A group of my highly educated (as defined by the amount of money their parents' spent to send them to institutions of higher learning and not what they learned) friends and I recently sat and debated who was the worst president in American history. The immediate target was the current resident of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, but it was determined that this was too easy. So the debate began in earnest to identify the "next worst:.
For my money, it was a much more difficult debate than one would have thought. The easy money pointed to Andrew Johnson and Herbert Hoover, but they ultimately were not even runner ups. Johnson was impeached by the House of Representatives (technically charged with violating the Tenure of Office Act) but was acquitted by one vote margin in the Senate. His shortcomings were clearly issues of patronage and political dispute resulting from, among other things, his hurry to bring the south back into the union. He alienated both the Democrats and the Republicans. Hoover, forever immortalized for his "chicken in every pot", was not a politician and had never held elected office (he served as Secretary of Commerce under both Coolidge and Harding) prior to his winning the White House. He inherited an economy and a financial system which were untenable and his lack of experience and timing has forever tarred him with being the sitting president for the beginning of the Great Depression.
Though popular, these two former Chief Executives did not even make the top 5 of our discussion. We had a difficult time isolating a number one. FDR was a divisive choice. We noted that his admirers have crowned him the savior of the Great Depression, but we concluded (as have many more scholarly folk) that it was really WWII which turned the economic tide, putting Americans back to work and shifting the balance of trade. We debated the writings of the likes of John Toland, who believed it was FDR's decision, and one of his most unpardonable sins, to ensure American entry into WWII by ignoring intercepted plans and allowing Pearl Harbor to transpire as it did, enraging the nation and driving even the most fervent of isolationists into the battle (Toland wrote a conspiratist's tome, noting that America's entire carrier fleet just happened to be out of harbor and cruising the Aleutians on December 7th). We talked about how, in the final stretches of the war, FDR sold out Eastern Europe and much of Germany in his attempts to curry favor with Stalin. He left a legacy of "big government" and bureaucratic handouts that continue to blight our society.
We argued, as well, for Bill Clinton to garner the top spot. We talked about he launched us into Balkan politics (less you forget it was his command which bombed Sarajevo to remove a war criminal and dictator). We talked about his decision to throw American troops into an impossible situation in Somalia (immortalized by "Black Hawk Down"). We had heated discussion over his gaining credit for presiding over one of the greatest economic recoveries, but in doing so removing the curbs which had protected the financial system from the abuses which nearly brought us to ruin again in 2008 (the repeal of Glass-Steagall, among other things). More than these flaws, though, we felt him one of the worst in direct correlation to his taste in women. Aside from a discussion of Hilary, which took a while, we rued that the most powerful man in the world managed affairs with a string of women who could have made the trailer trash hall of fame. We discussed his crowing glory in this regard which was, of course, Monica Lewinsky. [The best he could muster was a chubby, unattractive, and mostly crazy, young intern? To top off his well known womanizing, certainly not a flaw in some European ruling circles, Bill had the audacity to lie under oath about this activities in the Oval Office while proving just how poor the educational system; and, in this specific case, the sex education system in Arkansas was when he denied having sex (only oral)].
Another too easy target, in our discussions was W, but the group argued that his failings, and inherent stupidity, were ultimately and directly related to the idiots he surrounded himself with as advisers (anyone want to go shooting with Cheney?). How about JFK someone asked? We gave him credit for his alleged affair with Marilyn (after all, one can marry for wealth but have other needs - not something I subscribe to personally, but also not something for which he should gain a vote as worst of all timer for - after all she was an icon). What many, in the discussion had forgotten, is that Kennedy, aside from his clubby Boston and family politics, was the President who launched our involvement in Vietnam. [Not a crowing glory but a major failing which is largely overlooked as a result of his assassination and the ascendancy of his VP, Lyndon B Johnson, who magnified the problems for us in South East Asia. Johnson' s Great Society proved to be anything but great as was his overall legacy]. Carter got a nod for his mis-steps: rabid inflation, Tehran and Billy. There were even a few votes for Grant and his legacy of graft.
In the end, though, our discussion reverted back to the fund raiser from Chicago. I'd like to say that we decided to give him the rest of his term to make final decision, but we did not. In the end, one of my friends summed it all up: January 20, 2013.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Crosswalks
So, I live in Camelot. Unfortunately, even Camelot has streets (yes, they are all paved in gold - at least they were before this Government started stealing from everyone and anyone they could). At the end of my street, which we can call "Hilary Place", there is a cross walk. This cross walk is used often by the denizens of Hilary Place to walk the 1/4 mile into town or visit the grocery store across the street (which is a Food Emporium and one of the worst excuses for a food retailer that exists on this planet save for the hawker's stall in a bazaar in Kinshasha). This cross walk is supposed to be protected by a state law in Connecticut (for all of you who do not know this read and learn as detailed in Sec 14-300c of Chapter 249 of the Connecticut General Statutes) which requires all vehicles to yield to pedestrians at such marked crosswalks. It doesn't always happen, and so part of the reason for today's posting.
