The Post about My Favorite Authors December 22nd

I had a conversation with a friend online yesterday, and a small chunk of it was devoted to books. That inspired me to fill a blank page with some suggestions for last-minute shopping for the book lover on your list. Most of the following was blatantly stolen from a web page I wrote way back when, so don’t bother pursuing that plagiarism charge - concentrate on trying to bust me for being too beautiful for the web.
That being said, aside from a preference for mystery writers you'll also notice there's only a few females on my list. I don't intentionally seek out male writers and I've read great books written by women. Either I have an unconscious sexist agenda, or it's all a big coincidence. You decide :).

My Picks -

ROBERT B PARKER - From the first time I read Parker, I was hooked. While I read everything he writes (and we‘re naming my first son Parker; seriously), the Spenser novels remain his calling card. EARLY AUTUMN is arguably my favorite book of all time, and aside from the ever-annoying Susan, you really can't go wrong with a Spenser novel. Two cautions: I‘ve heard that both of Parker‘s sons are gay, so as of late he‘s shown a tendency to make every other tough guy a homosexual. It doesn‘t bother me, except it‘s timing paints it as an effort to validate his kids, which shouldn‘t be necessary. Secondly, if Parker has a weakness, its that all his protagonists are Spenser clones. Sunny Randall, Jesse Stone, Wyatt Earp - put them in Boston with an annoying girlfriend and you've got Spenser.

LAWRENCE BLOCK - One of my favorite authors, which is ironic, since I can't stand the Burglar series that made him a fortune, or the Evan Tanner books that taught him his trade. Even so, the Scudder novels, with one or two exceptions, are works of art. EIGHT MILLION WAYS TO DIE is one of the best. His non-fiction 'how to write' books are also a joy to read.

BERNARD CORNWELL - a late addition to my favorite list. The Sharpe series expertly blend the Napoleonic era with adventure fiction and the Superman myth. Plus they're just darn good fun to read. The scene in 'Eagle' where Sharpe, fearing court-martial, is instead promoted put a grin on my face for days. The Archer series was in much the same vein. Drawbacks to his writing? Aside from Sharpe's amazing ability to score with a beautiful lady during every battle, nada.

LOUIS LAMOUR - Perhaps the least respected author on this list, Lamour is none-the-less a legend in the western genre, and with good reason. If there' a God in Heaven, the Sackett novels should stay in print forever. Likewise, his autobiographical EDUCATION OF A WANDERING MAN was great; forget the critics that said otherwise. Lamour did write over 100 books in a career that began in his '40's, so expect some repetitious descriptions here and there.

HERMAN WOUK - A literary giant (IMHO) best known for his least literary works, THE WINDS OF WAR. And WAR AND REMEMBRANCE. I love both of the Wind books, but THE CAINE MUTINY COURT MARTIAL, a superb novel in all respects, is my favorite.

MARIO PUZO - Read the first line of Wouk's bio, but substitute 'THE GODFATHER' for 'Winds'. I love his career making novel of the mob - in fact, its the only book I've ever re-read, and with pleasure - but his talent was best seen in lesser known works. THE FORTUNATE PILGRIM is literary to its core (and sometimes to its fault). THE DARK ARENA, a dark gothic tale of post-war Germany, is excellent - although I think he snuck in an unhappy ending just to be 'highbrow'.

DICK FRANCIS - After her death, the former jockey admitted his wife played a large role in writing his mysteries. If that's true, then I've got more than one female among my favorite authors. Each book is set within the world of horse racing, and very few feature the same hero. Francis has his good and bad books, but most are worth their weight in gold. FIELD OF THIRTEEN, LONGSHOT, and DRIVING FORCE are my favorites.

LAWRENCE SANDERS - Forget the awful (and popular) Archie McNally series. I love the late Sanders for his "Deadly Sin" books. The original was the best - the well crafted page-turner, THE FIRST DEADLY SIN.

BEVERLY CLEARLY - Yes, she's a children's author. HENRY AND RIBSY was the first book of length I ever read, way back in first grade, and I gobbled up her Henry Huggins and Ramona series. I'll be sure to pass on her books to my own children.

MICHAEL CONNELLY - Prone to forced plots and absurd twists, he's still a great mystery read - in fact, you don't realize how crazy it was until after you've finished and recommended it. BLOOD WORK is among his best, although the movie was boring.

ROBERT CRAIS - His Elvis Cole mysteries are Spenser rip-offs for a younger audience, but they are well written and almost - almost - as good as a RB Parker book. LA REQUIEM is the best so far.

TERRY GOODKIND - Hey, normally I hate the fantasy genre. Hate it, hate it, hate it -but I love Goodkind. His SWORD OF TRUTH series is great, although he could stand to lay off some of the intense sado-machistic (sp?) scenes. If that last part didn't scare ya (and it shouldn't) then try picking up one of the series. They're all pretty good.

ROBERT JORDAN - Yeah, yeah. I still dislike the fantasy genre, but a friend hooked me on Jordan's Wheel of Time series. Each one is as thick as a phone book, and they really need to be read in order to be appreciated. But the man can write.

JOHN SANDFORD - The PREY novels are excellent and feature the self-assured, violent but moral characters that I'm drawn to. Check out EYES OF PREY, in my opinion the best of the bunch.

ED MCBAIN - The pseudonym of Evan Hunter, McBain's 87th Precinct novels are universally recognized as the original - and best - police procedurals out there. He was the print inspiration for shows like NYPD Blue and Hill Street Blues. Almost all of the 50+ books are great, but I favor WIDOWS and ICE. (under Hunter's byline, my favorite is The Moment she was Gone. Excellent!)

RUDYARD KIPLING - CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS is a sentimental favorite, as is his oft-quoted poem IF. SOLDIERS THREE ain't half bad either :)

STEVEN PRESSFIELD - An author that, in my opinion, either swings and misses or hits a home run. GATES OF FIRE is a novel about the battle of Thermopylae, where 300 Spartan warriors held off the Persian army until they died to the last man. It was a battle that arguably saved Western civilization, and the novel does it great justice. His latest novel about Alexander the Great THE VIRTUES OF WAR, is also quite good.

MINETTE WALTERS - Finally, a female author that ranks as one of my faves! As an Englishwoman Walters not only embraces, but accepts as par for the course a highly socialized welfare state. This is rather hard for an American to swallow, so be prepared. A strong sense of social responsibility pervades her work. So far, my favorite is THE SHAPE OF SNAKES.

ROBERT HEINLEIN - The master of science fiction. His posthumous GRUMBLES FROM THE GRAVE is a great look into the life of a writer, and STARSHIP TROOPERS is a compact novel that didn't deserve the bad movie it inspired.

DEAN KOONTZ - You know, I’ve read a dozen of his books and he still leaves me . .conflicted. I think he tries too hard to prove himself, almost like he’s a self-educated man trying to validate himself to the folks with a degree on their wall (which is odd, as I know he’s well educated). Anyways, maybe I’m crazy. If you like his work, almost any book will do.

STEPHEN KING - I’m not part of his fan club, and I think he’s one of the most over-rated popular writers and a stinking Sox fan to boot, BUT …THE STAND and THE SHINING are brutal, wonderful works of art. Just try reading THE SHINING while sitting in a hotel lobby in the middle of the night, I dare ya. If you like involved, multi-character novels, THE STAND is for you.

MARK BILLINGHAM - Detective procedurals set in London. Grim, violent work with a strong lead character. Try SCAREDYCAT on for size.

LEE CHILD - Extremely well written tales involving Reacher a strong, violent man of unflinching morals with a tendency to land in hot water. Do you see a pattern here? Skip the newest, as it’s a poor stab at a Republican conspiracy plot, but every other title under his name is worth more than a look.

* I’ve only read one book by this author so I can’t list him as a favorite, but if you want a disturbing book to go along with that holiday cheer, pick up THE BONE PARADE by Mark Nykanen. NOT NOT for the faint of heart. The main character makes Hannibal Lector look innocent.

BRUCE CATTON - The man knew the Civil War inside and out, and his writing made you want to read everything he had to say about it. As the subject of his books sometimes overlapped a loyal reader will see some repetition, but overall, a master of his art. Pick up MR. LINCOLN'S ARMY or GRANT MOVES SOUTH to start.

PETER STRAUB - A Milwaukee boy done good. Excellent novels, most set in the horror genre. Pick up KOKO or my favorite GHOST STORY.

DONALD HARSTAD - Hope I spelled that right. A retired Iowa sheriff’s deputy, Harstad now writes wonderful police procedurals set in an Iowa county. I can’t come up with a title off the top of my head, but everything I’ve read is worth a purchase.

Have fun, and happy reading!

The Post about the Person of the Year December 20th

As I'm sure you've already heard, Time magazine has named George W Bush its Person of the Year.

I will now pause briefly to allow the liberals among us a moment to weep, wail, punch the wall, and draw a Hitleresque mustache on the cover after canceling their subscriptions. Now take a deep breath.

All better now? Good. Let's move on.

But of course the left can't move on, a fact so tiring my piddly wit can't find the strength to make the obvious moveon.org pun. In the scant hours since the announcement I've read four five scathing attacks on the decision, most coupled with a condescending brush-off of the award itself.

Yes, I'm aware Stalin won the award twice, thank you. I also know that Hitler won it once, as did Khomeini and Khrushchev. After all, sainthood is not a prerequisite. The title goes to the person who had the deepest impact, good or bad, in a given year.

Which explains how Ted Turner got on the cover in 1991

If Bush wasn't chosen for his humanitarian efforts, as Gandhi was in 1930, he also wasn't picked as an excuse to waste an issue justifying the left's hatred. According to the editors Bush sharpened the political debate "until the choices bled" and was chosen for "reframing reality to match his design, for gambling his fortunes - and ours - on his faith in the power of leadership."

