Congress At It's worst

The 2008 baseball season is now upon us with the start of the exhibition season. But Congress has been throwing high, hard and inside to some of the stars of the game for some time now, attempting to score another K and keep us all safe from those who would tarnish the name of our American Past Time along with Mom and Apple Pie. Can you say, “Steroids?” Who cares?

Now, on to football and the recent revelations that one team spied on another to gain an unfair advantage. Congress, donning shoulder pads and helmets, huddles in those sacrosanct halls, fourth and forever to go, a Hail Mary flea flicker play their best shot to make us forget that there are more important things going on in this world.

I could give a fiddler’s fuck about Bond, Clemens or Belichek. They provided entertainment that we could tune in and out at our discretion. If they lied, shame on them and they can face the consequences. But no blood has been shed on their part and all the while Congress chooses to ignore the lies of an Administration , an Administration overflowing with blatant lies, that has deceived the American people and continues to do so with designs on promoting it‘s own agenda.

How ironic that only one scapegoat has been sent to the clubhouse for throwing spitball curves despite the overwhelming evidence that the Administration has kept us in the dark. Foggy recollections have led to minor banishment from the team via the age old tradition of resignation in good standing and slaps on the back of a job well done. National Security and Executive Privilege frame the dodge ball defense.

Congress wears a size S jock strap when it comes to pursuing the major issues.

Bill Buckley Remembered

It was Wednesday, February 27, 2008 and we lost an icon in the field of political commentary, writing and TV talk show host. Not to mention just an all around good guy. William F Buckley, Jr. died at the age of 82.

I remember reading his columns and watching “Firing Line” and thinking how I one day would love to write as he wrote, speak as he spoke and zing his opponents as he did. His words could make a pile of elephant dung take on the delicate scent of a bed of roses. Hasn’t happened as of yet for me, but maybe by the time I grow up, I might end up on the same continent.

We shared the same political convictions once, but over the years my thoughts changed . He was loved and hated by both his conservative friends and foes as well as the liberal counterparts. And the lesson I learned from him was to take aim at your target and let the truth be told. If your friend is wrong, say so. If your enemy is right, give credit.

And a man who favored peanut butter so couldn’t be bad. Bill, you are gone, but won’t soon be forgotten.

Circle of Angels

A few days ago my daughter called me in the middle of the afternoon. Although I couldn’t see the tears in her eyes, they were plainly visible in her voice. Especially evident in the way she said, “Daddy.”

A friend of hers had passed away that morning. A good friend. A true friend. One of her special circle. Twenty-three years of age.

My daughter’s boss felt that she was too emotional at the time to drive home, so I went to pick her up. As I drove towards the city, my thoughts turned to her younger days and her circle of friends. The pool parties and special events when they would come together to enjoy that bond they shared. The Saturday nights they would sit in front of their computers in their respective homes messaging one another. Those without a computer were not excluded and the telephone was utilized with each using the conference call capability to include everyone in the conversation and fun.

As they grew older, some lost touch with the group, but new friendships bloomed and the circle widened never waned. Their ears grew cell phones and they were never more than the touch of a button away even when one of the group moved to a distant location. So, I knew that once my daughter was in the car and on her way home, she would be touching those buttons and have the arduous task of notifying some of the others. That terrible task had been mine several times in my life, but the recipients of the dreaded news were always strangers. This would be a different scenario. The recipient was a member of the circle. I held back the tears as I listened to her speak with a comforting voice to a friend in another state knowing the whole time of the pain inside her heart.

I never told you this, my baby girl, that I had a secret name for you and your friends. I have watched you and your friends grow from giggling teenagers to somewhat responsible young ladies. I say that with tongue in cheek knowing the penchant some of you have for the margarita . But all of you have held a place in this cold heart. You are my Circle of Angels.

Speak not of your friend’s untimely demise with the typical pain and sorrow. As I said, God has the plans. Grieve in private, but pronounce the value of her life and friendship openly. Never hold her in the past tense, but think of her in the present. For she is still a cherished member of that special Circle of Angels and there is no break in the loop . Substitutions , player for player, may be an intricate strategy in a sporting event, but in life your loved ones remain with you until your last breath.

Super Days

Like many millions of Americans, I celebrated that unofficial holiday known as Suberbowl Sunday. Early on in the day, I tuned in to the pre-game festivities while preparing the meal sized snacks that would most assuredly slam my arteries shut. Macho nachos layered with cheese topped with my own guacamole salsa and more than a dollop of sour cream sat next to a platter of boiled shrimp. The refrigerator was well stocked with my favorite beverage. My psychotic cat’s bowl was filled with a gourmet treat so that he, too, could share in the fun. The wall phone ringer was set to off and my cell phone rested under a pillow in the far off bedroom. A “Quarantined” sign was taped to the front door to dissuade would be unwanted visitors. No distractions this day.

