We were fooled…

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.  I ran across these two photos this week, showing the juxtaposition between our current and previous leaders, which speak volumes.

 

The first is of President Obama at the recent “beer summit” with that racist, insensitive, undoubtedly right-wing Officer Crowley who arrested (and probably beat and tazered) that sensitive, successful, mild-mannered and enlightened Cambridge Professor Gates coming out of the White House after sharing a brewski with Obama.

 

Officer Crowley, Prof Gates and Obama

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The picture is incredibly revealing… Revealing the man we elected President at a human moment.  It gives us a little peak behind the campaign façade. 

Several things bother me about this picture and the entire Gates fiasco.  First, that no one in this “brilliant” group of White House staffers or that the Almighty Obama would have had the intelligence or sensitivity to understand what type of message his body language sends in this moment.  But the main issue that goes hand in hand with what this photo reveals, is the President’s mindless comment that the police “acted stupidly” before he knew all the details.  That comment revealed that this man’s knee jerk reaction is to first blame the police because he thinks they’re stupid to begin with.  His natural off the cuff reaction was to assume that the black man being arrested was innocent all along and the white arresting officer must be an ignorant racist. 

How telling.

Some folks are using this photo as a metaphor for ObamaCare.  Obama’s too busy with photo ops, teleprompters and pushing to win his agenda, while the elderly and sick are left behind with only the Crowleys of the world to truly care for them.

It makes me wonder that, without the media’s orgasmic love affair over this guy, would the nation have been fooled into buying this crap?  Instantly weeping upon Obama’s voice, writhing on the ground and speaking in tongues, the media manufactured this candidate and painted him directly into the White House.

On to photo number two.  This wasn’t taken during a photo op.  It was taken in a hallway as our former, much-maligned President Bush helped Democrat Robert Byrd down the steps to his seat. 

Bush and Byrd

 

 

I ask you, how long will it be before the country opens up and admits that we’ve been fooled by a sophisticated and heartless media into buying this phony guy Obama?

The many lives of Hammy

Our friends are amazing.  It’s crazy to think of the talent we are surrounded with that we don’t even know about!  For instance, did you know that Kerstyn’s mom is an internationally famous artist?  It’s true!  Did you know that Lori is one of the top Realtors in Texas?  True again.  Did you know that John played football for the University of Texas?  Another fact.  Did you know that Craig was a child star – a real life Mouseketeer?  True!  All these connections to greatness… right here on our little circle of friends.

 

And now, we have a true star in our midst.  Turns out that Hammy Whitlock earned his nickname not from pulling his hammy during his speed-of-light base running, but because he has always had the acting bug since a baby.  For years Craig has had a wonderful corporate career but he was never truly able to close the door on his Hollywood dreams. 

 

Being the astute observer of humankind that I am, I knew his dreams were slowly eating away at him.  His life was like that line in Billy Joel’s song, Piano Man…

 

“Bill I believe this is killing me,” as the smile ran away from his face… “For I’m sure that I could be a movie star, if I could get out of this place…” 

 

Well… sometimes, you just gotta chase that dream.  So Craig has made a break from the team.  We wish him well in his acting career.  He’s been working behind the scenes for a while and has come real close to landing some pretty cushy gigs.  Auditions galore… but he hasn’t quite found the role that suits him.

 

Little did we all know that in 2004, Craig secretly flew to LA and auditioned for the role of Napoleon Dynamite.  He didn’t get the role but I heard he was a close second…

 

The director and producer liked Craig so much, they had him audition for a supporting role, Uncle Rico.  But they said he just wasn’t quite what they were looking for…

 

 In the interim, to satisfy his acting bug, Craig moonlights at Star Wars conventions when he travels to Vegas…

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hammy’s insatiable appetite to be on TV has driven him away from the big screen as he’s tried the talk show circuit as a guest host on Larry King…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unfortunately, Hollywood’s a tough, cruel place.  Only a fraction of a percentage get “discovered” but the Hamster isn’t one to give up easily!  He’ll take whatever he can get! 

A day in fishing paradise

So I am pretty willing to bet that I had a better weekend than you did.  I went on a chartered fishing trip with my dad and some great friends.  Had a salty fishing guide colorful enough to write an entire blog entry just on him… caught so many fish that I’m sure some PETA volunteer is losing sleep over it… and re-established my bond with nature and my manliness.  Beat that.