Bush won the award in part because he is a polarizing figure, inspiring adoration in one person and disgust in the next, and all the while never catering his decisions to the wishes of the latest Gallop poll. He is quite possibly the only man in the world to live up to the idea that we are not judged by who are friends are, but who we count as our enemies.

"I think the natural instinct for most people . . .is that they want people to like them," Bush said in the issue. "On the other hand . . .I take kind of a delight in who the critics are."

One of those critics, Michael Moore, was a finalist for the title and a better - or more aptly named - loser there has never been. John Kerry, who no doubt would have earned the nod if not for sixty million Americans, was named among the People who Mattered, a diverse list that included Nancy Reagan and Kobe Bryant.

It's not surprising to see that polarization come bursting back to life for a trifling thing like a magazine cover. What is surprising to me - and Lord knows, by now it should be old hat - is the amount of hate that transcends the political arena and leaks into the personal.

Included in the liberal attacks I mentioned above are references to the 'triumph of the short-bus students' and yes, I called it, a copy of the Time issue with a Hitler mustache. My, what an excellent advertisement for the party of tolerance and diversity.

You can argue this all you want, but anyone who blames their hatred on Iraq, 9/11, or the economy is a liar. Had the election of 2000 been clear-cut things would be different. The President may not have had any more fans, but at least the average Democrat wouldn't be sulking like a spoiled child.

But of course, they're free to feel and express what they like.

As for me, I'm off to buy a few copies of Time for the ol' scrapbook.

 

[fyi - if you want the complete list of winners, click here]

The Post about Kerik December 18th

This one's for the author of  cantkeepquiet.com, who posted a commentary entitled 'hypocrites' about the Kerik situation. Go ahead and check out the site, and when you do make sure to tell her I sent you his way. I'm not sure my contribution here refutes any of her claims, but what the heck.

 

 

It takes a lot for a newspaper headline to surprise me.

After all, having survived OJ, Monica, Bush/Gore, and the success of The OC in the last ten years alone, I'd thought I'd seen it all.

And then came Bernard Kerik.

One week after the announcement that he was the President's pick to head the Department of Homeland Security, Kerik suddenly withdrew his nomination. He claimed that the immigration status of his family's nanny, and his failure to properly pay her taxes, led to his decision. Maybe. But that's turned out to be the least of a seemingly endless parade of lurid and disturbing allegations.

Kerik, the former NYPD Commissioner, allegedly accepted thousands of dollars in cash and gifts without properly disclosing them and maintained an adulterous relationship with two women at the same time. He's also reported to have ties to a man suspected of being in the mob, stalked a former lover, used an apartment designated for 9/11 workers to wield his romantic magic, and used his position to impair the careers of anyone that crossed one of his lady friends.

Wow. Add a few more charges to the mix and the man could pass for a Kennedy.

But I feel I have to confess something. I knew about Kerik and kept quiet.

You see, everything I know about the New York Police Department I learned from watching Barney Miller and NYPD Blues. So when I heard about Kerik's nomination I thought back to the only image I had of him - 9/11 - and thought he was an excellent choice. Tough, seasoned, politically savvy - what wasn't to like?

A day or two later I stumbled on a web site whose name I can't recall. It had nothing to do with politics or NY at all, but the day's commentary was about Mr. Kerik. The site's author had worked under him in one menial capacity or the other, and for about a thousand words he proceeded to unload on his old boss. At the time I thought it was just sour grapes, but clean up thelanguage a bit and it could have doubled for most of the news reports of the past week.

Oops.

The obvious question is this: if someone in Milwaukee could discover the truth with a rusty 56k modem, why couldn't Washington?

I think the answer lies with that first, patriotic image I had of Kerik. Three years after the fact our images of a smoke filled New York remain vivid, the heroes of the day all the more so because they stood in such contrast to the harsh world that we inherited on that September morning. In the best of circumstances it's hard to see our heroes for the human beings they are. When that human being is as flawed and corrupt as Kerik allegedly is, it becomes all but impossible to comprehend the gulf between reality and caricature. That, and the ringing endorsement of Rudy Guilani, were enough to blind the administration to his faults.

That's no excuse. The careless vetting of Kerik made the Bush White House look foolish and kept the press jumping for a week. And while I doubt Kerik would ever have endangered the country had he been confirmed, it's frightening to think of what other scenarios a slip-shod screening could produce.

In the end, Kerik will land another job, the Bush White House will move on and those responsible for the mistake will learn from it and make the screening process impregnable. Washington D.C will survive.

It's a shame some of our faith in heroes won't.

The Post about Christmas Cards December 16th

This year my wife and I mailed seventy-one Christmas cards to the usual assortment of friends and family. Each card included a personalized note, a smartly printed label, a professional photo of my children, and a subtle but strategically placed holiday sticker on each envelope.

In return we've received fourteen cards, one of which is from a tobacco company that wished us a Happy Kwanza.

If I was prone to rationalization - which normally, I am - I'd label this evidence of a dip in Christmas card giving overall, or proof of the decline of snail-mail in the internet age.

Of course that wouldn't explain why I had to wait in line at the post-office for forty minutes behind scores of people mailing their cards.

So I'm inclined to take this as a personal affront. It certainly can't be directed at my kids, not unless you know them like I do. And my wife could be the source of the boycott, if it wasn't for the fact that no one is foolish enough to cross her. Therefore, it has to be me.

And it hurts people. It does.

Oh, it's not about the cards. Truth be told I rarely read them, other than to note the sender and make sure they spelled my last name correctly (how is it that people in your own family - people that share your name, can spell it wrong every year?).

Now, I used to read them all, back when I was fresh faced and young and thought it was oh-so special to have Great Aunt Sally send you a Christmas card at your very own address.

A few years into it you notice that there are only four or five varieties of cards in circulation in any given year, each one saying the same thing. That starts the decline.

Then the fateful year comes when you look at your empty wallet and stoop to mailing out the ten-for-a-dollar cards from the discount store. You hope no one notices your shame.

Whereupon you realize that while Mom receives the top of the line cards each Yuletide, those same people annually mail you the rinky-dink single ply cards you're holding in your hands.

No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus.

But as I said it's not about the cards. It's about economics, a simple matter of exchanging value for value. If I may have a moment:

The cards themselves were on sale for perhaps a dollar each.

The stamps totaled $26.27.

The stickers really don't count, as we purchased them on triple clearance.

No such luck with the photos, which cost $50, not including the incidentals like dresses, shoes, and hair bows.

The time wasted in line at the post office? Priceless.

So, conservatively, we're looking at a total investment of around $150. That boils down to more than two bucks a person. Is it so much to ask that I get even a teensy-weensy card in return?

My wife, ever the voice of reason in things not involving Oprah or the New Kids, says I'm overreacting. According to her it's a matter of reaching out to loved ones you otherwise have no contact with to tell them "we still aren't divorced, and by the way we've bred again."

She has a point. So what if I don't get a card from five-sixths of the people I thought important enough to put on my list. It's not the end of the world, and it doesn't mean I'm not loved. I'll still send them all a card next year.

Provided they reimburse me my two bucks.

The Post about My Ideology December 14th

I’ve been wandering all over blog-dom in the last month, perusing what people around the globe have to say.

My conclusion? Thank heavens for the computer age, because it can’t be healthy to keep this stuff bottled up.

There are sites about pets, and sites ‘written’ by pets. There are Republican blogs, Democrat blogs, blogs about blogs, blogs about blogs about blogs, transgender blogs, gay blogs, straight blogs, and blogs about nothing. There is even a site (purportedly) written by a one year old boy, which if true means my three year old is a slacker and good for nothing.

(Which is something my wife and I have always suspected, but try to keep on the down-low)

But not once, did I ever feel I got to know what that person truly believed about the things that mattered.

And when you get right down to it, it’s important to know whether the author of a site favors Biggie or Tupac. Wars have been fought over less.

So in the interest of partial disclosure I present my Rambling List of Personal Ideology, Ranging from the Divine to the Absurd with little Order and even Less Sense, vol. 1

I‘m a Catholic, for many reasons. Among these are what I call the two Hollywood rules: whatever its faults, the original is better than any remakes. And when all is lost and the devil is loose in the world, who shows up in the movies to set things right? It ain’t the Mormons, brother.

I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies.

I am truly bothered by the idea that Tony Soprano might be killed off before he gets a chance to redeem himself, and wonder whether God takes things like that into account.

I believe Oswald killed Kennedy.

I think M*A*S*H was the best sitcom ever, and prefer Trapper to BJ, Colonel Potter to Blake, and Winchester to Burns.

I think Friends takes second place, and firmly believe Chandler rocks.

I think when a political party chooses an ass as a mascot it tells you everything you need to know.

I prefer Laurel and Hardy to Abbott and Costello, werewolves to vampires, and the Captain to Tenille.

I think Burger King burgers are better than McDonald’s, Wendy’s is better than both, and McDonald’s fries trump all.

I think Kate Winslet is the sexiest woman in Hollywood, and am eternally grateful that she removes her clothes in 80% of her movies.

I think that sometimes the quickest way out is through.

Personally, I go with Tupac.

I think baseball is the greatest sport of all time, followed by football, boxing, basketball, and hockey, in that order.

Soccer, when erroneously called a sport, ranks last.

I am the only person on the earth who can say he likes every type of music - and mean it.

I think the New Kids on the Block are the best boy band ever, and that Jordan Knight was their most talented member.

I prefer DC comics to Marvel, but favor Spider-Man over Superman. Go figure.

I prefer Conan to Leno and Kelly over Kathie Lee.

Of the hundreds of books I’ve read in my lifetime, the only one I’ve read twice is The Godfather.

Titanic is the first of two movies I’ve seen more than once in the theater. I saw it thirteen times.

Gladiator is the second. I saw it three times.

I believe human teeth are the only flaw in God’s design.

And finally, and most importantly in the whole scheme of things:

I think the Godfather would wipe his ass with Tony Montana.

