the new euphemism, "tween"): Our viewpoint is totally skewed, thanks to the onslaught of puberty and raging hormones, so there's no question it's all about the nagging (even though the points in bullet #1 still apply).
- Teenager: Face it, parents are just lame - Mom, Dad (and usually any siblings, for that matter). All Mom does is try to make us feel guilty. Hormones are out of control. We're so self-centered we can't see straight (or is that the weed?) Just get out of our faces and leave us alone already! What do you mean, did I do my homework? Duuuuhhhhh! Why is my door locked? Read the sign, people: "Parental Units, Teachers and Sisters Verboten!" 11:00? You're joking, right? Hello, it's Friday and ALL my friends get to stay out until midnight! Heck, Steven doesn't have to be home until 1:00 and his parents are freaking ministers! This sucks! You have no idea what it's like to be me! You're repressing my individuality; stifling my self-expression. And on, and on, and on . . .
- Early Adulthood: Still waaaaaayyy too self-centered, but now thoughts begin to creep into our amped-up little noggins that maybe, just maybe, Mom knew what she was doing - sort of, anyway (occasionally Dad did too, I guess). Geez, we were obnoxious little bastards, weren't we? How did she put up with us? Remember the time Dad was ready to draw-and-quarter us for sneaking out in the middle of the night and totaling the car? (Was that really projectile spittle coming from his mouth as he screamed at us?) Or how about the time Dad found pot in our closet? (Exactly, what was he doing in there anyway? The sign did say "Parents Verboten.") Mom always managed to bring the temperature down in those situations and made us feel like we weren't quite as derelict as Dad would have us believe, didn't she. We could be salvaged. We had value. We could still amount to something - some day. We really were good kids. She still believed in us.
So, here we are in adulthood, suffering through the worst recession since the The Great One, and thinking, "You know, Momma said there'd be days like this." Even if she didn't really say that (the song did), you know what I mean. It's like, now that we've reached this age, we've learned - hopefully - that there were no promises, and there were no guarantees. Life didn't come with an extended warranty. Mom always said to just do our best; show up on time; wear clean underwear; wash behind our ears; say please and thank-you, and be nice to people. The rest will take care of itself. There's some genuine wisdom there if we take the time to think about it.
If we all could believe in ourselves the way Mom believed in us, and set out each day to be nice to people, imagine what the world would be like! We have a bi-racial president, who, despite being without a father for much of his formative years, had a mother who stood by him, taught him, guided him, encouraged him, challenged him, supported him, and most of all, loved him and believed in him. Against unfathomable odds, he went on to be elected president of the United States of America. Did any of us honestly think that would happen in our liftetimes?
My mom told me I could do anything I wanted; be anything I wanted, as long as I was willing to work at it. She sat with me on the front steps of our house when I was four and five years old as my sisters went off to school each day and read books and did flash cards with me before she had to go off to work herself. She bugged me about my homework as I got older. She gave me "the look" when I brought home a C in math. She cut me slack when she thought I deserved it, and she gave no quarter when she thought I didn't. But above all else, she believed in me. I lost my mother to Alzheimers when I was 39 years old, but in actuality, she was lost to us ten years earlier when the disease rapidly began to steal her mind. At 29, I was equipped to deal with this world motherless, because she and my father had prepared me. I was fortunate to have 29 quality years with Mom. Some people are not so fortunate. What would Mom tell me now, if she were here?
As I sit and ponder how I'm going to fix this all-too-common mess I've gotten myself into these past few years with a maxed-out home equity loan and credit card balances out the wazoo that I can't pay off, I take comfort in the knowledge that Mom truly believed that I could do anything I put my mind to. So why shouldn't I be able to fix this? After all, there's another mom, and a couple future moms (and a future dad) in my house who are pretty special, and they've always believed in me too. I owe it to them, if not myself, to get us out of this hole. With love and support, and the will to get it done, anything is possible, right? (Besides, I'm an American; I'm an optimist!) And as importantly, I've got Mom(s) on my side.
I was thinking about this the other day as I opened what seemed like the 57th bill to come in the mail that day alone, and then my mind began to drift off, and I found myself . . .