My lovely bride purchased the trip for me for Fathers Day and it was the best Fathers Day present ever!  Ladies, forget the ties and cards… men want to fish.

We gathered a motley crew consisting of my dad, Hammy Whitlock, ManFuller, the Italian Sausage and the Bearded Lady and hit the road at 4:20AM – early yes, but as any good fisherman knows, a prerequisite for a good fishing trip.  Good thing was we were all too excited to get much sleep the night before and therefore were ready to go.

Paul, Andy, John, Craig and my dad couldn’t sleep the night before because they were thinking of all the fish they were sure to catch.  I couldn’t sleep because I worried that too many Slim Jims, pork rinds, and Pabst Blue Ribbons would be required. That ritual anointings with fish guts and eating live bait might be involved. I was worried that, in short, I wasn’t man enough. 

But let me tell you, when you have a fishing guide, the whole shooting match is different!  Those yokels who take their boats out there and toss some fancy lure over the side attached to some $300 fishing pole aren’t exactly on the same footing as those of us who “charter.”  I’m on a putting green, and those folks are in the clubhouse on a carpet of marbles, ball bearings and Crisco.  Good luck with that, suckers!

Us boys gathered over at Craig’s house ready to make the drive up across the border.  And we knew we couldn’t get a late start because Craig was driving and he’s not what you’d call an assertive driver.  You know that guy who runs out of gas on the last lap of the Indy 500 when dozens of drivers are zipping past him at 200 mph?  That’s Craig.  If he were a NASCAR driver, his sponsors would be the continental drift, Scott’s lawn fertilizer, Depends, Heinz 57 and Gertrude’s Shady Grove Nursing Home.  But he had the biggest vehicle.  And his wife made us all some fantastic breakfast burritos.  So we had to pick our poison.

The drive was good.  Took about an hour and a half and probably should have taken about 45 minutes but we didn’t mind because it’s always interesting when you get a bunch of guys locked into a Suburban for that long.  I remember thinking that our ladies would be surprised what their men actually talk about:  Oprah’s weight fluctuation… the impact of Jon & Kate’s divorce on their children… Clay Aiken’s latest CD… does Tony Romo have an issue with insecurity because he broke up with Jessica over those text emails from ex John Mayer?  Yeah.  You wish.

Our conversation was limited to our two primary fields of specialization: sports and human excretory functions – the latter of which we all defer to Paul as the subject matter expert.

I knew we’d crossed the Red River when all homes suddenly disappeared and were instantly replaced with a slew of tornado-magnet trailer homes with a fleet of 1970’s muscle cars on their lawns (sans wheels), three legged dogs, jacked-up golf carts… and the women.  Standing outside on their brick-paved porches in their flannel night gowns, dozens of pink plastic curlers in their hair with a Marlboro dangling from their lips… Oklahoma at last!

Having survived the snail-like pace of Craig’s driving in a large part due to the fact that it was pitch black and we couldn’t see anything, we eagerly headed over to the first gas station we could find to pick up some ice in anticipation of preserving the thousands of fish we were surely to catch.  Craig headed straight for the bathroom while the rest of us loitered in the store and parking lot, observing the natives.  Up on the wall of the gas station were half a dozen mounted fish, the largest of which was credited to “Charlie Stowe” – our fishing guide.  It was a good omen.

2 and a half hours later, Craig emerged from the restroom and we were on our way.  We zigzagged through a massive maze of lake front “cabins” (trailers) to the boat dock with a beautiful sunrise in the backdrop.  And there he was…

The Captain Ahab of Lake Texoma.  As leathery as a piece of burnt chicken fajita meat, long hair misappropriated under a trucker cap, slits for eyes and a voice like the gravel roads that led us to the dock, he was a character straight out of Fist Full of Dollars meets The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.  Waiting in the boat next to him was “LC.”  Turns out that LC is a clever acronym for “Little Charlie,” Charlie Stowe’s son.  LC wasn’t so little though.  He looked like Shrek if Shrek had grown up in Enid, Oklahoma.  I was worried.  What in the world would I be able to say to these crusty dogs of the sea?  This guy was like a walking advertisement for natural selection and I was wearing Steve Madden tennis shoes.