The Post about the Reserves December 12th

The older I get, the more I worry that there are no true solutions to a problem, only temporary course adjustments.

The formula is always the same. A problem is evident, and a solution - innovative or tried and true, it doesn't matter - is put into action. The trouble is solved and great praise is bestowed. Twenty years later that panacea has created its own difficulties and the cycle beings again.

What we're seeing in Iraq is the end/beginning of a cycle.

After Vietnam Chief of Staff Creighton Abrams was charged with overhauling the troubled Army as it switched to an all-volunteer service. He reduced it in size, but he also implemented a fundamental change in its organization. Abrams believed Vietnam had gone wrong partly because we were able to wage a war with a bare bones contribution from the Reserves - which, to his mind, slowed the impact of the war on the middle class and necessary debate on the war. His reorganization of the Army ensured that any future war would necessitate activating the reserves.

It worked. In both the Gulf War and Iraq, whether you agree with the war or not, action was preceded by public debate and congressional approval.

But this newfound reliance on the reserve system has strained the patience - and performance - of some Army units. In October reservists from a South Carolina unit refused orders to drive a convoy because it was too dangerous.

Last week eight U.S. soldiers and reservists filed a lawsuit seeking to stop the Army's stop-loss policy, another 'correction' of Vietnam policy. Unlike Vietnam, where units were depleted of experience and leadership by a policy of rotation, soldiers are sometimes required to remain with their units past their scheduled return.

And this week Spc.Thomas Wilson of the 278th Regimental Combat team (a unit comprised mainly of Army National Guardsmen) openly confronted the Secretary of Defense about a lack of armored vehicles- to the loud applause of his unit. It was later discovered that a journalist had secretly coached Wilson.

I don't doubt that the vast majority of reservists are patriotic Americans doing their duty. And I don't mean to minimize the sacrifice they make by leaving their families behind for months and even years; after all, it was a sacrifice I was unwilling to make in the years of peace that followed my eighteenth birthday.

But the truth is that it's an army and not a means of paying for college or making an extra buck. If you aren't prepared to be called to active duty, then it would be wise not to enlist. If you are unwilling to accept that 'fairness' is largely absent in war and you may be forced to stay longer than you thought, then it would be wise not to enlist. If you do not have the vague notion in your head that a whole lot of missions are dangerous and could get you killed (even if you're only driving a truck), then it would be wise not to enlist.

[This might land me in hot water, but if your character precludes showing the Secretary of Defense his due respect, and you prefer to turn a courtesy visit into a carnival at the request of a reporter, then kindly choose not to enlist.]

It's time to re-examine the Army's organization. Abrams was right - reserve units do hold a special place in America's heart. But while in the past Americans may have needed a kick in the pants to question a war; we've grown bitter and cynical and perhaps, smarter. We don't need that extra incentive, not at the expense of morale.

And in an era where the Army is called to work miracles under the glare of an antagonistic media, maybe it's best if that work was done by personnel who do it 24/7/365.

One Month!

Today is the one- month anniversary of this site. So far I've had 2406 visitors.

Impressive, but most come from Blog Explosion, which mean they're staying for the minimum required time and moving on.

Even so, fourteen people on BE have chosen to bookmark Slapinions, which is fourteen more people than I'd have reading it otherwise. And twenty-two people on BE have chosen to rate my site on a 1 to 10 scale. As of this writing I have a 6.86 rating, which is pretty good considering my site is as visually appealing as Bea Arthur.

I'm trying to add the Haloscan comments as recommended below. In the meantime, these are the comments that are strictly from BE users and not visible to mere common folk:

You can only comment if you have an AOL account, which I don't, but I liked your Giambi post. Pretty gross the way they screw up their bodies. What the hell do guys that make 100K on the bench need a union for?

purplezebra | 00:25 December 4th, 2004 | 0 Replies | Report | Delete

I agree with the second comment

amb3589 | 20:37 December 3rd, 2004 | 0 Replies | Report | Delete

I was not able to comment on your post "The One about Giambi" I just wanted to leave a comment to say I agree 100%. I really think that all of his health problems are due to steroids. I hope that the health issue becomes the big thing in all of this. Life and death is certainly bigger than baseball, and this truely is a life and death issue...

PeterMan | 17:02 December 3rd, 2004 | 0 Replies | Report | Delete

I agree with the first comment. Mainly political blog, but not insulting like many other political blogs I've run into.

I suggest changing the comment format, since it forces you to sign up for an AOL Journals account. I myself recently switched from a members-only comment account (Blogger) to the universal Halocan, and I've found that people are more willing to comment on my posts now.

Oh, and you must be the only other person on Earth besides me who knows about Donnie Wahlberg's rap from "No More Games"! I presume you're talking about the original version of "No More Games", not the C&C Music Factory version...

kaonashi | 22:53 November 29th, 2004 | 0 R#eplies | Report | Delete

Very well written blog. Largely concerned with politcs, but doesn't rant. Content with about a PG-13 content for very light adult references. (Things like "Yoda" sex comments.)

Oftencold | 02:26 November 22nd, 2004 | 0 Replies | Report | Delete

 

 

Until the comments are up and running, I'd like to ask a favor. If you are a repeat visitor to the site, or plan on being one, drop me a line at Slapinions@aol.com and tell me. I'd like to get some sense of who's reading my stuff, and will post your name and (if you have one) your url in a future post.

The One about The ID Policy December 9th

I was buying cigarettes at the grocery store the other day when the clerk asked to see my ID.

Yes, I smoke. Get over it.

Now I'd heard about the new store policy that says clerks are required to look at the ID of anyone purchasing alcohol or tobacco. I knew that on paper their policy was to card everyone, regardless of age, rather than face the wrath of our litigious society. I just didn't believe that this 'ideal' would carry over into the real world, where common sense insists that the grandmother at the counter might just be old enough to tip one back.

But apparently, these people actually read the memos on the break room wall.

I must admit to being a little put out. I'm long past the point where being carded makes you feel cool and grownup, but I'm also too young to find it flattering. I can see questioning me over liquor, but cigarettes? I was old enough to buy them before the checkout girl was born.

And it's not like I don't look my age. I had two days worth of stubble - which for any other man would be a week's growth - and thinning hair. I had two kids in my cart. I wear a wedding ring. I was paying with a credit card. And if that wasn’t enough, the Eisenhower/Nixon T-shirt really should have been a tip-off.

In retrospect, it doesn't seem like they asked the world. But if you've ever tried to keep two toddlers quiet and happy at a grocery store, you can appreciate how desperate a thirty second delay can be. A weeks worth of cigarettes do less damage to my health and well being.

I understand that a company has to protect its financial well-being, but more and more it seems to be at the expense of logic and responsibility. If my kids purchased cigarettes illegally, but without gross negligence - in other words, if they didn’t manage to do it at age ten - then my beef wouldn’t be with the store, it’d be with my kids.

Alcohol is a different story. Unlike tobacco it has immediate consequences, not only for the consumer but for people on the road. It makes sense to tighten sales policy, although I don’t see how you can justify going to the extreme the store has.

Milwaukee County Sheriff David A. Clarke Jr. doesn’t see it that way.

In a column published in the December 9th Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel takes issue with the ribbing the policy has been taking.

Those who have hang-ups with [the] policy have apparently neither lost a child nor been at the scene of a violent crash involving alcohol . . . I don’t find anything funny about notifying a parent that their son or daughter is dead. . . . That cashier . . .may be saving your son or daughter’s life. Do you find that incontinent?

Well, Gosh, now I feel bad. I mean here I sit, without a single casualty (knock on wood) to use to score cheap points in a debate. And you know, maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not all about liability and twisting common sense on its head. Maybe it’s a humanitarian effort. All those ideas about how the policy essentially forgoes enforcing a perfectly good law in favor of an overboard stance . . .

What can I say? I was wrong.

No one is in favor of underage drinking. So prevent it by doing your job and carding anyone twenty-five or even thirty. I’m fine with that.

Just leave the chain smoking grandma’s alone.

Ugh

I tried and failed to load haloscan comments into the site. I'll contact them and see if it's even possible.

In the meantime, the entry below is in response to a question from Sarah Jakubowski. If you have any questions, comments, etc and can't access the pathetically limited comments section here, feel free to drop me a line at slapinions@aol.com

Enjoy.

 

The One about Belling

If someone had come up to me two months ago and said that my homestate of Wisconsin would be the center of a media controversy, I'd have laughed in her face. Remember, I'm barely old enough to remember Reagan's first term, yet I have clear memories of a sock puppet - yes, a sock puppet - doing the weather forecast on Milwaukee's CBS affiliate. And while the puppet has long since retired, that's still about as risqué as the local media gets around here.

Had that prediction been made, I'd be eating a lot of crow for the holidays.

As of this writing there have been not one, but three separate incidents involving radio talk show hosts in Milwaukee and Madison. Conservative Mark Belling was suspended for five days following his use of the term 'wetbacks'. Madison host John Sylvester faced criticism for calling Condoleeza Rice "Aunt Jemima", and former Milwaukee Alderman Michael McGee was suspended recently for uttering the F word on air.

I've heard discussions on free speech, censorship, FCC regulations, and corporate responsibility that have been spawned by these episodes. That's lovely, but I think they all miss the boat. Do you know why none of this - not the original 'sins' or the subsequent arguments - have inspired me? Because, when it comes down to it this is nothing more then a case of three men filling seconds of airtime with a lousy, ignorant choice of words. Fine them, suspend them, or fire them as the incident warrants, but please spare me the talk of lofty ideals. I don't buy it.

On the other hand, there is some validity to the claim that the 'liberal' media crucified Belling while ignoring the excesses of its own poster boy. But not for the reasons you think.

