Have Fun, Do Good

The Fractured States of America

2009-09-11T18:12:00.005-05:00

I start to write this having just come from a 9/11 memorial at the fire station, which is kind of ironic considering the subject material. That’s because September 11, 2001 was the day that brought us all together after a contentious 2000 presidential election, in which Al Gore won the popular vote but not the electoral vote. More than half the country had a president it didn’t vote for. Everybody was either Red State or Blue State. We weren’t America anymore. Things were starting to get a little ugly.

But that all changed when some extremist lunatics vaporized nearly 3,000 American civilians on a beautiful sunny Tuesday morning.

Suddenly, American flags were everywhere: on homes, on buildings, sticking out of car windows, hanging off of bridge overpasses. People were donating money by the millions to the Red Cross and other charitable organizations, to help the victims and their families. We were all a little more polite, a little more patient, a little more tolerant. I think we just didn’t know when a plane was going to scream out of the sky into our kitchen, and we didn’t want our last moments on Earth or the last impression on the people around us to be that of an angry jerk.

So we were all on the same page again, with the exception of some wack-a-loons who probably still think 9/11 was an inside job. We invaded Iraq, invaded Afghanistan, killed off most of Al-Qaeda and the Taliban, caught and killed Saddam Hussein, bought houses and big flat-screen TVs, put magnets supporting our troops on the backs of our SUVs, and America was great again.

Then we figured out there was no way out of Iraq and that we didn’t do enough in Afghanistan. Then we had another election, and though that one wasn’t as close as 2000, it was probably more rancorous, reopening those Red State/Blue State wounds. Then gasoline went up over 4 dollars a gallon. Then we found out about secret prisons where the people we captured in Iraq and Afghanistan were abused and tortured. We still had no way out of Iraq and Afghanistan, and more and more of our soldiers were dying. We still hadn’t found Bin Laden. People started pointing fingers again. Then the economy tanked—big time—and that was the final straw. We found out that if you hit Americans in their pocketbooks, nothing else really matters. The gloves come off. The left blamed the right for allowing and encouraging all the corruption and greed in Corporate America. The right blamed the left for pushing into houses people that couldn’t afford mortgages, thereby nearly destroying the banking and real estate industries. The president at the time was on his way out, a lame duck who was not going to be able to do thing one about very much at all.

Enter the 2008 election. Now I will state up front that I voted for Barack Obama, but that I would have been, with the exception of knowing Sarah Palin was a 73-year old heartbeat away from the presidency, very comfortable with John McCain as president. I think he’s a good and decent man, just as I think Obama is. But people couldn’t see that. The campaign was broken down to The Empty Suit vs. More Of The Same. It was All Talk, No Action vs. the Grumpy Old Man. And when Obama won, it seemed that, finally, while not a landslide by any means, there seemed to actually be a general feeling of relief that it was over, and a chance for fresh start. Even the classy McCain tried to impart a spirit of cooperation with his concession speech, saying he’d work with the President however he could, and scolding those who booed.

Well, here we are less than eight months into BHO’s presidency, and any feelings of optimism and cooperation have been completely flushed down the toilet. We’ve gone Thelma and Louise into a divide that might not be able to be repaired. Ever.

And the evidence of having reached that divide is stark: I present the boorish behavior of Congressmen Joe Wilson of South Carolina and John Shimkus of—you guessed it—Illinois. During the President’s health care address to a joint session of Congress, Wilson shouted “You LIE!” in the middle of the speech, in front of the whole world. And Shimkus flat got up and walked out. Now, whether you agree with Wilson and Shimkus or not, those are just things you don’t do—at least, apparently, up until now.

Congressman Wilson apologized almost immediately, saying his emotions got the better of him. But a lot of people defended him, saying the breach of respect was justified. And how many of the Republicans who professed dismay over Wilson’s outburst were actually secretly wishing they had the church bells to do that? There was actually such little fallout because of his immediate apology and the President’s subsequent acceptance, that, in fact, the next day, Wilson said that while he stood by his apology, he defiantly said in a web video seeking campaign donations that he wasn’t going to back down from his attacks. Shimkus’s mouthpiece, meanwhile said the Congressman left after hearing the president repeat "an accumulation of rehashed talking points." Nice.

That’s certainly their Founding Fathers-given rights, but I fear the lack of consequences will further embolden those who believe Wilson and Shimkus were justified in their behavior and lead to a complete catastrophic breakdown of any remaining decorum in this country. I’m not just pointing at the right, either. When people on the left do it in the future—and they will—the right will naturally complain, but the excuse will be the ever-popular (and mature!) defense: “but you did it too!”

What bothers me most is that the number of people with whom you can have a logical, reasonable discussion about the issues is evaporating rapidly. It used to be that the only ideologues out there were politicians, old people and college students. But now you can’t talk to a soccer mom without discovering in about point-three seconds where she stands on health care, even if you’re discussing plans for the PTA fundraiser. (Here’s how any phone conversation with my dad can go, by the way—Dad: “So how’s everybody?” Me: “Pretty good. The girls have swimming coming up, and then we’re going to…” Dad [interrupting]: “Yeah, so how about that Nancy f*cking Pelosi. That’s one scary broad. You see what she and Harry Reid are trying to stick in that health care bill?” This is no exaggeration. Except for him interrupting. He might let me finish my sentence.) Either you’re right or you’re left, you’re right or you’re wrong, you goose-step to Rush or guzzle the Olbermann-Aide, and if you don’t agree with me, I’m going to yell at you and insult you until we part ways or come to blows.

And it’s making me very afraid of what’s next. Obviously, any civility or decency in a public forum is completely out the window. The town hall meetings on health care have been bad enough. But with Wilson’s scot-free verbal assault in the middle of the President’s address in the middle of the House of Representatives, it’s just going to get that much worse. You’re going to see a lot more personal attacks on not only our elected officials, but among other people in the room who are in disagreement. You’re going to see a lot more verbally along the lines of what you might have in the past only read in anonymous online comments. If there haven’t already been—and I suspect there have—you’ll see flat-out fistfights at these things. And what’s going to happen when the President makes an appearance somewhere—anywhere? After all, aside, perhaps, from a courtroom, church or funeral parlor, there is no place that’s even close to requiring the decorum expected inside the U.S. Capitol. So what happens when the President makes a campaign stop at a Chick-Fil-A on Main Street, USA? Are we going to see someone HERE throwing a shoe?

Or, perhaps, the unthinkable: someone throwing a bullet?

In fact, I made that comment just last night. I would not be surprised if, in the next three months, somebody takes a shot at him. And then, Katie Rose bar the door.

Somebody won’t go after him because he’s a Democrat. Somebody won’t go after him because of the Economic Stimulus Bill. Somebody won’t go after him because of health care reform. Somebody won’t go after him because of the silliness over his birth certificate. And somebody won’t go after him because he’s black, either, although that will likely be the perception, thus triggering a race war in this country that will make Watts look like a charity picnic.

Somebody will do it because his “emotions got the better of him.” And nothing is off the table anymore.

So to answer the long standing question posed by Rodney King in the wake of the L.A. riots, “Can’ t we all just get along?”—

No. No, we can’t. Sorry, Mr. King. And that means, like all great civilizations that collapse and die under the weight of their own corruption, greed and internal strife, the beginning of the end is, in my humble opinion, coming sooner rather than later for the Fractured States of America.

The Last One

2009-05-12T14:43:00.002-05:00

I rather wish I hadn’t used the title from the final episode of M*A*S*H (“Goodbye, Farewell and Amen”) in an earlier blog post, because I think it would be fitting and proper to use those words here and now.

You see, this entry will be the final one for this blog; I have decided to retire from writing.

In fact, I’ve decided to retire from a lot of things, but primarily, I’m giving up on the putting of words to paper with the intent of having other people read them.

I enjoy writing, I really do. And I really wish I could make a living doing it. But it’s just not possible, not for me, anyway.

That’s why I’m going to stop writing on my blog, and I’m going to cease efforts to get my novel published. I think about things all the time—politics, philosophy, religion, sports, relationships, etc. And I think I have some pretty good things to say about all of them. However, it’s become overwhelmingly apparent that I just do not have the resources to market those things rattling around in my head.

I spent more than six years on and off writing my novel. I thought about it every day. I’ve thought about it every day since it’s been finished. I spent about a year sending letters and e-mails to agents. I’ve been trying to find a way the past two years to get to a conference, after finding out that’s the best way to get an agent to lay eyes on my work. But I just can’t do it anymore. It hurts too much to keep pursuing this dream. I can’t keep thinking, oh, if I can just get this thing published, our money problems will go away, and I can quit my job to write full time. I’ve got two more ideas for novels in my head, a play I started years ago, and ideas for two television series that I’d like to work on.

But then I think about the cost. Do I come home from work and hole myself up at the computer and bang this stuff out every night until bedtime, obsessing over this dream? Do I miss watching my kids do swim lessons and tee ball? Do I miss more talent shows and dance recitals because I’m off at conferences, spending money we don’t have?

For some career-driven parents or business entrepreneurs, those sacrifices are worth it. However, it’s not for me. I don’t want to be the dad whose kids wonder why everything else seemed more important.

I had one of those dads, and I know how it feels.

My dad wasn’t really career-driven, though; he would just rather lie on the couch and watch TV or work on his fishing boat than do stuff with me. I can remember a whopping two times growing up that we played catch. I would ask him to take me to the batting cages at Wright’s Barnyard, and he’d laugh and he’d say, “Yeah, right, get a job.” I remember in 8th grade when he sold our ski boat that we used on the lake by our little summer cottage to get that stupid fishing boat. I was crushed, but I tried to be optimistic: “We’re going to take that to the lake, right?” My dad laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. The fishing boat, I was told in no uncertain terms, was HIS, and was going to be used only for fishing trips. Never mind that we’d use our ski boat every weekend from Memorial Day until Labor Day, and lots of weekdays during summer vacation. That fishing boat was HIS, and it was only to be used the one or two times a year, when HE wanted to go fishing. (He even tried to enter a fishing tournament once—I don’t know if he had his own dreams of being Jimmy Houston or Al Linder—spending more time and money getting into that. He and his partner finished dead last. Didn’t catch a single fish.)

So I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to spend my time and money fixing up a shitty old fishing boat to use once or twice a year in lieu of doing things with and for my family.

For instance, do I spend about $500 and a few days away from my family so I can go to a writing conference so I can meet an agent or publisher about my novel, in hopes that MAYBE someone will want to work with me on it? Or, do I put that $500 toward a new play set or patio for my family, and spend those few days working on them? I have so much that I need to do and should do that I can no longer justify doing what I want to do. I don’t have infinite amounts of time or, more critically, money, to take care of the things that I need to do and try to further my own ambitions and dreams.

Part of the problem is that there are just so many things I want to do or try, I know there’s no way I’ll ever accomplish them. I obviously want to write. But I also want to learn to play the guitar and piano again. I want to be in a band. I want to coach football. I want to be back on the radio, hosting a show this time. I want to travel, and write about traveling. I want to cook. I want to learn to build things and fix things without having to ask for help. I want to golf—a lot. Of all the wants I have for myself outside of my children’s happiness, the only thing I’ve been able to accomplish is a well-maintained lawn.

So that’s why I’ve decided to retire from writing, as well as any other personal ambitions. I just have to put out of my head all of those things I want to do, because it just eats away at me day by day, little by little, that I can’t do any of them. I can no longer stand to be selfish, as I have been most of my life. My selfishness has just about cost me my marriage. I learned—probably too late—how to not think of myself first. The only things that matter to me are the smiles on my kids’ faces. Will any of my own personal accomplishments bring smiles to them? No. So why bother? I’d rather be lying on my deathbed regretting that I never became a full time writer than regretting I didn’t do more for and with my kids. I don’t know if my dad will regret anything on his deathbed—including moving a thousand miles away from his grandkids—but I doubt it. He doesn’t seem the regretful type.

Sounds like I need therapy, no? I probably do. But therapy would be for my own personal fulfillment, too, so that's not gonna happen. I really feel, however, in reaching this decision, like a large weight has been lifted from me. I no longer feel the crushing burden of carrying the load of all those things I want for only myself. I feel free. So at least there’s that.

Thank you to all who have read and commented on this here bloggy thing. I really appreciate you taking time to leave your thoughts, and for the kind words that some of you have said about me and my ideas and my writing.

Through all this, my philosophy hasn’t changed: have fun, do good.

Peace.

The 2009 Cubs: Wake Me in October--Late, Late October

2009-04-06T16:47:00.002-05:00

The 2009 baseball season is officially under way, and I, for one, couldn’t care less. You see, I’m a recovering Cubs fan.