I’d beefed up on my fish knowledge the week before in hopes of sounding a little more “schooled” in fish-speak but when I saw Charlie, I instantly knew that instead of building credibility with these two, I’d lose all chance of respect by informing Charlie that, technically, if a sardine is more than four inches long, it’s referred to in the scientific community as a “pilchard.”  I was doomed.  Maybe I could get my dad to tell them I was a mute.

Fortunately for me, I think some of our crew were feeling the same way.  And I noticed a slight transformation in our accents and conversation.  We dropped the talk of our favorite venti, low fat, no crème, vanilla, caramel, extra gay coffee and started talking about how we drank coffee so strong that, for the next 30 minutes, we could see into the future.  We punched each other in the shoulders and joked that men are no good at asking for directions but then again, maybe we wouldn’t have to if women could read a freaking map!  “Yeah, brother!  How ’bout them Cowboys!”  … I quickly learned that one of the funniest pastimes on the planet is watching white trash revert to its original form.

My dad, Craig and I drew the long straws and were partnered with the senior Stowe, while Paul, Andy and John boarded the U.S.S. Shrek with “LC.”   Skipper Charlie shot out of the bay with a force that produces the sort of whiplash usually associated with brick walls and crash-test dummies.  Charlie drove that boat across the 3^rd largest lake in the combined states of Oklahoma and Texas in less time than it took Craig to back up from his driveway into the street. 

We headed towards the middle of the lake;  Skipper Charlie’s eyes having spotted some activity 600 yards away and 20 feet below the surface… a feat I would explain in detail were I to have the vaguest understanding of how he knew that.  And the fishing began. 

Dad caught the first one.  A beautiful striped bass with every color of the spectrum in its glistening scales  – a truly stunning creature of the Almighty… that Skipper Charlie instantly proceeded to rip the hook out of it’s mouth and toss halfway across the boat headfirst into a plastic 5 gallon drum with a sickening thud.  I looked down at the wounded fish, thrashing helplessly against the sides, gasping and gulping for life, thrusting open its gills, constricting his body into final suffocation… and thought that’s good eatin’ for sure!

Over the next several hours, the six of us proceeded to catch monster fish after monster fish.  Sometimes, two at a time on the same line!  Seven pounders, eight pounders, nine pounders and even a ten pound fish!  We couldn’t reel them in fast enough.  It was simply incredible!  We had all the amateur fishermen following our boats at a distance, trying to pick up what we were doing, what the fish were biting on and trying to see what we were whooping and hollering at all morning long.  It was awesome!

After we’d caught our fill, Charlie and LC took us back to the dock, where we waited at a lakeside restaurant while our guides gutted and packed our fish for us.  Yes, that’s right.  We never touched a fish except for the obligatory conquered fish and conqueror fisherman pics.  Like a true American, we outsourced the dirty work… yet another growing sign of our national fecklessness and lassitude… a disgrace, I know.  But believe me, you didn’t want to have to gut those monsters!  You would have left it to the experts too.  Charlie zipped through those fish with an electric knife, separating filet from fish like Pelosi separates Americans from their paychecks.  It was a magnificent display… and a wonderful trip.

Heading back to Texas, I couldn’t help but reflect on what a special time it was.  A beautiful day, beautiful fish, great company and a great time by all.  Made the drive back home to the coming work week seem as uninviting as a fish gut cocktail… but for that day, all was perfect.

Thanks honey.

Where have you gone Joe Dimaggio?

Wow!  We’ve been falling apart faster than Jon and Kate this season.  It’s been a mighty fall to drop from 7-1 to now 1-4.  Losing to the last place team in the league on Friday night was even more humiliating.  At the end of the game, the umpire handed me a baggie and I asked what’s in it. “It’s your dignity,” he said.  “The other team wanted you to have it.”

So what seems to be the problem?  Or…problems as it were.

Not 100% sure and, since Skipper Goncalo’s on board, I’m not worried about it.  He’ll get this ship turned around.  But, if anyone were to ask me, I think it comes down to one simple issue.

We’re not scoring more runs than our opponents.