Yes, there's a wonderful staged atmosphere to the Belling affair. Following his statement the station received only a "couple" of complaints. By their own admission, many of the Mexican-American groups that protested Belling first heard about it days after the fact, from Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel reporters looking for (and creating?) a story. And subsequent efforts to have Belling's employer fund Community Centers and college programs to 'make amends' smacks of selfish exploitation.

But when it comes down to it, Belling said the word, and it was inevitable that it would be reported. Mark Belling is a household name in Wisconsin. John Sylvester is not. Mark Belling filled in for Rush Limbaugh nation wide. If John Sylvester has ever broadcast nationally at all, it's not common knowledge.

Put yourself in the media's shoes: if you had two nearly identical stories, one featuring Pam Grier and the other Julia Roberts, which would you play up?

Moreover, Belling's remarks were off the cuff. Sylvester's reek of self-publicity. It's just possible that the media - for once - recognized the truth and buried the story, only to have it dragged front and center by conservatives.

[McGee, by the way, had been the subject of a legal investigation prior to his suspension. Because of this, it's impossible to draw him into these comparisons; the station probably looks at the obscenity as a Godsend]

And you know what? This might have done both Belling and the state some good. Belling has a solidified and angry base at his beck and call. And coming as it did in the wake of the election, he absorbed a lot of the venom of an angry Blue-State electorate - sparing his own supporters the wrath of the left.

Still, it makes you long for the days of the sock puppet, doesn't it?

The One about Chai Soua Vang December 5th

Last week Chai Soua Vang, a truck driver from Minnesota, was found trespassing on private land while hunting in Wisconsin. Confronted, he turned as if to leave.

Forty yards away he opened fire.

The owner of the land called for help, an act that only increased the scope of the tragedy. When it was over, Vang had taken the lives of six people and wounded two others.

Four of the dead were shot in the back. Of the eight victims, only one was armed.

Of all the tragic tales we hear on the news, this seems to be one of the most cut and dry. Aside from a ludicrous denial that he quickly recanted, the statements of Vang and the survivors agree on the general course of events. Where they differ, forensic evidence refutes Vang. Furthermore, Vang has been cited for trespassing in the past, and was recently investigated – although not charged – with spousal abuse.

Since the shootings Vang has also become a suspect in an unsolved 2001 murder in the area. That victim was also shot in the back.

Which is why I was surprised when a friend said he hoped Vang was acquitted.

Now I make no claim to being the nicest or most inclusive of men, but in my thirty years I have managed to gather a pretty diverse group of friends. They include college graduates and high school dropouts, Christians and a Druid, Republicans and self-proclaimed Socialists.

The friend that hoped for acquittal? A conservative married man in his late thirties who’s a diehard Republican. He’s also a cop.

Not exactly the opinion I expected from him, but the more we talked, the more I realized his opinion wasn’t based on facts or scientific reasoning. It was based on his own emotional response to the situation in the news.

Because among all those other adjectives, my friend is also African-American.

“You don’t understand what it was like for him up there,” he said. “Alone in the woods surrounded by a bunch of angry white guys? How scared do you think he was?”

I asked him how he thought that excused killing six unarmed people. “You think they were so innocent? What do you think they said to him. ‘Please Mr. Asian-American, vacate this land that you are illegally occupying.’ Pu-lease.”

Again, I asked how that excused shooting four people in the back, or stalking and killing the initial survivors for more than a hundred yards in the woods. If it was just plain old fear, be it racially motivated or not, wouldn’t it have been a quick, mindless attack? Why the methodical, coldhearted approach? The man put on camouflage gear in the middle of the attack, for Pete’s sake.

I never got a satisfactory answer. I don’t expect there is one.

I don’t understand this seemingly irresistible temptation to project bias into every situation. And it isn’t a phenomenon limited to race or creed. Gay activists are angry because of a report that perhaps, just perhaps, Matthew Sheppard was murdered for reasons other than his sexuality. I understand his death became their movement’s rallying cry, but what does it say when the loss of a young man’s life becomes less important than a message you wish to send? Regardless of why he died, his death was tragic and wrong.

Maybe I can’t understand this precisely because I’m a white, straight male. But Vang didn’t try to kill all eight people because of color or ethnicity, he did it to assure that there’d be no witnesses left to identify him. He failed.

So should the attempts to pigeonhole everything based on race.

Bunch of Schtuff

First off, if you're visiting courtesy of Blog Explosion, here's the scoop: some of my commentaries are purely political, some are humorous, and some are a mix of both. Take a look around before your thirty seconds are up, and if you don't like the subject of one post, I'd encourage you to take a look at another before you make up your mind.

Secondly, I had some major dental work in the last few days. Sorry for the delay in posting. Friday's post is below.

Third, I've made myself a wish list on Amazon. Not that I expect anything from the casual reader (although it'd be nice) but I figure someone in the family will see this and get an idea of what I want/need . . . before they inevitably buy me socks.

http://amazon.com/gp/registry/2STAM2V4HX4XI

Lastly, in answer to one of the few - the very very very few - comments left on the site: sure, I'd be happy to offer up my views on whatever you like. I have an opinion on most things, and if all else fails I can always make one up. Just drop a note in the comments section, which I'm told is quite nasty to behold, or email me at Slapinions@aol.com and I'll respond in kind.

By the way, some readers have filled me in on how clumbsy and inconvienent the AOL comments section is constructed. For this, I apologize. Given a few more months, I may move this site to a more hospitable locale. Any ideas/preferences between sites like blogger and blogspot and the like? Let me know.

The One about Giambi

So Jason Giambi, All-Star first baseman for the New York Yankees, used performance-enhancing drugs.

That’s an understatement. Giambi injected human growth hormone into his stomach, testosterone into his buttocks, rubbed a steroid cream over his body, took the female fertility drug Clomid, and placed drops of a liquid steroid under his tongue.

If steroids were heroin, this guy would rival Courtney Love.

I feel a bit guilty making fun of Giambi. I’m a big Yankees fan – heck, my son’s nursery’s going to be done in pinstripes. And I love baseball. My senior thesis in college was about baseball. The bookcase in my bedroom has five shelves of baseball books dating back a hundred years. And I dutifully attend my hometown Brewers games, even though they haven’t had a winning season since Lincoln was in office.

But I really, really hope baseball gets screwed on this one.

Why? Because I’m sick of everyone pretending the game’s on the up and up. For ten years we’ve seen players put up numbers that belong in a video game. You know how many times someone hit 50 home runs in a season in all the years before 1995? Eighteen. How many different players have reached that plateau since then? The same number: eighteen. Up until the mid ‘90’s only the occasional freak would hit above .320. Now, for anyone outside the Brewers organization, that’s bare bones adequate.

A juiced ball you say? Smaller parks? I’ll buy it to a point. But in exchange don’t ignore the fact that some of the guys that step to the plate look more like linebackers than baseball players. Yeah, yeah, Sammy, I read your book. You didn’t really grow until you immigrated and had proper American nutrition – you know, McDonald’s, KFC, the sort of places that promote a hundred pounds of new muscle in your twenties.

And Barry Bonds? [full disclosure : I have been accused by some to irrationally despise Barry Bonds. They’re wrong. I don’t think it’s irrational at all.]

Please note that Giambi obtained his drugs directly from Bonds’ personal trainer, the same guy Bonds felt so indispensable that he fought Giants management when they wanted him banned from the locker room.

Until the mid ‘90’s Bonds was a thin, athletic outfielder. One ofthe best players of the era, and a two time MVP, he hit more than 40 home runs in only three of his first fourteen years.

Then, well into his thirties he had a massive growth spurt, emerging as a huge, muscular power hitter. Now I’ve hear this explained away by saying that people naturally get thicker as they get older. Uh, yeah. But for most people I know ‘thicker’ means around the middle and in the caboose, not the biceps and chest. [note to self: If Barry is exonerated, rejoice. In 2.5 years you too will experience naturally induced muscle growth and finally kick the butt of the guy that kicked sand in your face at the beach]

Now what worries me is that MLB is at the mercy of the players union. Players like Bonds can say ‘test me’ all they want, because they know the union won’t allow it. Maybe it’s time MLB said enough. If the union wants to strike, let them. See how much goodwill they generate by striking to avoid a drug test.

Baseball is a game that depends on its statistics and records for continuity, far more than any other sport. Let too many fall courtesy of steroids and the game will be harmed forever.

Without realizing it, Giambi may just save the game he tried to swindle.

The One about A Lack of Ideas - November 27th-28th

And so I sit here, pondering what to write about.

It's not writers block, mind you. I'm woefully familiar with that, and this doesn't come close. I'm not sweating, desperately looking for an excuse to escape the terror of a blank page. I could write, if I had a subject that was up to par.

Unfortunately that's the one thing I seem to be lacking.

Initially, I was going to write about the UN Oil for Food scandal, and the depths to which the UN has sunk under Anan's leadership. Actually, I did write about the UN Oil for Food scandal, but I also accidentally deleted 600 words of said prose. I think I'll tackle the rewrite another day.

I could write about my most recent day of work, which is certainly interesting enough; but the details would probably violate some confidentiality paper my employer had me sign once upon a time. For the time being I'd like to keep my job, thank you.

I could write about taking my kids to see Santa today. There's plenty of material to be found in a half- hour drive in a cold November rainstorm, only to discover Santa was on his lunch hour. I could write that after waiting an hour we finally met Santa - only to have my youngest child, predictably, start crying hysterically. Or about how our camera broke down just when I lined up the kids for the perfect shot.

But I can't. I'm too bitter.

I also have a great idea for a story that involves my wife, but in the aftermath of the Santa debacle we had an argument nastier than the first half -hour of Saving Private Ryan. Despite my misgivings, I guess I'd like to keep her too. So scratch that story idea, at least for now.

I could resort to that bastion of all blog (web log) enthusiasts, the pandering ode to Blog Explosion. I do have my opinions on the web directory, both good and bad. But is it worth a page of what amounts to free advertising for the site? Not today it isn't.