These are actually heady times for Cubs fans—back-to-back playoff appearances, four or five overall this decade alone. The last time Cubs fans talked about that kind of postseason consistency was about the last time there was no corruption in Illinois government; roughly, never.

But many in Cub Nation are licking their chops at the prospect of a third straight division crown and another shot at fall glory.

Not me.

What was it George W. Bush said? “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, and you can’t get fooled again”? Whatever it was, I’ve been fooled way too many times as a fan of the boys in blue. I was born just three years after the Wreck of the Old ’69, so I never had to deal with that firsthand. I remember the Cubs teams of the late ‘70’s and early ‘80’s that featured players who were barely qualified to walk upright, let alone play pro baseball.

And then 1984 came. It was a magical year, a magical year. They got Rick Sutcliffe in June, and he proceeded to mow down the National League on his way to a 16-1 record and a Cy Young Award. A kid named Ryne Sandberg burst onto the national scene with an “oh-no-he dih-n’t” 2-home run performance against Bruce Sutter and the hated Cardinals on national TV, back when being on national TV meant people actually watched. That game won him the MVP award that season. You had Dernier and Moreland, Jo-dy-Jo-dy-Jo-dy Davis, Durham and Sarge Matthews, the wily vets Larry Bowa and the Penguin, Ron Cey, as well as future Hall of Fame closer Lee Smith. They clinched in early September—the 9th, if my memory serves me correctly. It was a Wednesday night, I think, because I came home just in time from a church thing to see Sutcliffe strike out the final Pirate of a complete game. I remember watching Jim Frey and the rest of the team charge out of the dugout in wild celebration. There were more Cubs fans than Pirates fans in the old Three Rivers Stadium that night, and several of them held up a long banner that read “39 YEARS OF SUFFERING IS ENOUGH!”, which was a reference to the Cubs’ last postseason appearance in 1945. It seemed like an eternity for a 12-year old boy to wait between the clincher and the playoffs.

The Cubs didn’t have lights at Wrigley back then, so I remember running home from the bus stop to catch the end of the first two games on TV. We had been listening on portable radios in school, but it was worth the sprint home to see the red, white and blue bunting on the brick walls at Wrigley on a day other than the opener. And, of course, the Cubs walloped the Padres 13-0 in the opener, and won the second game of the best-of-five series as well. One more win in three games in San Diego, and the Cubs would have been in the World Series for the first time in a generation. I won’t recount what happened, but suffice it to say, if I ever meet Steve Garvey in person—I don’t care if he’s 80—I’m going to kick him in the nuts. (Of course, I might not be the only one waiting in line to do that). I watched game 5 with my best friend Dave at his house, and we were crushed. Twelve year old boys aren’t supposed to cry, certainly not in front of each other. But we bawled like, well, like girls.

Fast forward a few years past the 1989 and 1998 teams to 2003. I had officially entered the category of “long suffering” Cubs fan, having passed my thirtieth birthday without so much as a first-round National League playoff series win. Everything came together that year. A mature Wood and a young kid named Mark Prior were blowing batters away. Sammy Sosa was hitting balls that would have gotten out of Denali National Park. Dusty Baker, a champion player and renowned manager was at the helm. The Cubs blew by the first round playoff opponent so easily, I don’t even remember who it was. And they earned a 3-1 NLCS series lead against the Marlins, which came from a state that didn’t have professional baseball until ten minutes before September of that year. The Cubs were cruising along behind Prior, just five outs away from the first Chicago World Series since 1959, and the first for the Cubs in 58 years. Then, somebody popped a ball along the Wrigley Field foul line that drifted over the stands and back toward left field. Moises Alou thought he should have been able to catch it, were it not for a fan’s mitt getting in the way—threw his glove down like a child not getting his way. He might’ve been able to catch that ball, but it was not likely. The fan took a lot of heat, mostly because of Alou’s reaction. If Alou just trots back to left field, nobody ever knows who Steve Bartman is. I didn’t blame Bartman at the time and still don’t. But right then, I knew it was over.

The Cubs had a chance to get out of it with limited damage, but the normally reliable Latino-shortstop-du-jour booted a tailor-made double play ground ball and the Marlins came back to win. The Cubs still had a 3-2 series lead, with Kerry Wood set to pitch one more time. But I knew it was over. Predictably, they lost the final two games and Wrigleyville became a Necropolis. After the game 7 loss, I felt just like I did when I was 12, minus the tears. Men don’t cry, you know, and even if they did, we had since learned that there is no crying in baseball.

Fast forward again, past Prior’s spectacular flame-out and Sosa’s unceremonious departure from town, to 2007. The Cubs had a good team, one that could have won the NL pennant. They got swept by the Diamondbacks in the first round of the playoffs. I was pretty upset, but I knew they’d learn from that series, that they’d be bringing back some very good players and that 2008—the 100-year anniversary of the Cubs’ last World Series victory—was destined to be the year.

They had a great season again, ending up with the best record in the National League and a healthy Kerry Wood dominating at closer. Everyone was predicting a cakewalk to a World Series title. But, impossibly (yet inevitably), for the second consecutive year, they got swept by an NL West team, the Dodgers, in the first round of the playoffs. You could tell from the first pitch of that series that they were going to lose, if not get swept again.

That’s when I got off the bandwagon. I was going to burn my Cubs hat in a symbolic divorce from the team, but for some reason decided against it. But I’m done. I am no longer a Cubs fan. I don’t care about the upcoming season. I don’t care that they signed so-and-so, that so-and-so looks so much better this year, that so-and-so is poised for a breakout season. I just don’t care. I’m not going to get emotionally invested in a team that I know is going to punch me in the stomach again. I just can’t do it. 2003 was gut-wrenching, but 2008 ended with more of a somber finality. It was like watching a beloved grandparent who had been painfully, terminally ill finally slip away. There was sadness, but mostly relief that the suffering was over. You could peacefully say goodbye.

And that’s what I’ve done with the Cubs. I’ve said goodbye. I’ve let them peacefully slip away. I don’t wish them ill will like I do the White Sox or Cardinals (or Padres, for that matter). I don’t hate them. I hope they do well, I really do. But they’ll have to do it without me. I won’t be rooting for anyone else—that’d be silly and icky, like somebody moving to another city and suddenly becoming a big fan of his or her new hometown’s team, one that just “happens” to contend every year and win on occasion. The only way I’d become interested again is if it’s game four of the NLCS (I don’t care if the Cubs win the Series, just like Pop Fisher only wanted Roy Hobbs to get him a NL pennant in The Natural) and the Cubs have a 3-0 series lead, a 10-0 lead in the ninth inning and the other team down to its final out with no one on base. But I know they’ll never be that assured of victory, and so, I won’t be back. Many baseball experts and casual fans alike are again predicting them to win the NL this year, but I know better.

After all, fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, and you can’t get fooled again.

Quiet, Please

2009-04-01T23:56:00.004-05:00

I wrote just a few weeks ago about how I've fallen off on my blog writing. I started out last fall completely gung-ho, wanting to share my thoughts and ideas with the world, to encourage conversation on meaningful topics, and to occasionally offer a humorous glance at the truly absurd and those overly serious-types that need a little tweak now and then.

But since the new year started, which happened on or about January 1st, I've really struggled with my motivation to write. And I couldn't pinpoint why.

However, in the solitude of the car over the past couple days, I think I've come to terms with why I don't want to engage on any topics: there's just too much noise.

You see, the nature of the world today is such that people more than ever seem to think they're entitled to hammer others with their opinions, convinced that only their opinions are the right ones. And more often than not, people are so zealously sharing their convictions, their rhetoric ends up coming out in derisive, divisive, hateful sound bites, either vocally or in print. The worst part about it is that it's usually loud, both in actual decibel level and in hyperbolic excess, so much so that they can't hear or understand anyone else's position over the noise, especially when done from behind the anonymity of the internet.

What's even more criminal is that when people get to that point, they don't want to see if there's some middle ground out there, because the position--or the person--they're arguing against must be completely idiotic for having that opposite opinion.

Don't believe me? Check any online edition of any newspaper that offers a reader comment section. Then, find a story about politics, either local or national. Then, scroll down and read the comments from readers. There are usually a couple thoughtful remarks, but a lot of the time, it ends up degenerating into truly mean-spirited partisanship. If you really don't believe me, I point you to an online story in today's Bloomington (Illinois) Pantagraph, about the new federal tobacco tax that is going to be taking effect.

You'll have to trust me when I say this particular set of comments is actually pretty civil, based on what usually gets said. I've perused some other papers' websites and this kind of "discourse" is pretty much par for the course.

Turn on FOX News, or FOX Nation, or whatever they're calling themselves this week. Turn on MSNBC. Turn on Nancy Grace. Turn on Rush Limbaugh or Keith Olbermann. Read Ann Coulter. Turn on any program that features any of the spin doctors talking about any issue. They're all convinced that they're right and that not only is the rest of the world wrong, but that everyone else int he world are complete idiots. Granted, they (usually) don't come right out and say it, but the implication is there. They so tightly and blindly hang onto old ideologies that they can't see anything but the glow of their own auras in front of them. (I hold up Karl Rove as an example, who was smugly asking the other night what would be wrong with GM or AIG failing. I thought to myself, "Self, I wonder what he would be thinking if he were suddenly out of work, and found out that his 401(k) had been raided, and that the CEO of the company he just got laid off from got a $20 million golden parachute. I wonder if he'd be abstaining from collecting unemployment on principle. I wonder if he'd be standing there during the foreclosure proceedings on his house, thinking, 'Gosh, the system works. I deserve this for not saving more and investing better, for not getting a better degree, getting into a more secure job in a more secure field.'" He just doesn't consider the possibility that there might be a reason for a different opinion, other than idiocy.)

The last straw came as I was driving around for work the other day, some people on the radio on some talk show were expressing outrage over some topic. And it happened that I agreed with them, but, suddenly, I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take the polarization. I couldn't take the divisiveness. I couldn't take that there was merely a decent prospect and not a 100% chance of returning back to a dull roar, let alone a normal conversation. I wanted quiet and I wanted peace. I wanted--I want--everyone to stop screaming at each other. And, to put on my Veruca Salt tights, I want it now.

(You might say, no, idiot, you're overreacting. People aren't screaming at each other, they're just having a vigorous, yet civil exchange of ideas. I would disagree. I've been involved in vigorous, yet civil exchanges of ideas [right, Mikey?], and the garbage that takes place in the aforementioned forums is not in the same area code as civil.)

So instead of just railing about something without offering an alternative, as so many bloggers/posters/politicians like to do, I propose the following:

I think everybody should listen to more classical music.

In fact, I instituted that rule in my house a few weeks ago when my kids had been on a streak of being truly awful for an unusually long period of time. No Hannah Montana, no High School Musical, no Jonas Brothers, not even Delilah on Magic 100.7 when they go to bed at night. In the car, whenever we're all together, during dinner, only classical music is allowed. The television is also off limits, at least for the kids, unless special permission has been granted. I'm trying to promote an atmosphere that's more harmonious, one that's calmer, more polite, more civil, more peaceful. One that's less Blagojevich. In other words, can't we all just get along?

I think the wonder that is classical music can help effect that change not only in my own home and my own attitude, but in this 24/7 battle for ideological supremacy.

I guess what I'm saying is, I don't know what this ultimately means for my blogging. None of the discussion here has been the slightest bit contentious--every comment, every respondent, has been thoughtful, insightful, intelligent and respectful of others' opinions. If the whole world would function like that, I think I'd remain more engaged. I think most people would become more engaged. But to be constantly bombarded with the implication that you're an idiot not only by experts, but by John Q. Anonymous as well, has to be extremely daunting. I don't want to disengage completely; I just want people to be engaged more civilly--and to quote, ugh, Michael Jackson--I'm starting with the man in the mirror.

Maybe more Mozart and less Limbaugh* could start that. Who's with me?

* I use "Limbaugh" only for its alliterative value--I could just as easily have said "Olbermann" here. They are both complete blowholes--read nothing into the fact I picked the conservative one.

Meh.

2009-03-05T20:31:00.002-06:00

I’m thinking about disbanding this blog. I haven’t posted lately, due, mostly to being unusually busy, both at work and at home. However, I’ve recently been thinking about what exactly the purpose of this blog is, and whether I’m meeting that purpose.

I mean, I think I’ve generated a little conversation, I think I’ve caused a few people to laugh a little, I think I’ve done some pretty decent writing. But I don’t know if I’ve reached the expectations I’ve had for myself. And being that those expectations weren’t defined, it’s hard to really say.