It’s true!  Think about it!  We lose every time this happens!  Forget dropping batting averages, skyrocketing fielding errors, poor clubhouse morale, non-existent on-base-percentages, slug-like slugging percentages, etc., etc., etc. – all distractions from the real statistic behind the free fall.  In all our losses this season, turns out we had less runs than they did. 

Statistically speaking, when a team scores more runs than their opponents, they win the game… get this… 100% of the time!  Move over Elias Sports Statistics, Inc.  I’ve unlocked the mystery of sports!

You’re all very welcome.

You say, “That’s all well and good Tommy.  But how do we score more runs than the opponents?”

Details, details.  Again, in walks Skipper Goncalo.  He’ll figure it out.  If not, we’ll string him up by his toenails.

But once more, if someone were to ask me, I think we need to improve the following… or, as we say in corporate-speak, “Areas for Development.”  Which, in street-jargon translate to, “Areas We Really Suck In.”:

1)      Batting.  Turns out that, in order to put runs on the board (a necessity when it comes to scoring more runs than your opponent – see above), we need to hit the ball better.  Last season it seems everyone would step up to the plate with a little swagger.  A little attitude.  A little Pacino in them.  “Say hello to my little friend!” 

This season, it seems we’re stepping up to the plate pathetic, feeble, wishy-washy, insipid and weak.  Instead of swinging like Pacino with a Tommy-Gun, we’re swinging like Paris Hilton trying to kill a roach with her high heel.

2)      Base Running.  A critical part of the game.  Who’d have thunk?  Of course, we all know that we have to get on base before we can worry about base running.  But the times we have been on base this season, we haven’t been our aggressive selves.  Used to be we all ran the base path like Kerstyn driving down I-20 in a monsoon – that is, without any regard for human life.

This season it seems we’re running the base path hopping and squealing around the diamond like a blind jack rabbit with vertigo.  I moved smoother learning to drive a stick shift for the first time.

When on base, we all need to channel my wife.  The base coaches should shout out to every runner, no matter who they are… “Run Kerstyn! Run!” And you should immediately picture a small blonde lady at the wheel, crazy-eyed, hair whipping behind her, maniacally laughing while flying a beige Tahoe down the freeway just under the speed of sound, casting bodies and cars off the road, into the ditch of despair.  That should fix issue #2.

3)      Strategery (aka Baseball Knowledge).  I know part of the problem is we seem to have “reverse-gelled.”  Come unglued a bit in knowing what our teammates are going to do.  For instance, I know that if a grounder is hit more than 3 feet and 2 inches to the right of Kim on the mound, she’s going to just throw her glove at it… so I should charge the ball.

Paul knows that if a monstrosity of a guy is at the plate, there’s a 64% chance that I’ll just curl up in the dirt in the fetal position, therefore he needs to be ready to come up and get my error.  (This percentage, it should be pointed out, has dropped by 17% since I started wearing protection.  And by protection I mean a cup.  A cup that has written across the top, “Manufacturer not responsible for injury due to misuse or misapplication of the product.  May contain small choking hazard.  For use by those 18 and older.  14 and older in some Southern states and UT.  Void where prohibited.  Continents may appear larger than they actually are.  May contain nuts.”)

We all know that ManFuller can get a certain look before he steps to the plate.  And if that certain look is present, we’ve learned through the years that there’s a 98% chance we can immediately fill in the number of runs on the base path plus ManFuller.

Point is, we need to talk more before the plays.  I try to call out plays for the infield and Kim, Heidi, Kerstyn, Andy, Craig, Brian, Kris, Paul, Danielle, Saneetra, Lori, the Skipper, the umpire and the fans then correct me.  But at least I’m talking.  A little chatter is what we need.  This way, we all should know what and where everyone is going.  Think of your teammate as your teenage daughter’s boyfriend.  You want to know at all times where those balls are headed.

4)      Morale.  Yes, there are many reasons why our morale is down.  We’ve recruited more people than a Michael Jackson Memorial.  And not everyone is getting their full share of PT.  Normally chipper folks arrive at the ballpark looking like they were just named the Proctology Patient of the Year.  Morphologically our team resembles a Milk Dud.  In short, morale is kaput. 