So in the end I'm left with nothing. It worked for Seinfeld, it can work for me.

[As long as we're on the subject of the most over-rated sitcom of our time, let me get something off my chest.

What's the deal with the whole "it's a show about nothing" tag? You hear it everywhere, repeated like it's such an innovative, explosive concept.

News flash: it wasn't a show about nothing. It was a show about a group of friends in New York City and their daily interactions - just like every other show on TV. And do not, kind sir, resort to saying that it was the individual episodes that lacked 'something'. That too is a misnomer. It may not have been the tightest of plots, but every show was about 'something', whether it be volunteering with the elderly or waiting in a Chinese restaurant.

Don't bother arguing. You know I'm right.]

So in the end I'm left alone at the keyboard with a head stuffed with useless, discarded ideas. It isn't the most thrilling way to spend an evening, and it certainly isn't a boost for the self-esteem.

I suppose that by this time tomorrow I'll have a whole bevy of ideas to choose from. It stands to reason, since the only requirement for this gig is a bit of writing ability, a lot of opinions, and of course, an ample dose of bad luck hanging over your head.

Thankfully, I'm blessed with all three.

November 25th - The One about my Kid at Thanksgiving

Yesterday I enjoyed an (early) Thanksgiving meal with an Agnostic-leaning Democrat who called my political views a 'sickness' and announced he would not travel to Texas because, as the Reddest of the Red States, it would make him burn 'like the Devil walking into a church.'.

Ahh. Family.

In truth, it was a pleasant evening. My brother-in-law's comments seemed tongue-in-cheek, his new bride was gracious, and the food was good. (although he chose not to serve turkey. I assume it to be a protest against some policy of Dubya's, but I did not have the heart to inquire.)

The only sore point of the evening was my offspring.

And even that's debatable. There are limits to what you can expect of a three-year old, especially a three-year-old coming off a 'visit to Grandma's' hangover. She was tired, she was frazzled, and she was sitting in front of a place setting worth more than my living room set.

So I should feel grateful she didn't break any dishes, start a food fight, belch, or pick her nose at the table. (well, to be honest, she did pick her nose. And ate it. I'd scold her more for that but it just seems so . . . hypocritical)

I should be grateful that all she did was refuse to eat more than the occasional scrap, claim she was tired and rest her head on my shoulder at the table, things of that nature. Once, she got up from the dinner and wandered off. That's pretty much it. Not even the least of the havoc my three-year old is capable of producing.

No, my problem is that she always - and I stress always - chooses to wig out around people without children of their own.

I am not singling out my in-laws here, for in fact they were gracious and seemed amused. But the fact is, somewhere, maybe buried so deep they don’t even know it's there, is a voice that said "hmph. My kids will have better manners. Don’t they know how to discipline?"

Whereas, if my kids proceeded to set fire to the family dog of another parent (preferably a parent with kids the same age), that same inner voice would be saying "Aww, I remember when little Timmy did that. It seems like only yesterday. They grow up so fast . . ."

Now when I was young and naïve I too believed I would rule as a despot. Mychildren would be seen and not heard, save for when I asked them to bring me the remote or grab me another can from the fridge, at which point they would say, "yes Daddy. Would you like your paper too?"

Sadly, this dream proved unrealistic. You cannot logically convince a four-month old to do your errands, even if the lazy little bugger could walk. And when they are old enough to walk and talk and sit and eat their spinach they are far too bourgeois to submit to serfdom.

A bitter pill to swallow, that one. A bitter, bitter pill. And yet I hold out hope.

Not for my children, you understand. I think they'll turn out just fine.

No, I hold out hope for all those future-parents out there. I sincerely hope that they discover the key to raising the Stepford child, and pass the knowledge on to future generations. But I hope it takes awhile.

Say, long enough for my grandchildren to frustrate their parents.

The One about the NBA - November 23rd

As a rule I don’t watch the NBA. I have nothing against basketball per se, but if I’m going to watch a sport, it’ll be one I could’ve (theoretically) played professionally. I am a 6’3” man with more rolls on my belly than there are Cubs playoff losses. In an ideal world I could have played football, and thanks to John Kruk and Babe Ruth , baseball. But for the viewing pleasure of all, basketball doesn’t even warrant a nod in my fantasies.

Now you know where this is going. The Detroit-Indiana brawl has become a talking point for every media outlet in America. If it’d happened on the day of the election the Presidential results would have rated a paragraph on page three of USA Today.

Such are the interests of Americans.

And all the more power to ‘em, I say. A good ol’ fashioned throw-down between millionaires and their intoxicated fans is a heck of a lot more interesting than say, the latest appropriations bill in Congress.

I’m just surprised no one’s blamed this fracas on Karl Rove. According to the left, it’d be just like him to rig a fight to shift the focus away from his - I mean Bush’s - administration.

[unrelated blurb: for giggles, I rented Bush’s Brain from Blockbuster. Here’s a friendly tip for the propagandists on the left of the aisle: if your going to make a documentary, spend more than $5 on it’s production. And just for aesthetics, interview people who don’t look like rejects from Blind Date. When Karl Rove is the most attractive man in your movie, you’ve done something wrong.]

For those of you in a coma, a decent on-court fight between the Pacers and Pistons took a turn for the worse when a fan threw a cup at Indiana's Ron Artest. He charged into the stands, punching fans along the way.

It got worse from there.

Now Artest is an idiot. This is true if for no other reason than the little voice in his head should have been yelling “lawsuit, lawsuit. Gotta keep my Benjamins” instead of “Kill Bill” or “Jackie Brown” or whatever Tarantino mantra was in charge up there.

(Really, doesn’t Artest watch the NFL? There’s an order to things inthe sports world. If you want someone dead, you wait until after the game and help your friends shoot him. Then you’re acquitted and become a bible-quoting marquee linebacker. Duh.)

But an honest man has to lay some of the blame where it belongs, with the fans. You notice I said ‘a cup’ was thrown at Artest. I didn’t have to specify it’s contents, your mind filled in the blank. (And no Mom, it wasn’t a soda. Go out and see the world already, will ya?)

Anyone who decides to waste half a month of rent on basketball ticket’s is crazy. Someone who does that and then gets so sloshed he won’t remember how he spent his money is a crazy idiot. A guy that does all that and decides it’s a smart idea to throw a cup of beer at a 6’7”, 247 pound man with a violent reputation, well . . .

Maybe Darwin was wrong. Evolution should have weeded that guy out long ago.

And the loon that jumped on the court to continue the fight, only to be laid out on the floor with a single punch? Priceless.

My recommendation: proceed with Artest’s year-long suspension. He deserves it.

And while you’re at it, banish the fans in the front rows to the next WWE event. It’s where they belong.

The One about GOP - Nov 21st

A few weeks ago my wife and I found out we were finally having a baby boy. After a night- long search through online baby name sites, we decided to call him Parker and emailed an announcement. The good news prompted a phone call from my sister-in-law in Texas.

“Congratulations!” she told my wife. “How long ago did Danny come up with that?”

“With what, the name?” my wife replied. “We came up with it together.”

“No, the initials. You know, G-O-P. I figured that had to be his idea.”

For the record, yes, my children’s initials – Grace, Olivia, and Parker – will replicate the honored nickname of the Republican Party.

Also for the record: what kind of a right-wing nut job do you think I am? Of course it wasn’t intentional.

It might have been, had I thought of it, but I didn’t. It’s just a happy accident of fate.

I must say, after examining the evidence, that I’m flattered that people think I could have pulled it off. There’s no way my wife would have bought into it, so I’d have to successfully lobby – three times – for the name of my choice. If successful, I’d still have to hope and pray for the right gender each time. The “O” alone would have stopped me if I’d had a boy back in the day. Oliver? Orlando? Octavian? Ain’t happening.

And what happens if you have a fourth child? What then? Do you just call it quits on the initials, or do you become truly creative? You can’t pluralize ‘GOP’, so by necessity birth control would go out the window. Perhaps a ‘GOP KID’, or ‘GOP STAR’. Maybe you start a new set. For the bi-party couple, might I suggest ‘DEM’ or the ever popular ‘JFK’?

Of course, if you’re planning that far ahead (and can afford that many mouths to feed) you might as well go all out. Why not scrap ‘GOP’ and shoot for ‘REPUBLICAN’?

(Although I admit the ‘U’ would be a stumper. Perhaps a fan of Last of the Mohicans could use ‘Uncas’? Granted, he would be beat up daily on the playground. But, as a Republican, at least he’d be beat up daily at a good private school.)

Not to be outdone, my Mother proved she’s just as good at the ABC’s by questioning my motives on the whole subject. As a lifelong Democrat that still has a crush on Kennedy (John, not Ted. The woman has standards) she took it pretty well. Still, she was relieved to know it wasn’t intentional – which, as the difficult black sheep of the family that I am, made me wish it had been.

Frankly, no one in their right mind strings together sibling’s initials. That someone – much less two people – determined a pattern where it doesn’t exist is just plain loco. That both are related to my children makes me question our gene pool.

Now, not to spoil anyone’s fun, but I’ve had second thoughts about using the name Parker. We chose it for nothing but it’s own sake, but cloaked our decision in references to Robert B. Parker (the author), and of course the one and only Spiderman, Mr. Peter Parker. These references make me question my own contribution to my gene pool.

Besides I like the name and all, but to attach a WASP-ish name like Parker to an eleven letter Polish surname might be over the top. Sort of on the order of someone in Connecticut calling their son ‘Ivanovich Smith’. It fails to ‘roll off the tongue’.

But then again, with my name, what would?

The One about Nothing - Nov 21st

Just for fun I thought I’d end the week with all the pearls of wisdom I’ve gleamed from the net in the last seven days. If you enjoy it, tell me. Maybe I’ll make it a weekly event.