It’s also difficult to write about the same things over and over. After all, what’s been in the news? The stimulus, the automakers, Blago and Burris. In a way, I can understand how paid, circulated columnists can keep hitting upon these topics—not only are they paid, but I’m sure they get lots of reader feedback. (No, this isn’t a solicitation of more readers and/or comments). Because when you are encouraged to keep hammering away at injustices and hypocrisies, and it looks like people are paying attention and you’re what you’re saying is getting noticed, it’s easier to keep plugging away, even the topics are becoming quite distasteful.

For instance, I couldn’t write any more about Blago, even though he was in the midst of a ridiculous (in the truest sense of the word—“arousing or deserving ridicule: absurd, preposterous; syn see laughable” as defined by Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary) media blitz. I couldn’t stand to delve into the waters of Roland Burris. And I can’t stomach writing any more about how a certain segment of Washington said it was eager to work with the new administration, yet consistently toes the Limbaugh line, which is to say that it is hoped the new president fails.

I guess, mostly, I was a little pie-in-the-sky naïve in hoping that I would have a little impact with my words. Not many people read them, and even if a lot more did, really, what good would it do besides feed my own ego? Impact is important to me. It’s what makes good writing good writing, in my opinion: there is not just a subject for the piece, but an object as well.
Speaking of ego, one last thing has been a little disillusioning for me. I read a lot of current events materials—newspapers, columns, op/eds, blogs, almost all of it online, but still a pretty good sampling of what’s being said out there, from both sides of political issues, quite often. I read the Chicago papers online, our local paper, the Pantagraph, CNN.com commentators, Yahoo.com bloggers, and whatever else I can get my eyeballs on. And what I’ve found is that, with very few exceptions, my writing is every bit as good, if not better, than a lot of the professional stuff I read. The only person whom I read that consistently makes me go, “Damn, I wish I could write like that,” is, oddly enough, a sports columnist: Bill Simmons (“The Sports Guy”) on ESPN.com. Just to name a couple examples, I’ve read commentaries on the auto industry and the stimulus on CNN.com and observances by the so-called new media writers at the Tribune. And you know what? I feel my work is right up there—and so are the comments that have been left on some of my entries. What we’ve said in our little group has been as observant and intuitive as what’s in the national/international media.

So what am I to do? Keep plugging away for my own entertainment, and for the entertainment of the very limited number of people who read me, and hope that it accidentally catches fire somehow? Or do I say, well, I’ve fulfilled one of my goals, which was to do some good writing and generate some portfolio material, in the event I ever want to try my hand at becoming a writer full time?

I don’t know.

A Modest Offer

2009-01-27T20:46:00.002-06:00

As I get older, the more I think about the fragility of life. I think particularly, now that I've been a father for more than nine years, of my children and how to keep them safe and happy. I have myself convinced that no other parent in the world loves their children or would endure for their children more than I would. I'm sure every parent thinks that, but I'm sorry, I know it.

And every so often I see something on TV or, more horrifically, in the news, that makes it clear that not only are there parents out there that not only don't love their children as much as I love mine, but inflict upon them horrors the mere thought of which shouldn't be considered by even those with the blackest of souls.

Today was one of those days.

In fact, I saw two such stories: one from California, and another from Texas. You can read the stories yourself by following the links, but if you don't have the stomach for it, and I wish I didn't, here's a recap:

In the California case, a man from near LA, distraught over his finances, killed his wife and family before offing himself. In the Texas case, a 20-year old woman and her 25-year old husband in October 2007 beat their 2-year old daughter to death with a leather belt for not learning quickly enough to say "please" and "yes, sir" before putting her tiny body in a plastic container and dumping her in Galveston Bay, where she later washed ashore on a small island.

Both are sickening, heart-wrenching stories. I can't fathom doing that to another human being, let alone a child, let alone one of my own children, for any of whom I would willingly give my life in less than the blink of an eye to save them from the slightest bit of suffering.

A couple more factoids from the stories, should you choose not to read: the LA case was the FIFTH mass family homicide/suicide in SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA in the past year alone. And the one that really got me from the Texas case was today's testimony that the child tried to get her mother to stop beating her by holding her arms out and saying "I love you."

Excuse me while I compose myself for a moment.

Now, to the proposal at hand.

If anyone out there reading this thinks that slaughtering your children because your life has gone down the tubes is a viable option, I say this: bring them here.

If you know of anyone who might be close enough to the edge that you fear for their children: bring them here.

I'm not kidding.

I don't make a great deal of money, and I don't have a very big house, but I can promise this: they will be safe and they will be loved with me and my family. I don't care if I have to work a third or fourth job to provide for everybody. I'll do it. I'll keep the house warm in the winter and cool in the summer, and I'll keep clothes on their backs and their bellies full. And I'll keep their hearts next to my own.

As I write this, the WGN-TV news is reporting on how a 2-month old baby boy was found today in a filthy, roach-infested apartment in Chicago, the child of a 16-year old mother who lived in that two-room "home" with 14 other people. Lovely.

Bring them here.

In a letter to a TV station, the perpetrator of the California incident wrote, "Why leave the children to a stranger?"

My answer is that it's better than the alternative of having their brains blasted out of a doorknob-sized exit wound in the back of their heads. It's better than beating a defenseless little girl and then stuffing her into a storage bin and dumping her in the ocean. It's better than letting a child go naked and hungry and crawling with roaches until he dies. That's why you leave them with a stranger.

Please, just bring them here.

A Farewell Address

2009-01-16T12:42:00.003-06:00

Anyone who knows me more than superficially knows that I’ve been a pretty harsh critic of our wounded waterfowl head of state, Mr. George W. Bush. I tend to hang, er, lean left, so that’s naturally where some of the animosity comes from: I just plain disagree with many of his policies.

But as I watched his farewell address last night, I realized there were actually things for which he’s to be admired, though, the ability to become a better public speaker OVER EIGHT YEARS inexplicably isn’t one of them.

It’s not that I’m softening on him in the face of overwhelming public disapproval—like any good American, I’m all for the underdog, the castoff, as Mr. Bush has become. I just decided, as he was trying to shape his legacy with one final (very poorly written) speech, to try, as a citizen of our country, to try to fairly assess his performance without any talking heads trying to spin my perceptions.

So what about George W. Bush should I, John Q. Public, as opposed to Joe T. Plumber, remember as worthwhile?

Well, if you remember, there was this little thing in September of 2001. Scared the sheeee-it out of all of us. And whilst you might not agree with some of the subsequent intelligence-gathering and loss of liberties for the sake of security, you know what? It hasn’t happened again. In fact, he cited that as his greatest accomplishment during his address. So he can certainly take some well-deserved credit for that.

And in the wake of 9/11, he created the Department of Homeland Security, which helped reform how all the intelligence gathering agencies shared information. The creation of DHS also funneled a great deal of much-needed money into local law enforcement and emergency response agencies, for both equipment and the standardizing of training and cross-jurisdictional protocols. Granted, some of that needed to be tweaked after Apocalypse Katrina, but that was an event the scale of which had never been seen before.

Further, he caught and killed Saddam Hussein, who was doing his best to rival Adolf Hitler in the commission of atrocities.

I, personally, can also thank Mr. Bush for putting money in my pocket a couple times. If you’ll remember, there was a tax rebate check a few years ago for a few hundred bucks, and then there was the much-ballyhooed “economic stimulus checks” which everybody got last year. Mine came to more than two thousand dollars. Sure, you can argue that his policies led to taking money out of my pocket in the first place (in the form of higher gasoline prices) and that the stimulus checks did absolutely nothing to stimulate the economy, but, hey, a couple thousand bucks is a couple thousand bucks.

On the negative side of the ledger, however, I believe his biggest crime has NOT been the invasion of and subsequent war in Iraq. What I think has been most deplorable is that his energy and environmental policies have been dictated by Big Oil—which one could argue has directly led the American auto industry to the precipice of doom. It remains to be seen whether the Bush Administration’s failure to acknowledge—and in some cases, cover up—clear evidence of global climate change (by not encouraging alternative fuels, hybrid technologies, and pushing for tougher emission and mileage standards so that the oil companies—which CLEAR $1,300 a SECOND—could continue to produce the gasoline required to run unnecessary SUV’s and massive pickup trucks) means the death knell for the Big Three. We will find out sooner rather than later.

To continue the debits, America’s image around the world has taken a hit; when he speaks extemporaneously he makes Bobcat Goldthwait sound like Dr. King; he’s opposed stem cell research and gay marriage, which, whether you agree with them or not, are the right and fair things to support, respectively; he’s led a conservative movement which has brought a new phraseology into our lexicon (red state/blue state), denoting how we now view and, in some cases, despise each other; and perhaps worst of all, his spin machine has painted as unpatriotic anyone who disagrees with him.

So what is his legacy? At the end of the day, Mr. Bush presided over some of the most uniquely challenging times in our nation’s history. He faced an attack on American soil, the impact of which was akin, in both loss of life and emotional impact, to Pearl Harbor. He faced a natural disaster that far exceeded even the worst-case projections. He’s been dealing with the possible collapse of the nation’s auto industry and near-collapse of the banking and real estate industries, which is fueling the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression.

I guess, when you add it all up, because we don’t yet know whether we’ll be attacked again, whether the economy will recover, how Iraq will turn out or how we’ll handle another epic natural disaster, his legacy will have to temporarily lie elsewhere. History will ultimately have to determine how George W. Bush is remembered and viewed, and that isn’t going to happen on January 21, 2009 by the rah-rahs at FOX News or the bile-spitters at MSNBC.

But for now, for me, his legacy rests this way, as he stated in his address: he followed his conscience. He consulted with his trusted advisors, he made his plans, and he followed through on what he thought was right. And there’s a lot to be said for that, in my book. He didn’t waffle in the face of overwhelming public criticism. He didn’t quit. He attacked it with his “bring ‘em on” cowboy American bravado. Now just imagine if everything had turned out perfectly. He’d be leaving office more beloved than Reagan. He’d be admired for that attitude which people have since called brash, inflexible, arrogant and naïve. I’ve criticized him on a lot of things, but I have always admired his ability to stick to his guns on what he thought was right.

We shall see if the history and textbooks—if the ancient printed medium still exists—my grandchildren will read end up agreeing.

Facebook and Chicken Soup

2009-01-12T21:27:00.004-06:00

I’ve not been great about updating my blog lately, for which I was gently chided at home the other night, having not yet posted in the new year. Part of my laziness has been a complete oversaturation (and overnauseation) with all this Blagojevich nonsense, as well as a general malaise about the fact that nothing I ever say or do about anything will amount to a hill of extra-dark roast coffee beans.

But another part of the reason, I suppose, is that in the past couple months I’ve become enamored with Facebook, the online social networking site, for those of you who have been living under several rocks. I’m finding myself logging in, checking others’ status updates, updating my own status, uploading photos, playing whatever mind-numbing games happen to strike my fancy at the time, and making snarky comments about things my friends say, do and post.

Friends. That’s what Facebook is all about. You find people you know, add them as friends, they add you back, you look at their friend lists, find other people you know or remember from high school, grade school, the nursery at the hospital where you were born, or even in the premortal existence, add them, and voila—you have a social network: a group of friends. At least that’s what Facebook calls them.

I point to an article that was in the Chicago Tribune recently, one that was “posted” on Facebook by a couple of my “friends.” (I use quotation marks around the word friends, not because the people that posted it aren’t friends, per se, but because they’re in my social network of people that I added on Facebook). You can read the article yourself, but I quote the last few paragraphs here:

"And I wonder about the younger generations who are growing up intravenously connected to these networks. What happens as online nomenclature is woven into offline life? Will people be able to distinguish between a Facebook friend and one who will bring them chicken soup when they're sick? What will that mean for the way our society interacts—or doesn't—in the future?
The people I remain connected to through force of will are there to stay. Just because a friend from grade school and I could find each other's profiles and enjoy reconnecting for a brief moment in time doesn't mean there's anything more to be shared.
More than likely, we would occasionally check out each other's profiles, send off the hollow "Happy Birthday" when the system tells us to, and find ourselves no closer than before we encountered each other in cyberspace.
Convenient, yes, but hardly the kind of effort that yields real friendship."

A couple comments that I’ve read about this article seem to indicate the attitude that anyone who holds this kind of opinion is just kind of a “get-off-my-lawn” square who doesn’t understand the way people interact today. Being one that gets irked at people (younger than me, mostly—yeah, you, get off my lawn!) who are constantly tappity-tapping away on their cell phones sending text messages to people, I instinctively agreed with the article. So I ended up going into the whole Facebook thing rather slowly.