Hilary Place has some 30 odd (they are no more odd than children can be, but the families have been so fertile that I cannot keep track of how many there currently are) children under the age of 10. They can be an unruly bunch, as are most kids at this range of age (except for some of those precious, little angels raised by the type of people we all know and can point out like picking rotten fruit from a barrel). They, do not, however, typically cross out of Hilary Place without a parent, as was the case yesterday when my neighbor and her four children (stop with the birth control snickers as I have four children, too) went to walk to town. A car approached, and stopped as they crossed, but a second car pulled up behind the first and began honking its horn, actually scaring the elderly lady in the first car, setting off a chain reaction which almost left my neighbor short a few of her children.
Now, we could address the issue of the elderly woman and her panic, but we will all be old at some point (the alternative to getting old being a whole lot less pleasant to think about) and our motor skills and reaction times will dull with time like a well-used knife. She is not the antagonist in this story. The man in the second car is. The man who "honked his horn", gunned his engine and was just a general nuisance. It is this man and his behavior, or lack there of, which worth addressing, or rather more a "dressing down", but I will get to that in due course.
What I enjoyed (and there was not much) hearing, as this story was relayed, is that my neighbor approached the offending car and let him know, as is her Constistutional right, that she had an opinion of him and his behavior, as well as the place of his birth and the sire from which he came. As one would expect from such an individual, and representative of his I.Q., he responded with a lace of profanity unfit for a group of Somali pirates. My neighbor astutely took the license plate number and called the local constabulary, which initially responded as one would expect, asking her to report to the station to file a complaint and with genuine concern. Upon arriving at the station (even Camelot needs police to handle the hordes who tresspass its borders), she was berated by a different officer who questioned her desire to make a report and the "wasting" of his precious time for such a matter as the near death of her children.
There are two best parts to this story. First, there is the part which invovles the animal in the car who was clearly in such a rush to get to his trivial and meaningless job, family or life that he could not wait the extra 30 seconds to allow children to safely cross the road. [Let me just throw out into the cosmos that if I run into this "gentleman", I will take a baseball bat to his auto, if not him, smiling as I do it]. The second part involves the local constable. I have a number of friends in our local police force and they are to (the one exception clearly mentioned here) a man the best of the best professionals. They are caring and considerate of the community which they protect. They allow me to sleep safely at night, knowing my family and I are safe. That said, my neighbor ran into the one hot shot who clearly does not understand the responsibility of his role in the community. My guess is that after this incident and the wave of calls and complaints already lodged, and likely to follow, he will adjust his attitude (especially when it is pointed out to him that if an accident had occured the liability, let alone the tragedy, would have beeen rather significant for the town).
But let's not discuss things of a litigious nature. Let's focus on the remedy. First, as we have discussed in the past (and forgiving my occasional speeding, and thus disregard of the law, on the highway), let's understand that a crosswalk is sacrosanct. There is nowhere you need to be that is so important that you should not observe state law, and common courtesy, to stop for pedestrians at a crosswalk. I am tired of being in downtown Camelot and watching black. blue and white license plates (New Yorkers in case you did not get the less than subtle hint) blow through the two or three cross walks in our village center under the banner of ignorance, or idiocy.
If you are so busy, rushed, harried or self-important, do me a favor and stay across the border in your own land. You are not wanted and you should know that. Quite frankly we should have border patrol, or maybe even a fence as they do in Arizona. If you are a young rookie constable and some mother calls you regarding the well-being of her cubs, jump. Jump as high as you can. Smile and remember what makes our Camelot the place it is, is that we all care. We care about the town and each other, and if you don't, there is always some Hades we can ship you off to, quite happily.
Hilary Place has some 30 odd (they are no more odd than children can be, but the families have been so fertile that I cannot keep track of how many there currently are) children under the age of 10. They can be an unruly bunch, as are most kids at this range of age (except for some of those precious, little angels raised by the type of people we all know and can point out like picking rotten fruit from a barrel). They, do not, however, typically cross out of Hilary Place without a parent, as was the case yesterday when my neighbor and her four children (stop with the birth control snickers as I have four children, too) went to walk to town. A car approached, and stopped as they crossed, but a second car pulled up behind the first and began honking its horn, actually scaring the elderly lady in the first car, setting off a chain reaction which almost left my neighbor short a few of her children.
Now, we could address the issue of the elderly woman and her panic, but we will all be old at some point (the alternative to getting old being a whole lot less pleasant to think about) and our motor skills and reaction times will dull with time like a well-used knife. She is not the antagonist in this story. The man in the second car is. The man who "honked his horn", gunned his engine and was just a general nuisance. It is this man and his behavior, or lack there of, which worth addressing, or rather more a "dressing down", but I will get to that in due course.