. . . Wishing I Was Fishing
Thursday, September 10, 2009
When Did "Republican" Become a Dirty Word?
OK, first it was "death tribunals." Then our children were going to be brainwashed through subliminal, subversive, socialistic rhetoric cleverly disguised as a - gasp! - work-hard, stay-in-school, get-an-education message! Oh my God! Hide the women and children! Barricade your doors and windows! Those horrible socialist barbarians are at the gate!
Please, spare me the hysteria! When I was a kid, if the President of the United States (POTUS, to you old West Wing fans) announced he was going to go on television to talk directly to the nation's young people, both my parents (one a Democrat and one a Republican, by the way) and my teachers would have made it required viewing. No debate. "Son, the president wants to talk to you. Have a seat. Get comfortable. He needs about an hour of your time. Would you like a snack? Oh, and afterward, you'll be writing a 500-word essay on what you learned. Here's the thesaurus."
T-H-E P-R-E-S-I-D-E-N-T. Yeah, that one. Once again, what happened to simple respect? Respect for the man; respect for THE OFFICE? So, POTUS wants to say a few things to the kids. Since when did we develop the hubris to deny him that opportunity, regardless on which side of the idealogical aisle we reside? Damn it, he's the President of the United States, and it matters not whether you voted for him. He's OUR president and we should listen to what he has to say. You know, he is a rather bright guy.
I am sooooooooooooooo sick and tired of the bottom-feeding, pot-stirring, self-righteous, hate-mongering, fear-mongering, gun-toting, gay-bashing, egomaniacal, self-appointed right-wing, cloaked-in-the-flag (did I mention egomaniacal?), Limbaughs, Coulters, Hannitys, O'Reillys, et. al., taking advantage of an ignorant populace and a national platform to twist and spin information any possible way to discredit ANYONE who disagrees with them - and lying through their teeth throughout the process.
I'm a caucasion, balding, golf-loving, small-business owner; married (to the same beautiful woman for 27 years), proud father of three; a small-town child of the Midwest; a baby boomer. You know, the perfect poster child for the Republican Party. And guess what, I am, in fact, a registered Republican. I came of age during the Reagan years, entering the workforce with my fresh, crisp, newly-minted college diploma smack in the middle of the recession that followed the Carter presidency. Reaganomics, trickle-down, and down came the Berlin Wall. Free enterprise, baby! No new taxes! It's the economy, stupid! You bet your ass I was a Republican, and damn proud of it.
Then came Bush the Elder, Iraq the Prelude, Newt Gingrich, Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, Dubyah, John Ashcroft, Donny Rumsfeld, Karl Rove, Abu Ghraib, Sarah "I Can See Russia From My Porch" Palin, etc., etc., etc. A veritable non-stop rogues gallery of self-righteous (there's that word again), deceitful, dishonest and downright disgraceful poseurs who would have us believe they, and their Republican cronies were the enlightened ones. (Did I mention Tom "Dancing With the Stars" DeLay and Dick "The Gang That Couldn't Shoot Straight" Cheney?). Gosh, how could I be more proud of my Grand Ol' Party! Come on, you know waterboarding really isn't torture.
So, here I stand, essentially Republican only because that is what my voter registration card says. Disgusted, disenchanted, disappointed (and probably most other "dis-" words you can think of) asking, "When did Republican become a dirty word?" Don't worry, I don't plan to switch party affiliations anytime soon. And I certainly don't think the Democrats have all the answers, or the Libertarians, for that matter. I didn't have to become a Democrat to vote for Barack Obama. (I merely had to have a few neurons firing to know that was the right choice.) We make waaaayyyy too big a deal out of party affiliation these days. All the labels serve to do is polarize us at a time when we desperately need to find common ground.
Out-of-pocket medical bills never should have nearly bankrupted my family three years ago, thanks to the crappy insurance that was all I could afford as a self-employed small business owner. And coverage for my son's prescription for Allegra should not have been denied this week by Aetna because they think they know better than his pediatrician. So what are we (not the Republicans and not the Democrats, but WE) going to do about that? Our elected officials should somehow be mandated to work together to find solutions. POTUS can't do it by himself. Oh, and don't get me started on Afghanistan, and immigration, and Wall Street salaries, and Big Three bailouts, and off-shore drilling and . . .