But once I got the hang of it, found a few “friends,” played a few games, uploaded a few pictures, shared a few memories, wow, I jumped in with both feet. I talked with people I hadn’t seen since high school graduation, since living with in the same dorms at college, since my old life in radio, people I’d spent the bulk of my summers with since I was four. It was fantastic! I had people add me that I didn’t think I was cool enough to have been friends with. They added me! My friend list exploded exponentially. I was popular!!

Or so it seemed.

I started to think about all the people that I was “friends” with, and whom, if anybody, I considered to be true chicken-soup-delivering friends. Then, one picture somebody posted really hit home with me. It was of a bunch of guys that I knew, posing for a snapshot at somebody’s house before some life-alteringly important high school dance. I had been involved with almost every single one of them in some sport or activity—most, I had played football with. And when you spray snot and sweat on each other and stink up locker room bathroom stalls together, you tend to get fairly friendly.

But I wasn’t in that picture. A group of about 15 guys that I knew fairly well for a number of years, and I hadn’t been invited to the party. Some were guys that I didn’t even think were part of that football-playing, cheerleader-dating group, but there they were. I was upset—20 goddamn years later—because I thought I belonged there. I was surprised that it affected me that much. Then I realized why.

You see, it served as a stark confirmation of a suspicion that I’ve always had—that those people weren’t really my friends. In my mind, if I were really considered a friend, somebody would have thought, ‘hey, let’s call Fata,’ especially in a group that big, somebody would (should?) have thought of me. I thought I was pretty popular then, as I was in a colossal number of different activities and sports, from football to French Club. But in subsequent years, I realized I really wasn’t actually popular, due, I guess, to the fact that I was in so many different groups, I didn’t belong to one of them. And that picture jolted me back to reality, shattering my illusion of newfound popularity. I didn’t get any more popular simply because a few people said they were glad to “see” me on Facebook 20 years later.

I make no secret of my rejection issues—my whole life, I’ve always felt like I’m on the outside of something or other looking in. (It’s why I can’t stand to be late—I’m afraid I’m not important enough for people to not start without or not leave behind). And Facebook forcing me to call these people “friends” reminded me of that.

The truth is, they were—and are now—acquaintances. I wasn’t invited to a little pre-dance party 20 years ago with people I thought I was kind of close with—what makes me think any of them would bring me chicken soup if I were sick, even if I lived close enough? Who would buy me several thousand beers and listen to me spill my guts if I were going through a rough time? Who would help me move? Who would give me a ride to or from an airport at 4 a.m.?

Who among them would I have told that our unborn son died in utero last year?

I have two people on my “friends” list I’ve never even met! One guy’s a news anchor in Peoria who added me for some reason, and another is a guy in Maryland or Delaware whose name I’ve never even heard before. But I accepted his friend request because, hey, he’s got something to do with something I’m interested in career-wise, I think. Pretty lame, huh? Think he’d pick me up at the airport if I ever flew out east?

That’s not to say Facebook is evil for making me call these people “friends.” I’m genuinely glad to have reconnected with all of them. And I’ve actually found a couple surprise actual friendships, based on similar interests, memories and post-school life events, so that’s been really great. But I wish there was some sort of option to post things for everybody to see, and then an option to post things you only want your real, live, in-the-now, actual friends to see. There is the option to make friends lists, to categorize people by how you know them: high school, college, work, church, etc. So there’s one list that I’ve got labeled “inside”—as in inside my inner circle. It’s not a very populous list. If you have to ask if you're on it, that should give you your answer.

Since Facebook is forcing me to call everybody “friends,” instead of acquaintances, I think as my own little nod to the importance of the “inside”-ers, I’ll change the name of that particular list to that which a true friend would deliver in a time of need:

Chicken Soup.

Postscript: If you read the article on the Tribune site, you’ll notice there is no byline. There is only an e-mail link to the author at the bottom. How do you e-mail chicken soup?

Post postscript: Wow, this entry became a lot more about me than about Facebook. Sorry. I could go on and on about my views on friendship, what kind of relationship might qualify as friendship and why, but I think I'll save that for another day, if at all.

A good way to end the old year

2008-12-31T23:19:00.002-06:00

It's still 2008, in this time zone anyway, and my daughters are still awake, trying to make it to midnight. So I invited them out to watch the ball drop in New York in case they didn't make it. And as they sat on my lap, I was reminded of a poem I wrote on New Year's Day 2000, when my eldest daughter was just three months old. So I dug it out and read it to them. I share it here:

Old Long Ago

She was in her father's arms
as December turned into the year
they said would end us all.
She looked at him up from her rest
with eyes that hadn't yet changed
from their native blue--
unblinking on his face as
he watched the face of his
grandfather's clock.
He remembered the story his father
told, of when he was a boy and his aunt
on New Year's Day said she couldn't
believe it was already 1950.
He remembered when he was a boy--
flashbacks, mostly, from random faceless
years--of dropping the old calendar (December face up)
into the trash, saying "goodbye nineteen seventy something"--
of standing on the street oustide his grandmother's house
and taking a ladle to her biggest pan--
of running in the snow around his cousin's house
in pyjamas and moon boots,
faces red from the cold, lungs scraping for breath
and hearts pounding.
And he wondered what she would remember
about so many New Year's Eves
from old long ago.

Goodbye, Farewell and Amen

2008-12-31T22:06:00.002-06:00

Dear 2008,

As we have been bombarded for the past couple weeks with end-of-year lists, summations, reviews, analyses, top tens, bottom tens, highlights, lowlights and prognostications for the upcoming year, I feel like as a blogger, I’m compelled—nay, required—to add my own two cents’ worth to the conversation. However, I’m a little reluctant, because you were, in many respects, one of, if not the worst years on record.

I’m not just talking about the mess the world, the economy, and our state are in. I’m talking strictly about my own personal life. You, to put it mildly, blew. So to come up with some sort of retrospective without either spilling all of my guts or sounding like I’m just playing the “poor me” routine will be tricky. But I also feel the need to say goodbye to you, to put you in my rear view mirror and hit the gas as quickly as possible—and that need outweighs my hesitation.

You threw the usual things at me—money problems, mostly. But I’m used to that. I know that every so often, I’m going to have to shell out cash I don’t have for things over which I have no control—like when I had to pay for—out of my own pocket—new flooring in one of the basement bedrooms because the people who built our house left a 6-inch hole in the foundation that left us with ripped up walls, soaked carpeting and an awful smell. Oh, did I mention that I had to pay for it myself because the builders went bankrupt and therefore didn’t have to honor the 25-year warranty on the foundation? It took until late summer before we could use that room again. So thanks for that start to the year.

And thanks for the health stuff, too. I know things like that happen to everyone, so it was no surprise when my little boy broke his arm, and was in a cast up to his shoulder for 6 weeks—then less than two weeks after he got that cast off, one of my girls broke her foot right before going on vacation to see her grandparents in Arizona for the first time. My wife is also enjoying her dental problems (again), which are not adequately covered by my insurance. And being in a shoulder immobilizer for the last month following my surgery has been a blast, let me tell you. But that’s okay—it’s an old war wound that was well worth it.

I don’t want to forget the transportation problems, either. I was selling my scooter this year, and twice had people in my front door with cash in hand to buy it when mechanical problems I’d never had before suddenly surfaced on their test rides, forcing me to sell for so much less that I couldn’t buy a new scooter. The best part, though, was finding out five days after Christmas (yep! yesterday!) that we’re going to have to come up with $350 to pay for new brake pads—and rotors—on our sole remaining mode of transport, which we’re constantly having to juggle and schedule around.

I also had the one-year anniversary of finishing my book, complete with a year’s worth of rejections from agents, despite the fact there are things out there getting sold (and made into movies) that barely appeal to the stupidest common denominator. But, hey, tits and ass and crashes always sell, so I can’t fault people for that. And my quest to publish was derailed for the year, for reasons which will soon be enumerated.

And I STILL don’t have a nice, hi-def flatscreen television.

But like I said, crap like that I’ve had to deal with before. What you threw at me and my family in the early spring, however, was completely uncalled for.

I mean, I know we weren’t trying to get pregnant with our fourth child (with me at age 35, and my wife at age 41), and I know we were initially shocked and having a hard time warming up to the idea. But to put the fear of a fatal birth defect into a blood test result wasn’t fair, especially when you consider the difficult pregnancy history we’ve had. At least, though, we found out on March 24 that everything was going to be all right and finally be able to tell the kids they were having a little brother was a relief, I’ll admit that. And for two whole days, everything was wonderful. Until the baby stopped moving on the 26th, that is. The doctor told us the next day there was no heartbeat. Everything after that was a blur, but I remember when my wife was induced to deliver a stillborn Christopher John (named for my brothers Chris and his great grandfather) on March 28 of your year, 2008. And I remember the funeral on Tuesday, April 1 of your year. I remember that the weather had been not so bad up until that day, and I remember thinking how stupidly appropriate it was that the wind was suddenly roaring out of the north and that my tears were freezing to my face at the cemetery. I remember kissing his little white casket before it was lowered into the ground. I remember not wanting to let go of the roses we were dropping into the grave. I remember my wife and me hugging our dear friend and Bishop who tried to comfort us. I remember feeling very alone. But you were there, 2008, weren’t you? You were there when I was walking through a nightmare, when I kept waiting for weeks and weeks to wake up, thinking all the time, this can’t possibly be real. This has to be a dream. It wasn’t. It was 2008. It was you.

And, as years before you can attest to, I don’t often handle reality well. I like to turn my brain off and escape from things, as most people do for a little bit here and there. But my escapism brought an unthinkable amount of further strife into my life and marriage in your year. To quote Sir Paul, “I took my brain out and stretched it on a rack / now I’m not so sure I’m ever gonna get it back.” As a result, I can handle reality and stress much more capably now; however, I’m not so sure the residual damage isn’t permanent and irreparable.

So don’t be offended, 2008, if I’m glad to see you go. Sure, there were some genuinely great moments during the year—backyard marshmallow roasts, Wall-E at the drive-in and Horton Hears a Who with my little dude, tubing with my homies at Bass Lake, the presidential election, finding ancient friends on Facebook, and, of course, starting this here blog. I also cherished my kids every second I was awake, each second more than the last. In that, I guess, is the only way I’m sad to see you turn to 2009. That means my children are getting older. That means they’re one day, one month, one year closer to growing up and away. I lie in bed at night with tears in my eyes thinking of them, every detail of their faces, what it feels like to kiss them, to hug them, to hear them laugh. I lie there practically shaking with terror wondering what it’s going to feel like during one of your colleagues down the road when they leave the nest, or when (not if, but when) something bad happens—an accident, a heartbreak, a disappointment, a failure of some sort. And God forbid, if the truly awful happens to one of them—at least I can say it didn’t happen during 2008. I can’t guarantee that ten years from now; I can’t guarantee it even in your immediate successor. So in that way, I wish today could stay December 31, 2008 forever. But it can’t.

And, ultimately, I’m really glad for that. Maybe it can stay January 1, 2009 forever, instead.

Good bye, 2008, and good riddance.

CF

Fire that [expletive]er. [expletive] 'em.

2008-12-11T01:02:00.004-06:00

As I sit here and ponder the events of the past couple days regarding Rodney R. Blagojevich, soon-to-be-former-Governor of the State of Illinois, [henceforth to be known as “Blago” because a) ‘Blagojevich’ is too long and difficult of a letter combination to repeatedly type whilst on narcotics and b) I sure as hell ain’t calling him ‘Governor’ no more], a strange parallel keeps leaping to mind. Do you remember the scene in the movie “Animal House” when Otter stands up before the Interfraternity Council hearing to defend the Deltas against Niedermayer and Marmalard and Dean Wormer? (“I’m pre law.” “I thought you were pre med.” “What’s the difference?”)

Otter stands up and says something to the effect that you can’t blame a whole fraternity for a few bad apples, for if you do, isn’t it an indictment of the entire fraternity system, and if you indict the entire fraternity system, mustn’t you indict the university as a whole, and therefore the entire American way of life? (That’s when the Deltas walk out humming the Star Spangled Banner, in case your memory hasn’t been jogged yet.)

Here’s why I think of that silly scene, besides the fact that Blago’s defense during his upcoming impeachment hearings (he surely won’t resign--see below) will be only slightly more ridiculous than Otter’s: for as reprehensible as Blago is, he’s not the only one to blame. We need to blame the history of politics in Illinois (and Chicago specifically). We need to indict the historically acknowledged and approved pay-to-play system that put him there. We need to point the finger at the people who ultimately put him in the Governor’s mansion (if he actually lived there, that is).

We need to point the finger at you and me.