*Apologies: many of these stories were discovered by searching Blog Explosion. As a newbie to the directory I’m a little thrown by the complete absence of a ‘normal’ web address (everything is framed). Therefore I couldn’t pull many of the site names to throw out a hat tip. If someone has a way to do this, let me know *

 

By popular demand, here’s the story of why the Vice President goes by the name “Big” Dick Cheney. When he stopped in this area on a campaign trip, the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel used a photo of him on the front page. Nothing unusual about that. But now that pic has been pulled from MJS’s online archives, and the normally money hungry J won’t sell copies of the photo either.

Why the hush up?

According to the December issue of Milwaukee Magazine, it’s because the Journal noticed that the outline of the Vice President’s penis is clearly visible through his pants . . . and on his thigh, and by his knee . . .

(irrelevant fact: my wife denies that this is possible, because ‘’in her experience’’ Republicans aren’t built that well. This, could of course, be taken as a mandate on my own stature, but I have wiggled out of that logic. I was born and raised a Democrat. Even if her theory is true, I am immune from the end results)

Anyway, a hat tip goes out to Dummocrats.com for the story. Oh, and the pic? I tried and failed to load it here (Tre - I could use some help with graphics) but you can find it here: http://wizbangblog.com/archives/004296.php#004296

 

*************************************

Want a sure sign that the war in Iraq is drawing to a close? Then read this:

PARIS, Nov 18 (AFP) - Three, and possibly four, Frenchmen have been killed in Iraq fighting with insurgents seeking to oust US-led forces in the country, a French official said Thursday.
A 24-year-old Frenchman from Paris identified as Tarek W. was killed on September 17, the official said, speaking on condition of anonymity.
He was the latest addition to a list French authorities have drawn up of French casualties in Iraq,

When you have Frenchman fighting you in the trenches, the war’s all but over. Think I’m being over the top? Then try this out.

Go to google and type in a search for “French military victory’. Then hit the “I’m feeling lucky” link. See what comes up - or doesn’t.

***************************

cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh? yaeh and I awlyas thought slpeling was ipmorantt.

**************************************

And now, some boy humor. Top 12 Things Yoda Would Say When Making Love

 

12. Ahhh! Yoda’s little friend you seek!

11. Urm. Put a shield on my saber I must.

10. Feel the force!

9. Foreplay, cuddling. A Jedi craves not these things.

8. Down here I am. Find a ladder I must!

7. Do me or do me not, there is no try.

6. Early must I rise. Leave now you must!

5. You know, this would be a lot more fun without Frank Ozs hand up my
ass.

4. Happens to every guy sometimes this does.

3. When 900 years old you get, Viagra you need too, hmmmm?

2. Ow, ow, OW! On my ear you are!

1. Whos your Jedi Master? Whos your Jedi Master?

Hat tip to http://www.dataste.com/blog/wordpress/wp-trackback.php/71

******************

The FBI is asking for help finding a lost tanker. I doubt it will show up in the Midwest, but just in case . . .

http://www.cnn.com/2004/US/11/12/fuel.tanker/index.html

Hat tip to Drudge.

*********************************************

Last but not least, a news item from this morning. All I can say is, My Man! Can you imagine Jimmy Carter doing this? Hat tip to Little Green Footballs.

Bush Pulls Top Bodyguard From Scuffle

 

SANTIAGO, Chile (AP) -- President Bush stepped into the middle of a confrontation and pulled his lead Secret Service agent away from Chilean security officials who barred his bodyguards from entering an elegant dinner for 21 world leaders Saturday night.

Several Chilean and American agents got into a pushing and shoving match outside the cultural center where the dinner was held. The incident happened after Bush and his wife, Laura, had just posed for pictures on a red carpet with the host of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation summit, Chilean President Ricardo Lagos and his wife, Luisa Duran.

As Bush stepped inside, Chilean agents closed ranks at the door, blocking the president's agents from following. Stopping for more pictures, Bush noticed the fracas and turned back. He reached through the dispute and pulled his agent from the scrum and into the building.

The president, looking irritated, straightened his shirt cuffs as he went into the dinner. The incident was shown on APEC television.

*****

The print version of this was sooooo much better - describing his motion as something like “casually adjusted his cuff links and strode forward”

 

The One about Morning Radio - Nov 19

C'mon. I can't be the only person that hates all the endless chatter on morning radio, right? Because it's really starting to shake my faith in capitalism. A product that offensive to the consumer should have been kicked to the curb years ago.

Which doesn't explain The View, but still . . .

Just to clarify, I'm not talking about 'talk' radio. This is for two reasons: A) Because I avoid it. Having someone blather on and on about their opinion for hours doesn't appeal to me.

I have a wife for that, thank you.

And B) it's blessedly confined to the AM dial, which hasn't worked in our car since I crushed a Styrofoam cup, sending Sprite into the inner workings of the stereo. (and believe me, my wife went 'talk radio' on me for the rest of that day).

No, I'm talking about the daily, universal pairing of otherwise unemployable DJ's, each compelled to offer me the worst skits, the shallowest news headlines, and no music. No music.

That last part's where I draw the line. If I'm in my car at six in the morning, chances are I'm a wee bit frustrated. Perhaps a little jazz would help relieve my tension. Or, if I choose to vent, some metal or rap. What will not accomplish this is a sixty-year old man playing a phone prank, to be followed by a local version of Stupid Pet Tricks.

And it's true for every radio station, regardless of their format. Oh, there are variations. The tag team of aging hippies at the 'classic rock' station aren't as young and hip as those on 'urban music' scene. And depending on the demographic of the listener, the DJ's will discuss psoriasis, as opposed to say, the clap. But underneath, they're all the same.

I can see how this idea seemed logical in the boardroom. People wake up, they drive to work. What's important to them at that moment? They need to know the time, they want to catch up on the news, they want to know the weather. So how about we give them all this info for four straight hours?

If I may be so bold, here is my retort.

I am already awake, dressed, in the car, and on my way to work. I should know by that point if it's raining or not, and if some is forecast for the afternoon, whoopdeedo. What would you have me do, turn around and go home to grab my galoshes from the closet?

The time? My radio has a clock. So does my wrist, my phone, and every bleeping bank I pass.

The news? This concept, I admit, has value …except for the fact that it's mighty hard to condense a newspaper into the 4.3 seconds allotted for the news. Maybe that's a blessing though. Last week I heard a DJ stop reading a story about a Japanese woman to ask what a kimono was. This, from a man corporate America deemed intelligent enough to helm four hours of discussion a day.

Thank God he didn't stumble over any obscure words, like say . . .hamburger.

(sadly, when I told a friend that story he interrupted to ask me what a kimono was. This leads me to believe that I'm as incredibly bright as I am handsome. For the record, it's a decorative robe of Asian origin.)

I know it's a lost cause, ranking right up there with the 'pro-smoking for children' lobby. But somewhere, someone has to feel the same way.

Is it too much to ask to hear a good NKOTB song in the morning?

Just a little change of pace . . .

Just in case this loads odd for you - because on this end, it either comes up the size of a thumbnail or as super large (like I said, I know zilch about this stuff) here's the link: http://www.uclick.com/client/mij/prc/. You may have to enter the date of this post (11/18/04) if viewing the link after today.

The One about Rice and Powell - November 17th

So Colin Powell is out and Condaleeza Rice is in.

It‘s ironic. For a bunch of intolerant redneck, race baiting members of the sexist status quo, the White House Brain Trust sure seems to depend on a lot of women and minorities. There’s Karen Hughes and Colin Powell, Margaret Spellings, Alphonso Jackson, Rod Paige, Norman Mineta, Elaine Chao, Gale Norton, Condeleeza Rice, Ann Venteman, Al Gonzales . ..

Then again, they’re not really women or people of color.

I mean, it’s not like they vote Democratic or anything.

Let’s pause to let the hypocrisy settle in . . .and now, on to business.

Unlike the majority of people who report the news on TV and in print, I’m not shedding any tears over Colin Powell’s resignation.

Before you knock on my door with pitchforks and torches, let me explain. It’s nothing personal. I admire his ’by the boot straps’ rise to power, his long and dedicated service to his country and his President, and his personality. To quote my Grandma’s highest praise, I think he’s a ’good Joe’.

I just don’t see that his performance is as great as his reputation would have you believe.

Yes, he got dealt a bum hand. He served an Administration out of favor with the mainstream media. 9/11, Afganistan, and Iraq all occurred on his watch. Circumstances put him at odds with the opinions of Old Europe, traditionally the centerpiece of Western diplomacy. He is rumored to have butted heads with the Defense Department time and again (although this is normal and healthy. By definition the State Department seeks a diplomatic resolution to conflict; likewise, the Defense Department leans toward a military solution). And frankly, our enemies in this century are not the kind of people that choose to sit down at a table and discuss a peaceful solution, making it all that much harder for a Secretary of State to change the course of events.

Unfortunate roadblocks, yes. But as an excuse to explain away the failure of our diplomatic efforts, they fall short.

The UN couldn’t be motivated to enforce it’s own declarations. Our traditional allies, influenced by their own ‘oil for food’ scandals, ignored our pleas for help. Spain succumbed to terrorist blackmail and withdrew from our alliance. Iran continues with their ‘peaceful’ development of nuclear technology. North Korea continues to snub their noses at us, despite the presence of a superpower - and nominal ‘ally’of ours - on their border.

Not exactly a resume builder.

Now I acknowledge that I could be wrong. It’s impossible to properly evaluate contemporary events. Until a few decades go by and the usual documents and memoirs come to light no one on the outside will know exactly who did what. The calmest waters often belay the most activity beneath the surface.

But I’m drawn, of all things, to a quote by Lyndon Johnson. Skewered by the press and sabotaged by leaks, he had some advice for future residents of the White House. To paraphrase, he told Henry Kissinger to read the newspapers daily and ignore everything negative they had to say. Ignore the negative, but keep an eye out for any official the papers call bright, trusted, under-rated, or any other positive adjective.