. . . man, I Wish I Was Fishing!
Please, spare me the hysteria! When I was a kid, if the President of the United States (POTUS, to you old West Wing fans) announced he was going to go on television to talk directly to the nation's young people, both my parents (one a Democrat and one a Republican, by the way) and my teachers would have made it required viewing. No debate. "Son, the president wants to talk to you. Have a seat. Get comfortable. He needs about an hour of your time. Would you like a snack? Oh, and afterward, you'll be writing a 500-word essay on what you learned. Here's the thesaurus."
T-H-E P-R-E-S-I-D-E-N-T. Yeah, that one. Once again, what happened to simple respect? Respect for the man; respect for THE OFFICE? So, POTUS wants to say a few things to the kids. Since when did we develop the hubris to deny him that opportunity, regardless on which side of the idealogical aisle we reside? Damn it, he's the President of the United States, and it matters not whether you voted for him. He's OUR president and we should listen to what he has to say. You know, he is a rather bright guy.
I am sooooooooooooooo sick and tired of the bottom-feeding, pot-stirring, self-righteous, hate-mongering, fear-mongering, gun-toting, gay-bashing, egomaniacal, self-appointed right-wing, cloaked-in-the-flag (did I mention egomaniacal?), Limbaughs, Coulters, Hannitys, O'Reillys, et. al., taking advantage of an ignorant populace and a national platform to twist and spin information any possible way to discredit ANYONE who disagrees with them - and lying through their teeth throughout the process.
I'm a caucasion, balding, golf-loving, small-business owner; married (to the same beautiful woman for 27 years), proud father of three; a small-town child of the Midwest; a baby boomer. You know, the perfect poster child for the Republican Party. And guess what, I am, in fact, a registered Republican. I came of age during the Reagan years, entering the workforce with my fresh, crisp, newly-minted college diploma smack in the middle of the recession that followed the Carter presidency. Reaganomics, trickle-down, and down came the Berlin Wall. Free enterprise, baby! No new taxes! It's the economy, stupid! You bet your ass I was a Republican, and damn proud of it.
Then came Bush the Elder, Iraq the Prelude, Newt Gingrich, Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, Dubyah, John Ashcroft, Donny Rumsfeld, Karl Rove, Abu Ghraib, Sarah "I Can See Russia From My Porch" Palin, etc., etc., etc. A veritable non-stop rogues gallery of self-righteous (there's that word again), deceitful, dishonest and downright disgraceful poseurs who would have us believe they, and their Republican cronies were the enlightened ones. (Did I mention Tom "Dancing With the Stars" DeLay and Dick "The Gang That Couldn't Shoot Straight" Cheney?). Gosh, how could I be more proud of my Grand Ol' Party! Come on, you know waterboarding really isn't torture.
So, here I stand, essentially Republican only because that is what my voter registration card says. Disgusted, disenchanted, disappointed (and probably most other "dis-" words you can think of) asking, "When did Republican become a dirty word?" Don't worry, I don't plan to switch party affiliations anytime soon. And I certainly don't think the Democrats have all the answers, or the Libertarians, for that matter. I didn't have to become a Democrat to vote for Barack Obama. (I merely had to have a few neurons firing to know that was the right choice.) We make waaaayyyy too big a deal out of party affiliation these days. All the labels serve to do is polarize us at a time when we desperately need to find common ground.
Out-of-pocket medical bills never should have nearly bankrupted my family three years ago, thanks to the crappy insurance that was all I could afford as a self-employed small business owner. And coverage for my son's prescription for Allegra should not have been denied this week by Aetna because they think they know better than his pediatrician. So what are we (not the Republicans and not the Democrats, but WE) going to do about that? Our elected officials should somehow be mandated to work together to find solutions. POTUS can't do it by himself. Oh, and don't get me started on Afghanistan, and immigration, and Wall Street salaries, and Big Three bailouts, and off-shore drilling and . . .
. . . man, I Wish I Was Fishing!
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