The countdown had begun and the game of all games was near at hand. Bits of football trivia raced across the screen. Celebrities were interviewed and performed. Predictions as to the outcome of the game varied, but the majority sensed this day as being one of historic proportions. The mighty and unbeaten Patriots would surely bury the underdog Giants and take their place next to the gods on Mt. Olympus.

We were treated to a great game and an especially riveting final eleven minutes. The half time show was superb and without any publicity stunt wardrobe malfunctions to detract from the significance of the game. The commercials this year, usually one of the highlights of the game, were somewhat lame from those of previous years. But we take the good with the bad.

Despite all the hype and hoopla of the day and the weeks leading up to it, I felt that the most memorable time was during a segment at the end of the pre-game show. Members of the NFL recited the Declaration of Independence. I have a framed reproduction of the document hanging on my living room wall and from time to time I read the words that gave birth to this great nation of ours. But the words and meaning never held such resonance as it did this day. My emotions stirred as each word filled the room. We were once the underdogs facing the oppression of a mighty nation. Like the Giants, we climbed to the top in spite of all the obstacles in our path.
We have a voice in claiming our future.

This Tuesday is another Super Day. A day to cast our votes and be heard. Do so no matter what your political affiliation or who you think is the best candidate. If you have any doubts about what your vote means, read that document which led to our freedom.

Winter Revisited

I awoke around 3:00 AM this morning with every good intention of traveling the 25 miles to work. I peaked out the window as the coffee was brewing to view that pristine white mantle of snow that Mother Nature and Jack Frost had conceived in the middle of the night. What a lovely sight it was except that I must ready myself for the drive to work. One of the major Interstates is visible from my front window and I could see that while northbound traffic was moving along, the southbound drivers were struggling. Not very encouraging, since the southbound route is the first leg of my morning journey.

A few cups of hot coffee while surfing the news sites on the Internet cleared the cobwebs in my head. Terrible treacherous conditions out there. Hmmm, better check my favorite online dating site to take my mind off the thoughts of this horrendous to be morning commute. It seems that all the usual suspects have already decided to sleep in this morning.

I took my morning shower and then donned my warmest of winter clothing ready to tackle the chore of cleaning off the car. Armed with a 12 inch ruler that doubles as an oven rack pusher-puller, which I would use to measure the depth of the white wet stuff, and my trusty broom, I ventured out the door to meet the wintry onslaught head on. No longer were there any flakes a falling, but now the precipitation had changed to a mist of sleet. I drove the ruler into the snow and gauged it at around 8”. Minor accumulation I thought. Nothing that should prevent me from making it to work. As I began sweeping the snow from the car, my hands suddenly sent a message to my brain. You idiot. The gloves are in the car. My brain then sent a message to the rest of my body. Prepare to freeze to death. I swept the broom along the doors and windows clearing them and then hit the lock release button on the key ring. It clicked fine, but the doors were frozen shut. I swept some more, but the broom broke from the weight of the snow. Back upstairs for a new broom and possibly a pair of gloves, but I soon remembered that the second pair was also securely locked within the car.

More sweeping and then I was finally able to open the back door of the vehicle, climb in and over the front seat and start the beast of burden. I was pleased with the smooth start and cranked the heater , defroster and rear window defroster up full blast. I wanted this hunk of metal and the cold leather seats, warm and toasty, before I made the final commitment to embark upon this journey.

The car is now ready and I went upstairs to finish my preparations for the day at hand. Shaved and dressed for the day, I fed the cat and bid him a fond farewell. Back out into the winter morning now, I restarted the car, placed her in reverse and backed out of the parking space. Perfect up to this point, but as I shifted to "go" and gingerly gave the beast some gas, all I heard was the spinning of tires and my RPM gauge climbing as I moved nowhere. No traction. I reversed again thinking that a running start might help. Nope!!! Two more attempts and I thought that this would be a lovely day to go back into the warmth of the house and stay there until March or April. I couldn’t get back into the original parking space, so I had to reverse back into the space across from my building. I walked back up the stairs feeling somewhat totally inadequate, even impotent, for not being able to travel forward, but only in reverse. My psychotic cat leered at me with that “you’re home early” look.

I called my boss of the day as he was on his way to work. I explained the situation and the news broadcasts of the treacherous road conditions. I advised him of the problems on a certain highway and he responded that he was just turning onto that certain highway and the last I heard from him was, “Oh, SHIT.” Well, I’ll talk to him tomorrow.

Hundreds of schools closed and even some corporate offices advised their employees to stay home. So, I think my thoughts of inadequacy are unfounded. Even St. Louis University closed today and they never close. It might be a good day to simply browse my favorite website.