Find that person, Johnson said, and fire him. He is your leak.

I thought of that when I saw the blizzard of adjectives in recent headlines. Powell was a moderate, a voice of reason, and a gentleman, while his successor, to quote one headline of this morning, is simply a “hawk”.

Makes you wonder how straightforward Powell really is.

The One about Fundraising - November 15

November 15, 2004

I was never very good at school fundraising.

Oh, I did great in the annual 'read-a-thon' for charity. During the holiday's I'd con distant family members and get them to pledge fifty cents for every book I read. When they'd have to cough up $20 a few weeks down the road, they made sure they stayed distant.

But when it came to actual sales - the art of a pleasant personality coupled with a nice sales pitch - I was pitiful. In a good year I'd sell a few pizzas to friends and family, and maybe move a wreath or two for my Boy Scout troop. I never bothered looking at the prizes that were offered to top sellers because I knew I'd never have a chance.

Times change.

In this case, the minute my daughter started school.

Within a week we were asked to sell three- pound tubs of cookie dough for $11 each. I was aware that I was hawking a product of unknown quality for about twice the going rate of the local grocery store. Ethically, pushing this on friends and family should have presented a problem.

Yeah, right.

It took my two seconds to realize that my daughter was the new kid on the block. Wiping the floor with her peers so early in the year would bring her respect from the 'in' crowd and cower the weak of the herd into submission. It would establish her as a leader and set the tone for her entire educational experience.

Hey, those aren't my rules. Three-year old kindergarten is a brutal place.

So we sold cookie dough. I looked up everyone that had ever snookered me into buying a $20 tub of half-popped popcorn or flimsy, paper-thin pizza for his kid. I approached her Grandparent's (and here is the unspoken advantage of divorce: multiple sets of grandparents, each eager to outspend their ex). I approached friends, neighbors, and co-workers.

In the end she easily outpaced her class, racking up the second highest sales in the school. The administration was impressed enough to let her choose her own prize.

Read that again: they let my three-year old choose her own prize. She ignored the many age-appropriate choices and now owns a wireless headset phone with multi-line capability. She does not have a phone line. She will not have one for many years. And I refuse to wear a pink neon gizmo that looks like it escaped from the world of the PowerPuff girls.

Re-gift anyone?

A week later we received instructions to start hawking wrapping paper for Christmas. Despite having burned most of our family's goodwill on Double Chocolate Peanut Butter cookies, we . . . , er, I mean my daughter, once again finished in the top three.

But it came at a cost. I'm now indebted to most of Milwaukee and obligated to buy every overpriced piece of crud put in front of me. Worse still, the school sees dollar signs when I drop my daughter off. The bar has been set so high there's nowhere to go but down.

The only plus was that I thought this phenomenon was isolated to her school. I imagined I could safely take my daughter to her dance class and shell out for the tuition and shoes without having to worry about sales quotas and prize packs.

I'm now thirty candy bars away from getting rid of the one hundred and eighty I agreed to sell for her dance recital. But all is not lost.

I finally put my foot down.

This time, I get to choose the prize.

The One about Arafat - November 13th 2004

Yesterday a CBS news producer was fired for interrupting an episode of CSI: NY with a special report about Yasser Arafat's death.

Yes, I know. As of yet, the same network has yet to discipline anyone for using the counterfeit Bush National Guard memos.

Still, I think the personnel move tells you one of two things about the American soul:

First, that American's care far too much about a TV show, even at the expense of a historic event.

Or two, unless his name is Bin Laden, American's don't care when a terrorist dies.

I suspect it's a little bit of both, and sadly, probably more of the former.

You'll notice I called Arafat a terrorist. Not a freedom fighter, a misunderstood soul, an insurgent, or a statesman. The reasons for this are clear:

Freedom fighters do not order the kidnapping and execution of Olympic athletes, as the PLO did in Munich.

Misunderstood souls do not stand before the UN General Assembly wearing a holster and threatening violence if his wishes aren‘t granted. Israel understood exactly what he was.

Insurgents do not use their arms for personal profit. For while his people starved in poverty, Araftat's wife lived under the yoke of a $100,000 a month allowance.

And statesman do not abruptly reject the fulfillment of their goals, as Arafat did in the '90's when he realized that a Palestinian state would eventually mean the end of his own power.

Overall there seems to be a lot of confusion about what defines a terrorist nowadays - Bin Laden excepted. This week the Today show compared Iraqi insurgents to Washington's Colonial army, and the phrase "one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter" has popped out of several talking heads, not the least of them Diane Sawyer.

Let me clarify this point: engaging in violent acts for political gain is universal to a hundred causes, some of them genuine. Arafat's work does not meet this criteria. The intentional targeting of civilians is terrorism. Blindly pursuing death and destruction for its own sake is terrorism. Killing Israelis soley because they are Israelis is terrorism, and dressing it up in trite calls for a Palestinian state do not excuse it.

Ironically, the world is closer now to a Palestinian state then at any point in the last century. Not because of Arafat, but in spite of him. When history traces the evolution of that ideal it will crucify Arafat, who's actions delayed it's birth by hardening Israeli opposition to it. The most glaring miscue of the saga is the awarding of the Nobel Peace Prize to Arafat in 1994.

To paraphrase Henry Kissinger, a winner of the award in 1973, "when a man like that wins it, it makes you wonder if you want to be part of the club".

I am not so naïve as to think nations must only deal with the pure of heart. If that was a condition of diplomacy WWII would not have ended in 1945 with the Japanese emperor alive and still enthroned, and history would be cluttered with a thousand unresolved conflicts.

We might have to deal with people like Arafat, but that isn’t an excuse to lionize them.

President Bush and Prime Minister Blair, both leaders traditionally loathe to work within timelines, have said they expect a new nation to emerge within four years. For the sake of the Palestinian people Arafat exploited, I hope they’re right.

And for the sake of peace in that troubled region, may it be a place that emulates the rosy misconceptions of Yassir Arafat, and not the grim reality.

The One about the DMV - November 11th

On Wednesday morning I realized I hadn't updated the site in a few days, and what's worse, had nothing much to say. I needed a jump start, a controversy, a ways and means of identifying the ills of society and proof of how big government can only reinforce the degradation of the common man.

Naturally, I headed to the DMV.

My wife pleaded with me not to go. "Can't you just call them? It seems like a simple problem," she said. I shook off her naiveté.

"Some things a man has to do in person," I told her, wiping a lone tear from her eye.

I'm no coward, but I’m no fool either. I went in heavily armed. I had with me documentation proving ownership of the vehicle and residence, a copy of the bill in question, and a Henry Kissinger book as large as the bible to read as the hours passed by.

To prime the pump, I chose a busy urban location. Both the parking lot and waiting area were full, and the first clerk I saw looked suitably harried and close to violence.

Ahh, the sweet smell of success.

I took a ticket. Number 318. Perfect. I was a few hours away from a years worth of material.

Except the board on the wall said they were already helping number 317. Well, that has to be a glitch, I thought. Or better yet, maybe it was one of those things where they ignore your number and spend fifty minutes processing Hmong driving exams while the line grows and festers.

Three pages into the Kissinger book they called my number.

I was not deterred. The clerk ‘helping’ me had yet to look up from his word-search book. Having been a civil servant for six long years, I could have tipped the scales in my favor by opening with the classic rant “I pay taxes. I pay your salary”.

[for those who still wonder why the city and I . . . divorced,: “Yeah, well I pay taxes too lady. Which means, when you think about it, I’m paying myself to sit here and listen to you blather. Which of us has the worse end of the deal?”]

Instead, I played it straight. I outlined how I had renewed my plates online six weeks prior, but had yet to receive the stickers in the mail. I had just begun to pull out my paperwork when an envelope of stickers landed in front of me.

“There ya go. Have a nice day,” the clerk said, never once looking up from his puzzle book.

[what’s the deal with that ? I mastered word searches when I was in the fourth grade. Move on to bigger and more challenging things. Like Archie comic books]

I was stunned. This could not be. No wait, and a quick and easy solution to my problem? Impossible.

Undeterred, I took the offensive. Surely there was some reason for the delay. An outdated address, a snafu in the payment, disease, pestilence? I have paperwork here to show . . .

That slowly brought the clerks head up. Shock was painted clearly on his face. Too him, I was the equivalent of a terrorist who refused a free pass out of Guantanamo Bay.

“It’s fine. Have a good day sir.”

And just like that, I was defeated. Minimized. Reduced to nothing but the freak in the break room who defends the DMV over lunch by claiming he’s never had a problem with the service.

In March my wife’s plates are up for renewal. When the time comes, I will approach that vile place without a book, without ID, and with only the vaguest notion of the last digit of the license plate.

I will get my story.

The One about the Name Change - November 9th

I've decided to change my name to Dante.

Not legally, of course. First off I don't have the money for such folly, and second, changing my name by adding a mere two letters seems like more trouble then what it's worth. I'm not even sure it adds a syllable - it looks like it should have two, but when you hear it spoken, it walks a subtle line.

These are the thoughts that consume my free time.

No, I'm simply going to give in an accept 'Dante' as a nickname, as proof that I am, in fact, living the life of the guy from Clerks.

For those of you who haven't seen the movie, it follows a guy named Dante through a single day on the job behind the counter of a convenience store.

Dante is intelligent and educated, yet works a low paying, no-respect job where he deals with misfits and idiots. Life seems to find a way to smack him around without ever landing that knockout blow, a la Charlie Brown. He recognizes his misfortune, yet is unable or unwilling to alter his life. He is, ultimately, defined by his job title: a clerk.

But, on the bright side, he does get a small discount on Cheetos.

I am (arguably) somewhat better situated in life. Certainly the parallels in our personal life have tapered over the years, as I am happily married and surrounded by kids. And where Dante and I once shared thick, dark hair and a goatee, I am reduced to just the 'dark' and the goatee.