Even if you voted for Roland Burris, Jim Ryan, Judy Baar Topinka or Rich Whitney in 2002 or 2006, it’s just as much your fault as if you punched your pay stub, er, ballot, for Blago himself. You see, simply by casting a vote in an election for a statewide office in Illinois, you’re guilty.*

You’re guilty because by voting for one of those candidates, you weren’t working against all of them, even by choosing the lesser of two evils. Unless you ran for office yourself, you’re guilty. Unless you encouraged, financially backed, knocked on doors or handed out bumper stickers for somebody not affiliated with a political party in the State of Illinois, you’re guilty. Simply by allowing people the likes of Blago, Topinka, George Ryan, Dan Walker, Otto Kerner, Orville Hodge, William Lorimer, Len Small, Dan Rostenkowski, Ed Vrdolyak and scores of other Chicago aldermen to even get on a ballot, makes us all guilty by association.

I’m not talking about denying them their rights as Americans to run for office. I’m talking about our obligation as Americans to see through their self-serving bullshit.

My daddy taught me two things growing up: you never get something for nothing, and if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. It seems that if the electorate in Illinois had a good dose of that common sense, we wouldn’t be in this mess today. Yet we still insist on voting for these people, whose egos are so bafflingly grand, whose lines of bullshit are so thick, I’m stumped as to how we were hornswaggled into not thinking this is too good to be true.

I’m not saying there aren’t good, qualified people in statewide elected office right now. There are probably a couple. But there is no one I trust, that’s for damn sure. I don’t think there’s a one of them that wouldn’t sell out a colleague or piss on a campaign promise if it wouldn’t get them more power or money from whatever the source, however ethically icky it might be. Maybe all politicians are like that. I hope not, but I’ve lived in Illinois all my life, grew up watching Fahey Flynn talk about the Council Wars in Chicago. My parents grew up in Fast Eddie’s famed 10th Ward on the Southeast Side of Chicago, for heaven’s sake. So, in my world, words like "honorable” and “decent” and “trust” don’t often appear anywhere close to the word “politician” in the same document.

My worry is that there’s no solution. I mean, we can hope this sudden light that been shone on Illinois’s kitchen and exposed all the Blagockroaches that have been scurrying about unabated for a hundred years now so that we can spray them with a giant can of Honest and figuratively kill them all. But how likely is that? Do we really trust other perhaps-not-quite-so-crooked-yet-still-crooked politicians to fix the mess that Blago, Ryan, et al. have gotten us into? (See above paragraph about trust.)

The quickest and simplest solution from where I’m sitting is to just break up the state. Split it in two. Chicago and the collar counties should be its own state (“Bladolyakowski”) and the rest of us could retain the name of Illinois. If you’re in that area and are offended by that, I’m sorry, but that’s where the bulk of the money, power and influence (and therefore corruption) resides. Border it off and let them grift it out to the death. If you live there and don't want to watch it implode from the front row, feel free to move to Illinois. But let the other 95 counties start over. Or, anything above I-80 could be its own state. You could keep the name Illinois, and we could be Southern Illinois, because, after all, everybody north of I-80 thinks anything south of that distinguished road is hick country anyway.

I think we should secede and establish the true Land of Lincoln and name it after him. After all, U.S. Attorney Pat Fitzgerald rightly said that what Blago has done would make Lincoln roll over in his grave. But I’ll go him one further: had Lincoln known what was going to happen in this place he once made hallow, he would have handed Booth the pistol himself.

The worst part of all of this is symbolized in a couple lines from this Associated Press report from December 10: “Ensconced in his downtown office, Blagojevich gave no sign he was contemplating resigning, and dispatched his spokeswoman, Kelley Quinn, to say it was ‘business as usual’ in his 16th-floor suite, situated a few blocks from Obama's transition headquarters.”

Business as usual. I don't know about you, but that scares the shit out of me. And nothing says more than that about Blago or the citizens of the State of Illinois who haven't yet stormed his office demanding his resignation.

*For the record, I didn’t vote for Blago in 2006. I voted for Green Party candidate Rich Whitney over him and Judy Baar Topinka, whom, I’m convinced would have been just as, if not more, corrupt than Blago-—not that that excuses him--I’m just sayin’. But I did vote for him the first time in 2002 when he ran against Jim Ryan. Sorry Abdul.

Re: Blago

2008-12-10T16:18:00.003-06:00

I've been in my semi-drug induced state the past two days watching all this nonsense with Blago. (I refuse to call him by his title anymore, by the way). I was mortified that in the midst of the biggest story of the year (yes, bigger than the election and the bailouts) that because of my operation, I'd only be able to type one-handed, and therefore not be able to do the subject justice.

Good news: I can type with two hands. I hope to post later tonight, in case anyone was eagerly anticipating my thoughts.

Hello friends!

2008-12-08T00:33:00.004-06:00

Things have been busy lately, getting ready and traveling for Thanksgiving, work, and doing various outdoor things before the first dumpage of snow for this year. That's why I haven't posted in a bit. Plus, most of my relevant thoughts have been about more of the same things I've addressed previously; namely, the automakers' bailout, the holidays, and stupid people. So I didn't think I'd bother rehashing more of the same.

And now, I might not post for a little while longer, due to the fact I'm not excited about typing anything of any length with only one hand. (insert comment here...)

The reason I'm going to be down to one hand is that in about 7 hours, I'll be undergoing surgery on my left shoulder, and I'll be in a sling anywhere from--get this--five days to five weeks. It depends on the damage the specialist in Chicago finds. Best case scenario, it's a little cleanup and I'm slung for five days. Worst case scenario, everything's shredded and it's five weeks. The MRI showed one tear already (on the tendon that attaches the biceps to the humerus, which isn't very), and based on my symptoms, there's likely a tear in the top of the labrum (the tissue that makes up the shoulder socket). Now, if those tears are too close to each other, they'll have to remove the biceps tendon entirely and re-anchor it somewhere else so that it doesn't pull on where the labrum is healing. I had surgery in 2003 on my elbow to repair a torn tendon that involved detaching it from the bone and reattaching it, and that involved drilling three tiny holes in my elbow and laying the repaired tendon over it, and letting the bone ooze reform a new tendon. So you see why, in my shoulder, that could turn out to be an extended time in a sling.

So please don't think I've given up on blogging. Although, my new addiction to Facebook hasn't helped me much! ;-)

If I'm not able to type for an extended period of time, I want to wish you a Merry Christmas (fuck, I just quoted "Feliz Navidad"! Aaaargh!) and a happy and prosperous new year.

I will be checking in for comments, certainly I'll be on Facebook a lot, so I won't be completely incommunicado.

Peace and love.

Enough Already!

2008-11-23T11:28:00.002-06:00

I generally look forward to the holidays every year; it’s a time of giving and sharing and friendship and family and usually nothing but good times. I don’t expect this year to be any different. However, I was reminded yesterday (yesterday, already!) that there are a couple things about the season that I’m dreading. You know the usual things—relatives invading your space for days on end, constantly having to keep the house clean for drop-ins, cooking for several thousand people, and the incessant, syrupy Christmas music.

On the subject of the latter, I think there ought to be a law that radio stations (and stores, too, for that matter) should be prohibited from playing Christmas music until at least the day after Thanksgiving. I don’t mind Christmas music, in fact, I quite enjoy it sometimes. But, damn, do I have to start listening to “Holly Jolly Christmas” before I’ve mowed my lawn for the last time? Likewise, stores should not be allowed to put out Christmas decorations until after Halloween. It’s just wrong that on one side of the seasonal aisle Santa is merrily cavorting with his reindeer, whilst on the other side of the aisle, gruesome, bloody rubber limbs are displayed next to giant hairy oozing rats.

But what drives me absolutely bat-shit from November until January has to do with Pyotr Ilich Tchaikovsky. “Pyotr Ilich Tchaikovsky?” you ask. Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about: the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies.
I don’t even need to describe it—the same ubiquitous eighteen glockenspieled notes pop into everyone’s head (count ‘em if you don’t believe me), followed by some warm-voiced grandfatherly-sounding man encouraging you to buy vinyl siding or a subscription to Netflix or something else completely unrelated to Christmas.

Don’t get me wrong—it’s sound advertising…no eight seconds of music is more evocative of the holiday season. It instantly sets the mood. And it’s non-religious, not to mention part of the public domain, so no royalties need to be paid upon its use. But it’s gotten to the point that every time I hear even the first four or five notes, I want to puncture my eardrums with the top of the Chrysler Building. I want to burn every glockenspiel in existence. I want to dig up Tchaikovsky and kick him right in his shriveled nuts. But being that we have the kinds of laws a civilized society should, I settle for changing the radio station or TV channel. All I can say is, thank [insert the name of your deity here] for the ability to fast forward through the commercials on DVR’d shows.

So if anybody involved in advertising or marketing happens to come across my little corner of cyberspace, I beg you, please, kill the urge to use The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies. Because if you don’t, I will find out who made the commercial, I will hunt you down, find you, and roast your chestnuts over an open glockenspiel fire.

P.S.: I want everybody to add a comment with every time you come across a different ad with that music in it! Let’s see how big of a list we can compile!

How typical

2008-11-21T11:59:00.005-06:00

By Ken Thomas
Associated Press

UPDATED 11:50 a.m. WASHINGTON, D.C. -- The Bush administration sharply criticized Democrats in Congress on Friday for taking a recess without approving a multibillion-dollar lifeline for the Big Three U.S. automakers.

“It is appalling that Congress decided to leave town without addressing a problem that they themselves said needed to be addressed,” White House press secretary Dana Perino said.

A bailout-shy Congress punted a $25 billion auto industry rescue bill on Thursday. Democratic leaders announced they wouldn’t help the beleaguered automakers until the companies presented them with a plan showing how they will use federal assistance to stabilize and reprogram their faltering business.
---

The preceding couple paragraphs from this morning's news indicates why we need change in Washington. I know some people are skeptical of the concept of "change" and what it actually means, but the statement from White House Flak Dana Perino that it's "appalling" that Congress refused to act is blatant posturing on behalf of an administration that is just as clueless as ever, and a sharp example of why Americans overwhelmingly supported Barack Obama's bid for president.

I understand that the administration wants a bailout for the automakers, so they can continue to make cars that burn lots and lots of gasoline, which makes lots and lots of money for the oil companies that are no doubt part of the only barely blind holdings for Bush, Cheney & Co. And everybody has finally been able to peek through to the man behind the curtain (and the two men controlling him) and find out what he's really been about for the past 7 4/5 years.

But what's "appalling" is that Perino (i.e., George W. Bush) wants to blame "Congress" (i.e., the Democrats, since they control Congress) for, gasp, wanting the automakers to actually have a plan on how they're going to use that $25 billion. The automakers have been dying for years; what's another six weeks to wait? They showed up in their private jets (they didn't even jetpool!) to ask for all this money, and had no idea what they were going to do with it. By one estimate I heard yesterday, GM (I believe) is losing 5 billion dollars a month. So what would that one-third of $25 Billion dollars have given them? Six weeks of break-even business. Big fucking deal. Because then what?

I don't know if the banks needed the money free and clear more than the automakers; it certainly seems so. It seems the point was for the banks get the money so they can lend it, to free up money to get the credit markets moving again. Perhaps that was why "Congress" elected so quickly to give the banks the money with no apparent strings attached. The bank crisis would have had much greater a ripple effect on the global economy than three buggy manufacturers going belly up.

I think the Big Three ought to file for Chapter 11 bankruptcy reorganization. That would nullify the bloated union contracts, and allow them to cut the dead wood from each of the three companies. They could then merge into 2 companies: one that makes a few trucks/SUV's, and one that makes smaller sedans and coupes. They could then use the bailout money to retool the remaining factories to produce the kinds of vehicles that are a) required for the US to be energy independent, b) better for the environment, and c) actually ones that Americans can/will afford and buy. They would also have to show a, gasp, plan that indicates how much they're going to invest on R&D for more efficient vehicles in the future.

But the point is this: it's just more of the same from an administration that has nothing but bitterness, failure, fear, divisiveness and pessimism left to offer. You know, kind of like the last 7 3/4 years.

And all I can say is, 12:00 EST on January 20, 2009 can't come soon enough. I'm not saying Barack Obama will solve this mess, but at least we can be fairly certain he won't have his clueless lackies spouting such transparent partisan, divisive garbage.

Seen any good movies lately?

2008-11-17T16:45:00.002-06:00

It's been a little while since I've posted, so I thought I'd throw something out there that's a little lighter, just for fun. Everything's been so serious lately, with the election, with Prop 8, with the economy and all the other junk going on in the world. We need a little fun, I think.