What I think we need is a Lombardi-like speech from the Skipper!  Maybe we could all pitch in and offer Obama a speaker’s fee to come and give a pre-game pep talk?  If that doesn’t work, I could buy some shock collars and those sitting in the dugout could shock players on the field randomly and get some giggles. 

“Oh, wow!  That’s a high fly ball to Danielle!  Watch this…”  BUZZZZZZZZ!!! 

“Ewww!  Did you see her wet her pants?!  Maybe I should turn this down to 1,250 volts instead…”  

Think of the morale boost that’d give!  Just throwing it out there as a viable idea.

Or, sports psychologists advise self visualization to improve team morale and individual performance.  In other words, when you want something really bad, pretend you’re a soap opera character.  Think about it… Soap opera characters make emphatic pronouncements, balling their fists and stating their goals out loud.  “I will have my revenge on Cassandra Wallingford for what she did to our family,” Thad Magnum, III proclaims!  “I will destroy her, as God is my witness!”

Walking off to the parking lot Friday evening, I slunk back behind the car where no one could see me and, turning to look up at the fields, I held my bat up to the lavender-periwinkle sky and gazed into my own personal field of shame.  “I will conquer you.  You… will… be… mine… again,” I commanded.

It can be done.

But not all is lost.  We did have some highlights in our 11 to 3 thrashing (by the last place team in the league)…

We did have a double play.  Almost two of them.  But it turns out Kerstyn’s gotten into this nasty OCD-driven habit of counting all the stitches on the ball before throwing it to a teammate to make the out.

No-name-yet ManHenry had a blistering hit down the third base line.  That rookie is showing quite a bit of promise.

Not to be out done by a stinky boy, Da Realtor also hit a scorching hit down third, knocking the cover off third base.  I’m telling you, Lori is a freak of nature.  She’s one high-school reunion away from knee replacement conversations but you’d never know it by how she plays! 

Friday night’s short stop had a decent Ken Caminiti impersonation… without the cocaine, steroids or fawning women.  Well, the fawning women came later at the restaurant but I digress…

And the Incredible Pulk, back fresh from his luxurious vacation on the Texas Riviera, broke out the Cannon with Aikman-like accuracy that almost caught a runner at 1^st.  That boy could throw a softball through a car wash and not get it wet.  It was an incredible throw from out of the Tundra!

I’m sure there were many more highlights that I didn’t catch, and maybe Skipper Goncalo will comment on them.  But even though we lost (to the last place team in the league… hurts, I know) we can still hold our head up high knowing that we’ve won championships before!  Heck, we won this stinking league just a summer ago.  We can do it again…just not this season.

Hope springs eternal.

I’ll be the first to admit that I love politics, but I consider it a harmless perversion that I only discuss with consenting adults.  And the last year it’s been tough to stick with my daily regimen of scouring the news and polls for any signs of brain activity on the right side of the country.  The GOP looks like they’ve been sleeping under a bridge for the last 2 years… but now there may be some signs of life.

Today’s Rasmussen Presidential approval poll had some not-so-surprising numbers that give me hope the nation is starting to wake from the Obama/media induced coma and starting to realize that we’re way off the yellow brick road.

For the first time since Obama was elected, more voters are saying they’re not happy.  38% strongly disapprove of the President’s performance while only 30% strongly approve.  And among independents, almost half strongly disapprove. 

And it seems the President and the Democrats are way out of line on immigration issues.  Just this month the President and Speaker Pelosi announced a push to re-launch immigration reform.  While the Democrats are pushing for more porous borders and easier immigration rules, the vast majority of Americans feel exactly the opposite.  Rasmussen points out that “there remains a huge gap between most voters and the political class on the issue.”

66% of Americans want the border better secured.  75% say the administration and Congress aren’t doing enough to secure our borders.  73% want cops to check the immigration status of everyone during traffic stops and 68% say that police should conduct surprise raids on hangouts where immigrants gather for work. 

While the Democrats are pushing for better access of illegal immigrants to government IDs and drivers licenses, 77% of Americans oppose such measures.  68% say that people who knowingly hire illegal immigrants should be legally punished.  Roughly half of Americans feel those who rent to illegal immigrants should be punished.

This is one of the key issues the President and Pelosi/Reid Democrats want to push?  Be my guest.