What I enjoyed (and there was not much) hearing, as this story was relayed, is that my neighbor approached the offending car and let him know, as is her Constistutional right, that she had an opinion of him and his behavior, as well as the place of his birth and the sire from which he came. As one would expect from such an individual, and representative of his I.Q., he responded with a lace of profanity unfit for a group of Somali pirates. My neighbor astutely took the license plate number and called the local constabulary, which initially responded as one would expect, asking her to report to the station to file a complaint and with genuine concern. Upon arriving at the station (even Camelot needs police to handle the hordes who tresspass its borders), she was berated by a different officer who questioned her desire to make a report and the "wasting" of his precious time for such a matter as the near death of her children.
There are two best parts to this story. First, there is the part which invovles the animal in the car who was clearly in such a rush to get to his trivial and meaningless job, family or life that he could not wait the extra 30 seconds to allow children to safely cross the road. [Let me just throw out into the cosmos that if I run into this "gentleman", I will take a baseball bat to his auto, if not him, smiling as I do it]. The second part involves the local constable. I have a number of friends in our local police force and they are to (the one exception clearly mentioned here) a man the best of the best professionals. They are caring and considerate of the community which they protect. They allow me to sleep safely at night, knowing my family and I are safe. That said, my neighbor ran into the one hot shot who clearly does not understand the responsibility of his role in the community. My guess is that after this incident and the wave of calls and complaints already lodged, and likely to follow, he will adjust his attitude (especially when it is pointed out to him that if an accident had occured the liability, let alone the tragedy, would have beeen rather significant for the town).
But let's not discuss things of a litigious nature. Let's focus on the remedy. First, as we have discussed in the past (and forgiving my occasional speeding, and thus disregard of the law, on the highway), let's understand that a crosswalk is sacrosanct. There is nowhere you need to be that is so important that you should not observe state law, and common courtesy, to stop for pedestrians at a crosswalk. I am tired of being in downtown Camelot and watching black. blue and white license plates (New Yorkers in case you did not get the less than subtle hint) blow through the two or three cross walks in our village center under the banner of ignorance, or idiocy.
If you are so busy, rushed, harried or self-important, do me a favor and stay across the border in your own land. You are not wanted and you should know that. Quite frankly we should have border patrol, or maybe even a fence as they do in Arizona. If you are a young rookie constable and some mother calls you regarding the well-being of her cubs, jump. Jump as high as you can. Smile and remember what makes our Camelot the place it is, is that we all care. We care about the town and each other, and if you don't, there is always some Hades we can ship you off to, quite happily.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
So, I was trying to think about a suitable topic for today's rant, and coming up blank, until we started discussing GM's decision to pay $3.5bn for AmeriCredit. Hmmm. Let's think about that. GM, the bankrupt, government-bailed out (US taxpayer bailed out, which is inclusive of Wall Streeters and their tax donations), crappy car maker is buying a subprime lender. They are doing it before plans to ipo the company. They are doing it, ostensibly, to enable unqualified and uncreditworthy borrowers to get access to loans for cars.
Really? We want to make it easier for uncreditworthy borrowers to get access to credit to buy vehicles which they probably cannot afford anyway? (By the way, given the quality, or lack there of, in GM product, this seems more punishment than pleasure). Didn't we just live through the same thing in the housing market? Wasn't it the bubble that nearly brought down the entire financial system?
Let's review. People making $35k, or so, per year were able to get a zero money down mortgage on a $500k house which they were never going to able to afford. Of course, Washington said it was the "wicked" lenders, shysters who knew that they were screwing hard working and wholesome Americans by fleecing them with low rate mortgages that stepped to unmanageable levels as soon as the ink was dry. These "bad people" never explained the full risks and the expression of "it seeming to good to be true" never came into play. It was never those people who were gaming the system to live well beyond their means (because, of course, that is really the American dream) who were to blame.
This week, Obama's "pay czar" (whichever way you prefer to spell it - czar or tsar - it still spells a*shole) said he is going to clawback compensation (the residual amounts) from 2008 for all employees of firms which received a bailout. [Let's see: what is he clawing back from GM employees, their Chevy Malibu's? They can keep those because no one else wants them]. Seems like a wonderful political ploy for an administration under duress for its inability to achieve any legislation of any merit (by the way, where did that massive overhaul of healthcare disappear to?). As has been their usual blueprint, fall back on Wall Street whenever public opinion sways. For that matter, cry fire in a crowded theater, tell everyone who will listen the sky is falling and blame Wall Street, while canonizing middle America and the hard working, skilled, and unionized labourers, like those at GM.