Please note, this list is not in any particular order. And this isn't a list of the "greatest movies of all time"--just my top ten. There are better movies and more important movies than the ones on this list. I haven't seen Citizen Kane or Schindler's List, for example, so they can't make my top ten. I have, however, seen The Godfather trilogy, and none of them made the list. As an aside, I want to do a stand-up comedy bit on The Godfather someday, because to me, The Godfather is a lot like my first marriage: too long, overrated, and no sex. Funny?

So here is my All-Time Top 10 Movie List:

1. The Incredibles

2. Casablanca

3. Rear Window

4. Planes, Trains and Automobiles

5. Star Wars

6. Patton

7. Saving Private Ryan

8. City Slickers

9. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance

10. Glory

Just missing out: South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut; Amadeus; Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade; Stargate; My Cousin Vinny. There are others, but I don't want to steal anyone else's thunder. Post away!

Feel free to post your top ten, and any you think I'm wrong about.

With Apologies to XTC

2008-11-10T14:57:00.007-06:00

Dear [insert the name of your deity here],

I want to thank you for answering not only my prayers, but the prayers of the billions of right-thinking folks in this country. You truly do hear us, and you heard us at a time when we needed you more than perhaps any time in our history. I’m speaking, of course, about the recent election.

The results could not have spoken louder. The will of the people is clear. We now have hope for the future. You see, if California can ban gay marriage, everybody else should be able to as well.
I, for one, am glad. Who wants people of the same sex to get married? It’s wrong. It shouldn’t be allowed anywhere. It’s just…icky.

I’d have to look at their rainbow flags and ‘gay pride’ bumper stickers, and those little window stick-ons that say trite things like ‘hate is not a family value.’ It would suddenly be all around me.

They’d have gay pride parades and dress in drag while raking their leaves—all on my good old, American street, where my family has lived since my grandparents came to this country in the 20’s.

I’d be forced to live next to gay couples and watch them do their gay things in their gay bedrooms of sin, through the gay glass walls they’re sure to erect. And, yes, that pun was intended.

The next thing you know, should gay marriage actually be allowed in California, the law everywhere else would have to change, right? And then, it would require me to get divorced and find some queer to take as my husb..er…wife. And that’s just wrong.

Churches would be forced to perform these perverse ceremonies, these…these unions. Even churches that are anti-homo would be required to marry them inside their hallowed walls.
And since they’re all child molesters, I’d have to accompany my kids everywhere they go, just to make sure they don’t get accosted by some out of control homo, drunk on his newly-gained power.

I really don’t care that all they want—besides professing their alleged love—is a chance to give each other medical coverage, insurance protection, tax benefits and such. It’s not my fault if some pole smoker’s father can get his will invalidated after he dies (probably of AIDS—they all have it!) because he says his son’s gayness indicates he was “mentally ill” and therefore the will isn’t legal and he can take everything away from his partner. (Partner…eww…what a gross term.) I shouldn’t have to put up with a change in a law that will effect me, a straight-as-an-arrow, [insert-the-name-of-your-deity-here]-fearing [insert your whack-job ultra-right-wing religion here] so profoundly on an everyday basis.

I can’t believe a Reagan-Republican Governor like Arnold Schwarzenegger actually supports gay marriage—he likens it to allowing blacks and whites to marry. I know that’s supposed to be okay these days, but doggone it, something about that just rubs me the wrong way, too.
I particularly thank you for motivating all those decent, yet peculiar folks from Utah, whose church suddenly and officially abandoned its political neutrality for time and all eternity by encouraging them to meddle in the affairs of a neighboring state. Without them, gay marriage in California might have passed, and then, there in Provo and Salt Lake City, where would have they been? Up Gay Creek, that’s where!

I thank you for your bounty and your wisdom, and for the peace I have knowing that none of my children will ever grow up gay. I know that fact simply because we pray, and because gayness is a sickening, deviant choice that we would never even allow to enter their precious, fragile little minds. I know that parents who end up with gay kids—even if they express disapproval—will join them in hell one day, because it was probably some failure of theirs in the child-rearing process.

Good night, [insert the name of your deity here] Bless America, and Amen.

Election Night

2008-11-04T22:36:00.003-06:00

I sit here wishing I could think more about the events of the night before I posted, but I feel a need to chronicle the moment as it happens--for my own personal record, as much as anything.

I saw at precisely 10:00 Central Standard Time the graphic on CNN's wall:

BARACK OBAMA ELECTED PRESIDENT

I felt like a great, giant weight had been lifted from my chest, like some great darkness passed from the sky, and the sun was finally able to warm my face again. And the tears came.

It was not so much a dislike of John McCain, but it was a fruition of hope; it was a realization of a belief. It was the promise of better days ahead. It was about leaving the last administration in the rear view mirror...quickly.

I saw the crowds cheering in Grant Park in Chicago, in New York City, in Los Angeles, in Atlanta, in Kenya, at the White House and other places around the country and around the world. And I thought to myself, when was the last time, if ever, crowds that large and diverse cheered anything besides a sports championship, let alone an elected official in America?

The crowds featured white Baby Boomers cheering, but were energized thoroughly by the younger set. It was beautiful to see so many younger people that excited about politics and government, likely for the first time ever. Whites and blacks, probably strangers, hugged and exchanged high fives. Jesse Jackson, whom I'm no fan of, who stood on that balcony in Memphis in 1968 as Martin Luther King was gunned down, wept. American flags--not Obama/Biden signs--waved by the thousands. A million people--a million people--are expected in Grant Park tonight.

And then I watched John McCain deliver his concession speech. He confirmed what many have said about him all along, and what I suspected as well: that there is no greater patriot alive. John McCain would have made a great president, of that I have no doubt. Sure, I didn't like his campaign, and I didn't like his running mate, but there can be no question as to the man's love for his country and his desire to do right by it. I hope President-elect Obama takes Senator McCain up on his offer to help in whatever capacity he's able. And I hope that McCain's supporters--not the fucking tools who booed when he mentioned Obama during his speech--and those who voted for him will echo his call to offer their hands as well. I thank John McCain for his service to his country and wish him well in the future, and I sincerely hope he continues to act as an advocate for honest, straight talk in government.

The next president is about to speak. I will wrap up for now.

Election Day

2008-11-04T13:14:00.004-06:00

Wow. It's finally here. After all the campaigning, all the excitement on both sides, all the negativity, too--it's finally time to make our decision.

What a great day it is to be an American. We didn't invent this system, and other countries have followed suit, but you know what? We perfected it. Sure, there are flaws, but this is about as good as it gets.

Both candidates campaigned for change. I just hope either one can follow through. And I hope there's none of the vitriolic, bile-spewing hate that has surfaced among bar-stool voters on opposite sides of the fence that there was both times W was elected. I'm not just talking about the bumper stickers in 2004 that joked "Re-Elect Gore." I'm talking about the people who were saying things like "George W. Bush is not my president--I didn't vote for him." Guess what...he was, and still is for ten more weeks, your president. A president isn't just president of the people who voted for him, and he's not just president of only the people that agree with him. I didn't like W when he was handed the election over Gore, and I liked him even less when he beat Kerry. But he was my president.

It's easier for me to encourage people to accept the new president because it looks like the horse I'm backing is going to win, if you believe the polls. But if he doesn't, I'd like to think I can give the other guy a chance before I write him off. As I've written before, I believe they're both good, decent men who care deeply about this country and the need to do things differently. I just wish McCain hadn't listened to whomever he did while running his campaign--I think he would have done just as well, perhaps even better--if it weren't so negative. And I think our country would have been better for it.

One last note--did you see the ad the RNC started running last night? It really slammed Obama on Rev. Wright. Fine, that's a valid issue (I guess). But, my goodness--that was about the most horrifying ad I've ever seen. It hit on Obama and how his whole life he's associated himself with extremist radicals, and, oh my Gosh, he must be a closet radical, too. However, if you look at the subtext of the ad, it's not saying Obama is a radical. It's saying, "Don't vote for him--he's black!" If you think it's saying anything else, I'm sorry, but you need to look around for the turnip truck you just fell off of. That's the kind of bullshit I wish would disappear from politics. You see that kind of crap in local races all over the country (there's one in the Peoria area between Jehan Gordon and some other lady that's completely off the damn hook!), but that really should stay out of the national conversation. We're too good for that. I'm not saying there's no place for negative ads--hell, it wins elections--and I'm not saying Obama didn't run any negatives. But the Rev. Wright ad was shameful, especially on the eve of what will be such an historic day, regardless of who wins.

Security and Freedom, a response

2008-10-31T10:38:00.003-05:00

I left this comment on my very good (and smart) friend Mike's blog, in response to his post on Security and Freedom...I thought I'd post my response here, just for fun and to possibly generate more discussion. Mikey and I tend to be on opposite sides of the political spectrum, and we have occasionally had very fun and spirited discussions on some topics. I tend to lean left and he tends to lean right, but I would hazard an extremely educated guess that neither of us would ever declare for a particular party, following ideas and ideals, rather than party platforms and people. Here is the comment:

I was going to leave a smarmy remark about how I'm leaving room for you at the next ACLU meeting, but then I realized I kind of disagree with Franklin a little bit, which came as a surprise to me. Franklin's far-left assertion is completely theoretical--just as is the far-right's position to let the free market decide everything, potential economic collapse be damned. Franklin didn't have to worry about dirty bombs in train stations, jumbo jets crashing into football stadiums and the like. Whilst I value my freedom above anything, I also value not having to worry about some extremist drop a 747 on my head just because I'm at the Super Bowl. (Note, in the Declaration of Independence, Life comes before Liberty!)

By the same token, to do nothing in the current economic climate, while staying true to a pure free market economy, would be completely foolish. Sure, you keep your "American" principles, but big deal, there's no economy left because we have no banks and no American auto or real estate industries. That's like if people no longer had to take their shoes off at airports--sure, that's a freedom back, but big deal, somebody drove a plane up my ass while I was just trying to enjoy a ball game.

I find it curious that countries that are much, much older than ours have moved to the left (a lot, in some cases) socially and governmentally, and to the right on some issues like security (there are cameras ALL over London, for example). They've been through all this before, and they learn from their histories so they do not repeat it. We're still learning. That's why the great Greek and Roman empires flamed out--they grew too far, too fast and didn't learn quickly enough. If you look into a crystal ball, America will look a lot like Western Europe in another 20 years, I think. And you might say we deserve neither freedom or security if we do that, but I would argue that it's just societal evolution--survival of the fittest and flexiblest.

What's In A Name

2008-10-27T22:12:00.004-05:00

Spending as much time in schools as I do, I come across lots of names for kids. It inspired me to write this...

A very good friend of mine* called recently to let us know that he had some very good news to share. He and his wife** found out that next spring, they will be welcoming their first child*** into the world. My wife**** and I were overjoyed for them, and we invited them over for dinner and a movie, and to talk about the upcoming blessed event.

While we were enjoying our pizza, the subject of what they were going to name the baby came up. My wife and I put a lot of thought and effort into the naming of our kids, so naturally we feel like we are allowed to meddle in the process for other couples, especially younger couples having their first child. The conversation went, more or less, something like this:

Me: “So, have you given any thought to names yet?”

Him: “Yeah, but we’re still pretty undecided.”

Her: “Pretty undecided? We’re clueless!”

Wife: “Oh, I know what you mean. We struggled, too. There are so many things to consider!”

Her: “Definitely. There are just—so many—names out there to choose from.”

Me: “Well, have you started to make a list? Kind of figure out what you want?”

Him: “Oh, sure. We know we want the name to be unique, but we don’t want it to be too different from, say, other kids in school.”

Me: “Okay, so…different, but the same.”

Her: “Right. Like, if it’s a girl, we’re not going to go with a Jane or a Mary. We want something more modern.”

Wife: “Like what?”

Her: “Well, we like something along the lines of Allie, Hallie, Hailey, Bailey, Caylee, Kylee, Kayla or Katelynn.”

Me: “Wow, that’s a mouthful.”

Him: “We also like McKenna, McKenzie, Madeline, Madison, Addison, Zoe, Chloe or Sophie.”

Wife: “Madeline is nice.”

Her: “Plus, we can do an alternate spelling with Madeline.”

Me: “Alternate spelling?”

Him: “Yeah. Madeline is a little too traditional, so we’d call her Maddie, but we’d spell it something like ‘M-a-d-y-l-y-n-e.”

Me: “Why all the y’s?”

Her: “That way it looks different, but is pronounced the same. The unique-but-fitting-in thing, remember? We can do the same with ‘A-d-d-y-s-y-n’ or ‘M-a-d-y-s-y-n’.”

Wife: “Oh, I get it.”

Me: “Hey, why not Radisson? It’s a highly respected hotel chain—and you can even spell it ‘R-a-d-y-s-y-n.’”