A final ray of hope:

Rasmussen reports today that voters trust the GOP more than the Democrats on 8 out of 10 key voting issues, including national security (no surprise) AND… the economy (surprise!).  And on the two mainstays of Democrat policy for the last 25 years, healthcare and education, the GOP is quickly closing the gap.

2010 is shaping up to be a very interesting year indeed.

I love this picture with this headline!

This picture of President Obama at the G8 summit appeared today on the Drudge Report with the caption “SECOND STIMULUS!“ underneath it.    The President surely is admiring her dress. 

SECOND STIMULUS!

Tax those rich SUV-driving S-O-B’s!

This is absolute greatness!!!

So there’s a study that’s out today that says the world should go further than the Kyoto Treaty on curbing greenhouse gases.  The Kyoto treaty says that “rich countries shoulder most of the burden for cutting the emissions that spur global warming.” Well, duh.  Rich countries are imperialistic bastards set on the sole goal of humankind’s destruction.  Everyone knows that.  But this study advises humanity to go one step further… to target the individual wealthy bastards in every nation!

“The study suggests setting a uniform international cap on how much carbon dioxide each person could emit in order to limit global emissions; since rich people emit more, they are the ones likely to reach or exceed this cap…”

Why do rich people emit more greenhouse gases than anyone else you ask?  1) They eat more beans, 2) Because they live in large houses requiring more power to fuel A/C and heating, and 3) they drive all these big SUVs. 

I guess so.  But last time I checked, those Prius cars ain’t cheap.  I can buy a new V-8 truck for about half of what I’d pay for most hybrids.  But I digress…

“As countries develop — India, China, Brazil and others — over time, they’ll have more and more of these (wealthy) individuals and they’ll have a higher share of carbon reductions to do in the future… These obligations, based on the increasing number of rich people in various countries, would kick in as each developing country hit a certain overall level of carbon emissions. This level would be set fairly high, so that economic development would not be hampered in the poorest countries, no matter how many rich people live there.”

So, in other words, once these under-developed countries are brought up to the economic strength of say, the U.S. or Europe, then the limit on Richie Riches’ emissions will be put into place.  After all, how can Zimbabwe reach the carbon emissions limit without reaching economic success?  Translation… we will foot the bill to reduce global carbon emissions for other nations that don’t have our economic success (basically everyone but Europe) and, once all these nations have developed economies strong enough to produce enough greenhouse gases to hit a fake threshold set for them (say 150 years from now), we will have solved our greenhouse gas problem by then through new technology and American ingenuity, or humanity will have realized what a bunch of crapola this all is… whichever comes first. 

But in the meantime, let’s “level the playing field” some more.  While we’re at it, we’ll also continue to pick up the tab to fight your wars to remove those dictators, feed and clothe your earthquake and tsunami victims, fight AIDS, bird flu, swine flu, etc., etc., etc…

What’s causing all this insanity?  Global warming.  It’s the only explanation.  It’s the heat.  Makes us crazy!

But no worries my friends!  As usual, I’ve come up with the solution… and this one will kill two birds with one stone.  Someone get this to Rahm…  Here we go…

Open the borders to the South.  We’ll instantly be hailed as the saviors of the world.  That solves both illegal immigration and global warming.  After all, Hispanics have had the jump on carpooling for decades.

It’s either that or tax the rich.  Me?  I’m not worried about my footprint.  My carbon footprint is smaller than everyone else because I drive everywhere I go.  

Quitters never win…except smokers

I’m still not really sure about Sarah Palin.  I thought she brought a breath of fresh air to the McCain campaign that was the shuffling dead in 2008.  She’s a looker too and that helps.  She doesn’t take any guff from the media.  That’s awesome.  And she stands up for her values.  That’s Reaganesque.

But what the heck is up with this quitting business?  Palin announced over the weekend that she’s stepping down as the governor of Alaska a full 16 months early.  There was no political soothsayer that saw this coming and there’s still no real indication as to what prompted it.  A scandal or criminal investigation has pretty much been ruled out by politicians on both sides as well as the FBI.  Right now, we can only speculate as to the whys.

Now it may be that my father hated quitters and drilled it into my head that you just don’t quit anything; or maybe it’s my frustration with folks in the government continually letting us down.  Either way, I’m left slightly peeved about her quitting.  There may be an excellent reason, but if her reason is so that she can prepare to run against B.O. in 2012, then that just plain sucks.