[Shaving the goatee does nothing to change our karma, for we truly are blood brothers: clean, shaven, we're both in dire need of chin implants.]

Sure, I could change things. I could land a better job, invent a car that runs on water, or actually get paid for writing. But then I wouldn't have stories like these:

Take Saturday, when my wife had a flat tire. I took it to the service station and returned to find they'd 'fixed' the wrong tires. When I asked how they could replace a perfectly good tire while leaving a flat on the car, I was told that the work order specifically said "passenger front". That's what the other guy typed in, so that's what he changed. Now sign the bill, Dante.

Or today, when for the first time in my life I ran out of gas in mywife's car. It's bad enough when you have to push a station wagon down a busy street. It's worse when you can't get it up the hill at the entrance to the gas station, and feel the wagon and your insurance rates slipping slowly back into traffic. Worse still is when you succeed in pushing it to the pump, only to realize the gas cap's on the other side. Or, after all that trouble, spending a fortune to fill the beast only to have it refuse to start, then having your cell phone die and the station attendant refuse to let you make a call.

We are brothers, Dante.

Now, I am reasonably certain that I can change things, even at this late date. And I might have to, for two reasons.

One, they're making a sequel to Clerks, and just in case Dante's gone big money, I'd hate to be left behind.

And two, if I don't my wife just might make do on her threats to leave me.

But I doubt it.

Being married to Dante's the closest thing she has to sleeping with a movie star.

The One about the Pimentel Rant - November 7th

On October 27th, the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel endorsed John Kerry for President.

For anyone familiar with the paper, this was about as shocking as finding out that Christmas is scheduled for December 25th, so I can't claim to be too outraged.

But I was impressed by the lengths MJS went to assure its readers it was making an informed, objective decision. While skewering his record, the endorsement called Bush a decent man who never deliberately misled the nation, and a man with a "big heart" who just wasn't as good a choice as his opposition.

As I said, I was impressed. I didn't buy any of their attempts at appearing bipartisan, but I was impressed by their efforts.

Unfortuantely, their claim to the high ground lasted only ten days. Immersed in a deep fugue over Kerry's loss, MJS editorial page editor O. Ricaardo Pimentel decided to empty both barrels in the Saturday November 6th edition.

"[The President's] campaign . . . might be the most dishonest we've ever seen, in keeping with a first term that fits the description as well." Ouch. What about the somber claim of the editorial 'we' (of which Pimentel is 1/9th) that Bush never deliberately lied to the country? Well, maybe Pimentel was just letting off some steam. Then again, we go on to read the following:

"The president who pretty obviously dodged war as a youth . . ."

"The campaign against Sen. John Kerry was just one big Willie Horton ad . .." (nice touch, bringing in the whole 'Bush dynasty' issue.)

"We were sold a bill of goods [on Iraq]"…

"[Bush voters presume]the guy whose blunders have made us less safe is the guy to make us safe."

"the willingness of so many Americans to swallow all of this is [breathtaking] …More than that, it is frightening."

Now, I could give a Kerry bumper sticker over what Pimentel does or does not believe. He can have his opinion, and he is entitled to express it.

But I'm drawn back to that endorsement of Oct. 27th, and in particular to a note from the editor that accompanied it. Martin Kaiser, MJS's editor, wrote the following: "There is a wall of separation between the newsroom and the Editorial Board. As editor, I enforce this wall. No reporters who cover the news . . . participate in the discussions that dictate Editorial Board decisions."

Neat-o. But a crock.

I do not believe for one second that a reporter can do anything more than try to separate his work from his personal views. I believe that most do try. But I think their attempts are doomed to fail in a professional culture whose editorial and administrative climate not only condone but embrace the left-of center views of their reporters.

And yes, the problem cuts both ways. Whether true or not, Fox has become tied to its reputation as the 'conservative' network. That has hurt its credibility, and when faced with attacks from the left they step further to the right. I can't imagine that's good for the profession.

There's no easy solution of course. I would encourage young, smart conservatives to try journalism, but too often they wind up pigeon-holed on the editorial page or on talk radio. As a consumer, I'd advocate taking in as many news sources as possible, and making up your own mind.

And take notice when journalists fail to even try to be objective. Like the edition that followed Pimentel's rant, where the editorial, written presumably by college graduates, began "mandate, schmandate."

Charming.

November 3rd, 2004

Thanks …..go out to everyone who put up with my emails, ESPECIALLY those who used them as intended and passed them on to undecided voters. A special thanks to everyone who helped out in person, and to Sarah for getting her voice heard in the Journal. And the biggest thanks of all to Lisa, for putting up with my usual election year obsessions. J

A favor…..anyone set to toss out your Bush signs (window or lawn) or ditch your buttons and unused bumper stickers, throw them my way. I’d like to save one of each style.

I’m not going to gloat ….really, I’m not. Going into this thing I couldn’t have guaranteed a victory. Hell, I couldn’t have guaranteed it three hours after the polls closed. That tempers any victory dance I might otherwise have done – publicly. Besides, I’ve matured somewhat with parenthood. I certainly would have handled it better than many of the web bloggers I followed during the election, who have already announced concrete plans to move to Europe.

I would have stood by John Kerry if he’d won Tuesday. Hated it, but stood by him.

But I’ll tell you what. Just when the American people seem ready to piss on your idealism and bow to pessimism, media bias, and a good sound byte, they surprise you. They think for themselves and make the right call. November 2nd gave me yet another reason to be proud of this country and its people.

An electoral victory that included two state pickups from 2000, if and when Iowa is finally called for Bush. A popular vote total that was the largest ever, and the first victor to claim more than 50% of the vote in sixteen years. An increase in Republican governors, and increases to our majority in the House and Senate – including the defeat of the Democratic Minority Leader.

By anyone’s account, Republcian or Democrat, it was a resounding mandate for President Bush and the GOP.

Does this guarantee victory in the future? No. Does it give us the right to push through whatever we want regardless of political reality? No. The Democrats will use the GOP majority against itself, obstructing whenever possible and trying to tie any negative item into something they can use in ’08. I can hear it now: “How can you elect them again? Look, they didn’t do anything in the last four years. And that (inevitable) terrorist attack – do you think that would have happened if the Republicans didn’t run congress?.”

But I’ll tell youwhat. If I was still a Democrat, as I was until ’92, I’d be crushed. They fought successfully to label this the ‘most important election of our lifetime’. They enlisted billionaries like George Soros to fund shadow 527 organizations to hammer at Bush, while the liberal media did the same. Celebrities like Drew Barrymore, Bruce Springsteen, Jon Bon Jovi, and P Diddy rallied to the cause. Michael Moore’s lies struck home for many. They launched two pathetic but well publisized Halloween surprises against the White House.The grassroots folks did their job, creating massive voter turnout.

And they lost. Big.

If I was still a Democrat I’d look at the map and say to myself, this country is divided. Not between Bush and Democrat, but rural and urban, normal everday folks and the more liberal coasts. You can no longer win by banking soley on taking the tea-sipping northeast and their west coast cousins, not even when the Midwest falls in line. To have any chance to win they need to go back to a candidate that appeals to the rural, blue-collar, socially conservative bloc of swing voters that make up the elecoral and popular majority of this nation.

BTW, that someone isn’t Hilary. She’ll take the same states Kerry did, but I can’t see her taking Alabama, Nebraska, and the like It would be a repeat of ’00 and ’04. If she wins the nomination in ’08, it’s a mistake for the Democrats.

Ah well, why worry. It’s all already written in your great-great grandson’s history books. It just hasn’t been published yet.

 

In Wisconsin . . .I’m embarrassed. Thirty years and eight elections and I have yet to have Wisconsin agree with my votes. (Remember, I cried when Mondale lost)

We lost two counties we won in ’00 and still lost by only 17,000 votes. Madison and Milwaukee continue to tip the scales, and a good deal of that (although NOT 17,000 votes worth) is probably due to incorrect or fraudulent voter registration. I need to show an ID to get a library card or buy a pack of cigarettes if I was still under 30, and yet I can have my buddy ‘vouch’ for me and I can vote? Come on. The argument foolishly put forth by Eugene Kane – that black males drive but don’t get their licenses, or any ID – isn’t good enough. Reform voter registration issues before it bites us all in the ass.

When the next election comes, I think we need to do three things:

* First, have a consistent and long running door to door campaign that isn’t confined to Oct and November;

*second, work on continuing our outreach to voters of color who are taken for granted by the rich white males of the DNC;

*and third, work on making inroads into the vast Democratic network that protects the DNC at the local political level. How many Milwaukee offices were up for election Tuesday, and there was only one candidate – a Dem – up for the job? We cannot enact meaningful election reform, or ensure our rights are secure, if one and only one party is continuously in power for more than a half century. This third point, I estimate, would take ~16 to 20 years if we begin with the ’08 campaign. Long term folks, but remember, everything that the GOP has accomplished in the last 20 years started with the discussions after the Goldwater defeat of ’64. Things like that are methodical and take time, but they are worth it.

 

That’s it. No more political blatter for at least two years. I will work to dispose of Gov. Doyle, not because of his party affiliation but because I honest and truly believe he’s a crooked and creepy piece of shit. J

In ’08, I reckon I’ll slug away at the Presidential election again, but mabye not. A large part of the last two elections boils down to my sincere affection and respect for the Bush family. I grew up hearing endless tales of Camelot and JFK from my folks – well, W is my Kennedy. I don’t know if I’ll have the same gumption in ’08, although this stuff is addictive.

[if McCain runs, I almost certainly will hold back. There’s something wrong with that guy, behind that calm, bipartisan demeanor. I don’t trust him]

Oh, one more thing:

 

Michael Moore, Hollywood, Dan Rather, and Old Europe:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hope you enjoy the next four years, and a royal FUCK YOU and good night.