Him: “The boy names are a little trickier.”

Her: “Yeah. Our current favorites are Aiden, Braden, Caden, Jaden, Jordan, Jaylen, Brady, Brody, Cody, Taylor and Tyler. Caden and Cody could also start with a K. You know—the alternate phonetic spelling.”

Me: “That sounds like the cast of characters in High School Musical 11.”

Him: “We also like the Irish-sounding names Keegan and Teegan.”

Me: “But you’re not Irish.”

Her: “We know, but we like the ethnic sound of them.”

Me: “Have you considered Helmut, Lars or Guiseppe? Those are pretty ethnic-sounding.”

At this point, my wife got up and left. She thought I was starting to get sarcastic.

Him: “If it’s a boy, we also are thinking about tough-sounding names.”

Me: “Such as?”

Her: “Colton-with-a-K, Tyson, Bryson, Brayson, Grayson, Dakota, Jack and Troy.”

Me: “I have an idea—you could go ethnic-sounding and tough! How about Angus, Thor, Zeus or Jackie Chan?”

Him: “Speaking of Dakota, we’ve got place names that we like, too, that can be either boy or girl.”

Me: “Do tell.”

Her: “We’ve got Branson, Dallas, Brooklyn, Denver, and Sydney.”

Me: “Hey, Sydney has two y’s, but I think Hoboken or Walla-Walla might work, too.”

Her: “But we’d spell Sydney something like ‘C-i-d-n-e-e.’ You know, non-traditional.”

Me: “Uh, couldn’t that be pronounced like ‘kidney’?”

Him: “And then, there are the Biblical names.”

Me: “Biblical? Dude, you haven’t been to church since we used communion wafers as poker chips!”

Her: “It’s more about themes in the Bible. We like Faith, Hope, Charity, and Chastity, as well as Eden and Nevaeh, which is ‘heaven’ spelled backwards.”

Me: “If you’re looking for prominent themes in the Bible, there are also Lust, Greed, Envy and Sloth. Those would be interesting names, don’t you think? I mean, can’t you just hear it now—‘Sloth! Time for dinner!’”

Him: “We also like Mercedes, Lexus, Portia and Avalon. You know—high class things we can aspire to.”

Me: “You’ve lived in an apartment for five years. If you’re looking to name the child for something you aspire to, try Down Payment. Or at least Renters Insurance.”

Her: “Finally, if it’s a girl, we’re also considering influential modern women as examples.”

Me: “Ah, excellent! Like Hillary Clinton, Sarah Palin, Eleanor Roosevelt, Gloria Steinem, or Virginia Woolf?”

Her: “No. More like Oprah, Madonna, Lindsay, Brittney, Paris or Delilah.”

Me: “Delilah? Delilah who?”

Her: “The radio host. We really like her. Plus, it’s kinda Biblical, and we can spell it D-e-l-y-l-a-h.”

Me: “Wait…you missed a phonetic-spelling opportunity here.”

Her: “I did?”

Me: “Yeah…the first syllable of Delilah could start with D-U-H.”

* I don’t really have a very good friend—this is just a literary vehicle to begin a mostly opinion-based, first-person account of an event that didn’t really happen, featuring a topic like silly, cutesy, alternatively-spelled modern kids’ names. That’s not to say that I don’t have any very good friends—I do. But none of them were involved in this encounter.

** Since I don’t really have a very good friend, the wife doesn’t exist, either. That’s not to say that none of my very good friends have wives—they do. But none of them were involved in this encounter, either.

*** Since there is no very good friend, nor is there a wife, it would only logically follow that there is no child, either. That’s not to say that none of my very good friends have children—they do. But…well, you get the idea.

**** I am indeed married, but my wife was also not involved in this encounter, since it didn’t really happen.

Between a Slug and a Turd

2008-10-23T11:59:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I came across somebody’s blog entry that offered this brilliant analysis of this year’s election: the choices for president are between a slug and a turd. Aside from trying to figure out which candidate was the slug and which was the turd, I thought to myself that, wow, that was one disillusioned voter.

No doubt he was tired of choosing between the lesser of two evils, and I can certainly understand that—especially because the last go-round we had to pick between Howdy Doody Dumbass and Flip-Flop McHorseface. But this year, I think I disagree. I actually think we have two people running for president that are competent and genuine.

And, really, that’s all I want in a president: can you do the job, and will you put my interests ahead of your own and ahead of the special interests.

Regardless of which political wing you belong to, I think the problem most people have is with how those in office, once they get elected, make a beeline for the deep pockets of the power brokers that can get them re-elected. After all, what is the one thing all first-term politicians want that is exactly the same? Yep—a second term.

As I’ve said before, I don’t profess to belong to any political party because I think the vast majority of them on both sides are bought and paid for (see Blagojevich, Rod and Ryan, George). I will say, however, that this year, as a matter of complete disclosure, I’m supporting the Democratic candidate, Barack Obama. But it’s not because I don’t like John McCain. Sure, I disagree with some of his policies (and certainly his awfully negative campaign—thank you, Karl Rove’s “How to Win an Election for Dummies”—not to mention his choice for VP), but I really think I could live with McCain in the White House.

Why?

Because I honestly think that John McCain, as much as Barack Obama, wants to change the culture in Washington, that he genuinely cares about the good of the people of this country more than his own skin, and that he’s able to step in and do the job with integrity and credibility. I didn’t agree much with Reagan, but was the economy good and did the Russians stay behaved? To quote Tina Fey, “You betcha!”

And to me, that’s all that matters. People get so wrapped up in superficial things (“he didn’t wear a flag pin!”) and irrelevant things (“he’s old!”), or latch onto one issue, that they become completely blind to anything else.
The fact of the matter is both men are qualified to lead this country in a manner befitting the ideals set forth by our Founding Fathers.

But that hasn’t always been the case in the voting booth. So I started to think back about the history of presidential elections—and I came to the conclusion that for the first time in a very, very long time, we’ve actually got two good candidates for president.

Think about it:
2004: Bush vs. Kerry (The Lesser of Two Idiots)
2000: Bush vs. Gore (The One That Got Away)
1996: Clinton vs. Dole (Slick Willie and Captain Viagra)
1992: Clinton vs. Bush (Governor Grab-a-lot and Read My Lips)
1988: Bush vs. Dukakis (Dude, seriously?)
1984: Reagan vs. Mondale (The Cowboy and the Sacrifical Lamb)
1980: Reagan vs. Carter (Heston’s biotch and Joe Powerless)
1976: Ford vs. Carter (I’m glad I was only 4)
1972: Nixon vs. McGovern (Paranoia and The Prairie Populist)
1968: Nixon vs. Humphrey (Tricky Dick and LBJ's puppy)
1964: Johnson vs. Goldwater ("War! War!" or "More War! More War!")
1960: Kennedy vs. Nixon

Stop right there. Kennedy vs. Nixon. That might have been the last time we had two good candidates. Of course, we know what Nixon turned out to be, but back then, he was a sitting vice president under a very popular president (Eisenhower), and might very well have gotten elected had television not been so newly prominent. And, of course, there was Kennedy, with his youth, “vigah”, heroism, and optimism. We never did get to see the full measure of what he could have become, but that wasn’t exactly his fault.

Kennedy vs. Nixon was 48 years ago. My father wouldn’t have been able to vote in that election—he wasn’t old enough yet. How sad it must be for somebody of that generation who has never had two good, decent candidates from which to choose.

I’m as jaded and cynical as they come with respect to the political and governmental process in this country. But if you don’t think the two people running for president this year are at least genuine and competent, whether you agree with them or not, you’ve got a much, much darker view of America than I do. And I feel bad for you—because it might be another few generations before we have this opportunity again.

Making the heart grow fondle...er...fonder

2008-10-22T20:14:00.003-05:00

Wow, it's been a while since I've posted. And I apologize for that, to you, all three of my readers. But I'm running out of gas--at least temporarily. You see, it's Fire Prevention Month, and while I haven't tallied my events since the beginning of October, suffice it to say it's been a poopload. I talked for four hours today. I feel like Wayne Newton doing back-to-back shows in Branson--it takes a lot of energy to be entertaining and informative, and not to appear like you're mailing it in, despite the fact it's about the 800th time I've said the same thing in the past 9 years. My knee is killing me for some reason (and not the knee which usually bothers me), my back is starting to ache from lifting my 65-lb. display case in and out of the car several times a day and my voice is starting to give out. I feel like there's a pack of angry bees with light sabers in my throat. Oh...and did I mention we're short-handed in my office, after Pee-Wee left last month? So, this, in October, after spending all of September doing my work, the rest of Pee-Wee's work for September, and then all of my October work, and much of Pee-Wee's October work. I'm ready for a break.

But, that being said, I do have a little something in the works, hopefully I'll get it together tomorrow or Friday and get it wrote. It's pretty funny--at least it sounds, as do most things, funny in my head.

Single Issue Voters - one from the archive

2008-10-15T12:09:00.004-05:00

Single Issue Voters

Originally written May 4, 2007

I don’t profess to belong to either major political party, so until candidates are set for the general elections, I usually don’t much follow what goes on until the races are down to one candidate from each of the parties. That being said, I was reading an account of the first Republican presidential debate at the Reagan Library, which, presumably, took place between the stacks of “How Ronnie Whipped the Russkies” and “Jellybean Quarterly,” and I noticed a particular statement from one of the candidates had been called out and set apart as one of the “quotables” from the event.

The statement was from 61-year old Colorado Congressman Tom Tancredo, who, if you do the math, has been around for a few notable events in the recent history of the planet. But I’m getting slightly ahead of myself.

Tancredo said, in regard to the 1972 Roe v. Wade decision legalizing abortion, “That would be the greatest day in this country’s history when (it) is overturned.”

Pardon me?

The “greatest day in this country’s history”? Regardless of where you stand on the issue of abortion, calling the overturn of Roe v. Wade “the greatest day in this country’s history” is laughable, at best, and horrifying, at worst. At the very least, it shows how much ignorance and hyperbole can be exhibited by the single-issue voter.

I’m going to give myself about thirty seconds, give or take a few, depending on how fast I can type, to come up with just ten days that are better than a potential day on which Roe v. Wade might be overturned. I’ll even include the event that happened on that day, so those losing contestants on “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader” don’t have to get out their encyclopediae.

In no particular order: July 4, 1776 (duh); June 6, 1944 (D-day); July 1, 1969 (Armstrong walks on moon); February 22, 1980 ("Do you believe in miracles? YES!"); January 1, 1863 (Emancipation Proclamation issued); August 18, 1920 (19th Amendment - Women's right to vote - ratified); September 12, 2001; January 20, 1981 (Iran Hostages released); April 30, 1789 (Washington’s Inauguration); December 15, 1791 (Ratification of the Bill of Rights). December 5, 1933 (repeal of Prohibition) just narrowly missed the list. Sorry.

Where would Roe v. Wade appear on that, or any list, of this country’s great days? Well, I suppose that would be where you stand on the issue. However, I would argue that even if you’re on the farthest feather of the rightest wing, such an event might not even crack the top 100. It might rank among the top political achievements ever (and, again, regardless of where you stand, it would indeed be quite the political achievement), but to include it as part of the list of this country’s greatest days would be a travesty.

And so I return to the idea of the single-issue voter—or candidate for that matter. Usually, these folks represent a pretty narrow interest; I’d call someone whose main criteria to support a candidate is his or her position on saving the spotted owl (tasty with a light brushing of oil and oregano, by the way) a “single-issue voter.” I wouldn’t call someone whose main interest lies with national security by the same moniker.

These kinds of voters and candidates scare me. I might be in favor of gay marriage, as an example, but I’m not going to vote for a candidate who supports such a position, but also thinks we should disband the army and only allow rich white men to vote. But there are people who vote like that. And Congressman Tancredo’s statement is an example of the rallying cry for those kinds of people. My question is, if he gets elected (which is highly unlikely) and he gets Roe v. Wade overturned, what would he do next?

Would he have the chops—or the interest—to take on other issues? Or would he sit back, put his feet up on the desk of the Oval Office and say, well, we accomplished the Greatest Thing Ever for this country, so there’s really nothing else to do, because everything else is comparatively minor?

You know, just like the Abraham Lincoln did after he signed the Emancipation Proclamation.
I guess what I’m trying to say is to encourage people to keep an open mind to more issues than just the one that’s most important to your own interests. After all, isn’t that the central idea for a democracy? Or have we gotten so red-state/blue-state that now it’s important as to which shade of red or blue we are?

A Hybrid what??