In a world where government gauges success on the number of businesses, groups, small nations and institutions it turns into sputtering messes, we need politicians who have a spine. 

Palin – check. 

We need a leader who has values and sticks to them. 

Palin – check. 

We need a leader who’s articulate and can communicate a message. 

Palin – check. 

And we need a leader who won’t leave her constituents behind in favor of greater political glory.

Palin – ???

Marriage…

Recently things have been crazy-busy at work.  And in this uncertain economy (and especially when you work at a bank like me), the crazy-busy days can still be somewhat unsettling.  By the time I’ve peeled through my daily diet of emails, voicemails, snail mails, meetings and more meetings, I’m mentally exhausted. 

Thankfully God has given me a very long commute home to unwind a bit and silence all the various voices rattling around my skull like Lou Gehrig at Yankee Stadium.  And then… I get home.

Unlike many of my friends, for me, home is a true respite.  I hear horror stories of other guys heading home like they were headed to the gallows and I feel so sorry for them.  It seems more and more guys complain that they’ve just lost that loving feeling… that they just can’t play house any longer… And I wonder what’s the reason for all the misery?  And I also wonder if I was just fortunate to land a hot babe that is still the ying to my yang? 

Just a guess here but I think that the attitude of Americans since the counter-culture revolution of the 60s and 70s has been one huge parasitic blame game.  People don’t confront the root cause of their misery – instead blaming society for the destruction of individual identity through the passé institution of marriage.  Rather than go through the sometimes painful process of taking ownership of one’s own shortcomings and improve ourselves to make the marriage better, we opt out early.  The marriage doesn’t fit any longer because, as we have kids and a mortgage, responsibilities change… but we don’t.

What ever happened to maturing together? In the beginning of our marriage, we did everything as one – dinner, yard work, chores, veg on the couch.  After our children were born, a slight sea change began.  My wife took on more duties as the primary caretaker of the children, managed our money, ran the house…and I worked longer hours to try to get ahead of the rat race to help finance our dreams.  And we were happy.

Yet others I know aren’t so fortunate.  Why?  Don’t know really.  For my world, my best guess is that while we were growing as a family, we were each growing and maturing as individuals – and I think we each celebrated our separate maturation.  My wife’s growth as mother-homemaker-cook-muse-photographer-teacher-designer continued.  She’s taken to each new stage in her life and our marriage with gusto.  She’s a bit of a perfectionist my wife. 

I, on the other hand, matured a bit later – as boys will tend to do.  It took me a couple years to realize that she should never ever be viewed as a functionary in my life.  In the “modern” world where both sexes have lost touch of “roles” in life, women can get wrapped around the axle of feminism and men get equally tripped up in viewing their spouses as a collection of tasks performed and soon spouses are valued for what they do for us, not for who they are for us. 

In the traditional marriage division of labor, each role must be appreciated for what it is.  One isn’t more valuable than the other and if each person respects and truly remembers that their spouse isn’t the sum of the role they assume, then we have a better chance at not only surviving marriage, but even enjoying it. 

Me?  I’m just lucky that I have a best friend who’s a great cook, loving mother to my children, good listener, gifted teacher, talented professional and hot as the day is long.  And she’s lucky that I finally grew up enough to appreciate her for all that she is.

Senator Stuart Smalley from Minnesota

So Al Franken finally beat out Norm Coleman for the long-contested senate seat in Minnesota.  The Minnesota state Supreme Court ruled against Coleman’s final legal arguments and Coleman offered his concession speech forthwith.

Now President Obama has his coveted “super majority” in Congress and is able to prevent the Republicans from blocking any legislation.  Looks pretty dire for the country.  Unless you take a look at history… 

The last party to have a super majority was also the Democrats… in 1979.  Jimmy Carter was President, domestic economic troubles were all the rage, the auto industry was in turmoil, a little country in the middle east named Iran was our major foreign policy hotspot, and Al Franken was a Saturday Night Live writer. 

Two years later Carter was out, Reagan was in.  The Senate swung from 61 Demo’s/38 Repub’s to 46 Demo’s/53 Repub’s.  The House Demo’s also lost 35 seats.

Hope springs eternal.