2008-10-13T12:05:00.000-05:00

I was watching my favorite late-night talk show the other night when I saw the most amusing thing I’d seen in a very long time. No, it wasn’t Craig Ferguson’s “Michael Caine in Space” bit, which is very funny; rather, it was a television commercial I hadn’t seen before.

Except that it wasn’t supposed to be funny.

It was an advertisement for the new Cadillac Escalade Hybrid. Excuse me? Cadillac Escalade Hybrid? They’re making a luxury sport utility vehicle (yes, I said luxury SUV) you won’t have to spend as much on for gas? That’s kind of like booking a penthouse suite at the Plaza and not opening the $16.99 bag of Godiva-covered macadamia nuts.

I mean, isn’t the whole point of owning an Escalade to show everybody how much money you have? And isn’t part of that conspicuous consumerism the ability to flaunt being at the gas pump smugly reading Cigar Aficionado as the “total sale” readout pole-vaults over the triple-digit mark as everyone else around you wrings their hands and gnashes their teeth in disbelief at how little gas you can buy for twenty bucks?

But I guess for rich people, who, sadly for them, I guess, have become somewhat looked down upon by the rest of us slobs, it’s no longer enough. They get sidelong glances from the rest of us at the gas pumps as they lean carefree against their gleaming black mobile palaces. They get eye rolls from us as they saunter by in their oversized Paris Hilton-style sunglasses, iPhone in one hand, Starbuck’s non-fat half-caf extra whip iced mocha latte in the other. (Wow…I’ve never ordered anything from Starbuck’s before…I just made that up…somebody should check to see if they actually have something like that on their menu!) We groan quite audibly when they talk about their “busy” day dropping the kids off at cello lessons and lacrosse practice, picking up a pre-school entrance exam/application, going for a mani-pedi, shopping at Von Maur, and then—can you believe this—the cello instructor ended the lesson ten minutes early and they had to go pick up the 6-year old (who, naturally, called from her own cell phone) before they were able to pick up the dry cleaning.

So the rich needed something to put them back on top, where they deserve to be, dammit, where they’ve been admired and envied since the first well-to-do Neanderthal family could afford to have someone else sweep out their cave. And because there is nothing more admirable and buzzworthy right now than social responsibility, some twerp in sales and marketing at GM made the connection that, hey, what could be more awesomer than a socially responsible rich person? Enter the Escalade Hybrid. Problem solved.

Think about it—it’s the ultimate “fuck you” to everyone else. We’re rich, and we’re saving the planet. We could spend our money on gas, but we won’t. Now you have nothing to criticize us for. You can love—and more importantly—admire us again.

I guess I’m not sure what I’m really saying about all this nonsense. I guess I just found it funny that there was even a need for this vehicle, that it was important enough to enough rich people that Cadillac had to make an Escalade that saved on gas. But really, as I try to think of a way to wrap up these thoughts, all I’m feeling is sadness and disgust that I can’t provide for my family much in the way of groceries this week, while some fuck gets to feel better about himself because he can spend 60 k to save a few gallons of gasoline here and there.

As a matter of record...

2008-10-10T11:45:00.003-05:00

I'll be periodically adding things that I've written in the past in other forums. Some of it has to do with local stuff around here, but much of it is pretty general and worthy of posting, I think. To wit:

Blaming Andre Agassi (originally written in October 4, 2007...note the reference to gas prices...)

Personally, I blame Andre Agassi. For what? Well, the state of the American auto industry, for starters.

You see, back in the early 90’s, ol’ Andy did a television commercial for some camera, in which he declared “Image is everything” whilst his flowing mane and dangly earring glittered in the artificially-generated breeze. This, of course, was shot long before Agassi figured out that substance was more important than style and started winning major championships. Perhaps a lesson can be learned from that—but I digress.

My point is this—in the late 70’s and through the 80’s, the American auto industry was getting its collective behind kicked by Japanese and European automakers when it came to quality, durability, performance and fuel consumption. But then, in the 90’s, the U. S. and A made a little comeback. SUV’s were all the rage, mini-van sales surged like one of W’s troop call-ups, and pickup trucks continued to be the hottest sellers.

And then—Steffi’s husband had to say it. Image is everything. What happened? Well, our SUV’s got bigger. Our mini-vans became upscale. The category of “luxury full-size pickup” entered the automotive lexicon. People started buying ginormous homes with sub-prime mortgages and interest-only loans. They started living beyond their means and buying Hummers and Navigators so they can take their 2.1 kids along while they picked up their dry cleaning. Why? Because image is everything.

The rest of the advertisers bought into the idea and followed suit. You have to have a high-def TV with a Klipsch 7.1 surround system and a subwoofer the size of R2-D2. You have to have a $5.50 coffee from Starbuck’s. Subsequently, you can’t just have a pickup truck anymore—it’s got to have a hemi—and leather seats. Your minivan has to have stow-n-go seating, a moonroof and a DVD player. Your SUV has to be trail rated. All these features have increased vehicle power, size, fuel consumption—and price.

Meanwhile, back on that little island we rebuilt after vaporizing a couple of its cities, they continued working their plan that was so successful in the 70’s and 80’s. They’re building economical, practical, yet sporty-enough small cars, crossover SUV’s, and solid, dependable mini-vans with enough features to make soccer moms happy without breaking their bank accounts in the showrooms or at the gas pumps.

You know, Barack Obama is a brave man for calling out the auto industry on its reluctance to implement stricter mileage standards. But he’s absolutely right. He wants to achieve his goals in part by targeting a 4 percent annual increase -- approximately 1 mile per gallon each year -- in fuel standards.

He says, "For years, while foreign competitors were investing in more fuel-efficient technology for their vehicles, American automakers were spending much of their time investing in bigger, faster cars. Whenever an attempt was made to raise our fuel-efficiency standards, the auto companies would lobby against it, spending millions to prevent the very reform that could've saved their industry."

China, one of the world’s worst offenders when it comes to carbon emissions, has higher fuel mileage standards than we do. The result? Can’t sell our cars in China, the world’s fastest growing market.

Detroit’s response? "If you go that high with fuel economy, something else has to give," said Gloria Bergquist, a vice president for the Alliance of Automobile Manufacturers. She called a 35 m.p.g. standard advocated by Obama "unattainable" because consumers have largely rejected small, efficient vehicles in the past.

Well guess what, Detroit. That was before gasoline was one refinery disruption away from four dollars per gallon. Let’s do a little math here. An SUV that gets 15mpg in the city (which is extremely generous--the Durango we had for 3 years got about 9 in the city) and has a 20 gallon tank at $4.00 per gallon would cost $80.00 to fill up. You’d get about 300 miles out of that tank. Driving 900 miles a month (which averages out to a conservative 10,800 miles a year) would require three fill-ups, totaling a whopping $240 dollars—or $2,880 a year for fuel. Pocket change for some people, but not for most, I’d reckon. Certainly not me; and with three kids and a 4-bedroom house with a white-vinyl picket fence, I’d have to count myself as pretty average.

Now, back to Mr. Agassi, and the lesson we can actually learn from him. After some spectacular flame-outs, he decided to get serious about his tennis. He lost the poofy mullet, he lost the extra body fat, he worked hard on his game, discovered that image isn’t everything, and what do you know—he won Wimbledon en route to a successful career well into his 30’s. The lesson is: why don’t the automakers lose the hemi engines that get 12mpg, the ridiculous Hummers that men think have the medicinal effects of Enzyte, and the trail rated, commercial-grade nonsense that we use for nothing more rugged than going over the curbs into our driveways. They need to concentrate on their game, remove their excess fat. Cut back on SUV production. Increase hybrid and flex-fuel production. Make the cars more fuel efficient while keeping them safe, reliable and comfortable.

What happens if they don’t? Well, we keep buying more Hyundais, Toyotas, Hondas and Kias. American automaker sales continue to plummet. Maybe we lose one of them, and the other two merge. The Big Three has been renamed the Detroit Three in some circles, because they’re no longer the three top-selling automakers in the world. Given the current state of affairs, in another dozen years, it could just be the Detroit One.

Or maybe just the Big One, as in, “the American auto industry has bitten the Big One.”

How's it goin', eh?

2008-10-09T21:21:00.000-05:00

Just a brief introduction about the things you will be reading here...some will be funny, some will be serious, some will be rancorous, some will bear a little of my soul. But it will all be me. And some of you might find it offensive. But I really don't care. If you don't like it, call me on it. Let's have a debate. Let's go a few rounds. And then, let's be friends (or spouses) again. Because I know everbody's not going to agree with me--even my friends. I know for a fact that there are some people I know pretty well and am pretty close to that hold diametrically opposing views about certain things. And that's okay. I don't like them any less just because they have the wrong opinion about things. (Some things will be sarcastic, too :P ) But none of us should ever be afraid to debate things with our friends for two reasons: one, if we think our friends won't be our friends afterward, maybe they weren't really our friends to begin with; and, two, maybe our opinions aren't strong enough to survive a debate and therefore need to be reconsidered.

The things you will read here will, for the most part be rated PG to PG-13. I will warn you that you'll run across an occasional F-bomb. The MPAA says, "If a film uses 'one of the harsher sexually derived words' one to three times, it is routine today for the film to receive a PG-13 rating, provided that the word is used as an expletive and not with a sexual meaning." So if you feel okay about watching PG-13 movies, but not rated R (yes, LDS friends, I'm talking to you), don't be shocked and horrified by the occasional expletive.

Finally, the title of the whole shootin' match comes from something my best friend's mom always told us before we went out and did something: "Have fun, do good!" Having fun was always the most important, that's why it came first. But we also had to do good--in both connotations. We had to try our best to succeed at whatever we were going to do, but more importantly, we had to try to leave the world a little better place for our having been out in it.

Off I go.

This is NOT a blog.

2008-10-09T19:15:00.000-05:00

Let me start by saying this is NOT a blog. Call it a periodic-though-non-deadline-oriented online expression of my thoughts. I hesitate to call it a blog because I've generally been annoyed by all things blog as we move farther along into this digital age. (I don't even like the word blog. Blog. It sounds like the noise I make when I vomit. Blogggggg. See?) When blogs--weblogs, as they were initially christened--first started, they were great ways to keep your family updated on your life, to share pictures, etc. Hence, the 'log' part. My good wife and several of her friends have blogs, and that's what they do. They post pictures, recipes, updates for out-of-town families, swap ideas on child-rearing, and vent when the tools they're married to do something stupid. But more and more, blogs have to come to have an influence that I think is a little unhealthy.

Mind you, I think it's great that anybody can now contribute to The Conversation--it's truly free speech in action. However, I'm an elitist. You see, I believe people should have the right to express their opinions. But I also think I have the right to discount those opinions, especially if they're dumb or unduly prominent. I don't like having those opinions thrust upon me. I hate that media-types are constantly gauging the temperature of the blogosphere. (Blogosphere--isn't he the Governor of Illinois? And if there's a really hot topic in the blogosphere, would that be considered contributing to blogal warming?) I also just don't think most people's lives are that interesting or exciting that they need to chronicle every bit of minutiae for the rest of the world to see.

I kind of view blogs--what they've become, not what they were meant to be--with the same kind of disdain as I do short stories. I think people write short stories because they're not skilled enough writers to turn their ideas into opems, nor is a partiuclar idea good enough to sustain a novel. (See? Elitist.) In other words, blogs have become a medium for people who don't want to write letters to the editor, or can't write well enough to have an article published. But because they're instant (oooh!), online (aaah!), current (wow, Britney just did that!), accessible by everyone, and are a facsimilie of words on an actual page, they're often assigned an importance that just isn't warranted.

There's also a danger of blogging making the art of the verbal dance dry up. If everybody blogs in their own little way on the things they know about the most to a limited audience of people who generally already agree with them, what happens when you happen upon, in person, a topic that generates some discord? People who are used to having time to create a measured opinion, or used to tempering a short comment on somebody else's measured opinion from behind the luxury of a comfy chair and a flat panel, won't be able to do the dance. They won't be able to verbally defend or advance their position. There will be no debate. Heck, even if it's a friend's blog that stirs such a fire in you, and you don't want to offend that friend by being offended and making a comment, you have the easiest of outs: "I didn't see the entry." No such out in an actual conversation.

Further, what, at all, might be the point of face-to-face conversation anymore if everyone has a blog? Everybody's going to know everything about everybody else. You're not going to have anything to say. It's all already been expressed, commented upon and replied to. As I said to my wife the other night, in response to the fact that she and her circle of friends are all blogging: "Do you guys actually have conversations anymore? Or, when you get together, do you all bring laptops and just read each other's blogs?"

So even though I probably deserve to have my voice heard above the fray by way of crafting an influential, much-heralded blog, I'm not going to call it that. I'm too much of an elitist.