In the end we wind up here again. GM, which should stand for Giant Moneypit, is now going to invest $3.5bn to buy a business to lend to people who should, quite frankly, be happy with used cars. They should consider walking to work (uphill and downhill, both ways, like your dad used to tell you he did when growing up). Heck, they could try mass transit and actually do something environmentally sound to support their liberal leanings. GM has still not paid the taxpayer back fully and assumes that this "growth" story window dressing will help it achieve a better multiple in its ipo (by the way, to whom do they think they are going to sell the shares in the ipo - more stupid citizens?). Maybe we should pay Obama and his merry band in Congress with GM shares in lieu of good old greenbacks. Maybe then, they would consider getting the joke.
Really? We want to make it easier for uncreditworthy borrowers to get access to credit to buy vehicles which they probably cannot afford anyway? (By the way, given the quality, or lack there of, in GM product, this seems more punishment than pleasure). Didn't we just live through the same thing in the housing market? Wasn't it the bubble that nearly brought down the entire financial system?
Let's review. People making $35k, or so, per year were able to get a zero money down mortgage on a $500k house which they were never going to able to afford. Of course, Washington said it was the "wicked" lenders, shysters who knew that they were screwing hard working and wholesome Americans by fleecing them with low rate mortgages that stepped to unmanageable levels as soon as the ink was dry. These "bad people" never explained the full risks and the expression of "it seeming to good to be true" never came into play. It was never those people who were gaming the system to live well beyond their means (because, of course, that is really the American dream) who were to blame.
This week, Obama's "pay czar" (whichever way you prefer to spell it - czar or tsar - it still spells a*shole) said he is going to clawback compensation (the residual amounts) from 2008 for all employees of firms which received a bailout. [Let's see: what is he clawing back from GM employees, their Chevy Malibu's? They can keep those because no one else wants them]. Seems like a wonderful political ploy for an administration under duress for its inability to achieve any legislation of any merit (by the way, where did that massive overhaul of healthcare disappear to?). As has been their usual blueprint, fall back on Wall Street whenever public opinion sways. For that matter, cry fire in a crowded theater, tell everyone who will listen the sky is falling and blame Wall Street, while canonizing middle America and the hard working, skilled, and unionized labourers, like those at GM.
In the end we wind up here again. GM, which should stand for Giant Moneypit, is now going to invest $3.5bn to buy a business to lend to people who should, quite frankly, be happy with used cars. They should consider walking to work (uphill and downhill, both ways, like your dad used to tell you he did when growing up). Heck, they could try mass transit and actually do something environmentally sound to support their liberal leanings. GM has still not paid the taxpayer back fully and assumes that this "growth" story window dressing will help it achieve a better multiple in its ipo (by the way, to whom do they think they are going to sell the shares in the ipo - more stupid citizens?). Maybe we should pay Obama and his merry band in Congress with GM shares in lieu of good old greenbacks. Maybe then, they would consider getting the joke.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
One Nation Under God
So I was driving down the Merritt Parkway the other day when I passed (yes, as usual driving faster than is posted - get over it) a humvee with 3 national guardsman in it. They looked all of about 12, but were fully camo-uniformed and acknowledged my salute as I passed. They clearly were not currently serving in Kandahar or Fallujah or some other delightful tourist destination (For a bit of trivia, do you know where we currently have active combat troops deployed? Give up? How about Iraq, Afghanistan (those are the easy ones), South Korea (less you forget bordering on a nation, technically still at war with our ally and run by a pompadour wearing, Elvis like crazy man), Kosovo (yes, we are still there mediating between parties of centuries' old local grievances) and Bosnia (right next door). That said, they might have come back or be heading out, for all I know. They may have endured conditions we can only imagine through Hollywood's dramatization. Let's be frank: you and I, having not been "in combat" have no idea what they may have or might face.
I have more respect for those kids I passed than I do for most residents of a neighboring county, who drive over the border to my fair Camelot and behave like barnyard animals at a trough. These kids show a selflessness, which some of these neighboring residents should learn, and a sense of duty which should make us all stand at attention. Remember that line from "A Few Good Men"? There is an exchange between Demi Moore and Kevin Pollak. She asks him why he hates the soldiers involved so much and he asks her why she likes them so much. Demi's character says: "Because they stand up on a wall, and they say 'Nothing's gonna hurt you tonight. not on my watch'".
That should give you goose bumps. It does me. While a line from Hollywood fiction, it means a lot to me. It means that some young man or woman, maybe just in lieu of a career elsewhere, is willing to sacrifice him/herself to protect what we have here. Sure, the objectives of each individual serviceman/woman may not be that noble, but I choose to believe the vast majority are. I have friends who have served, are serving. I recently lost a neighbor who was an army pilot (there was no air force in WWII), who was shot down over Germany and became a POW before escaping back to Paris. I was close with a friend who's father landed on the beaches at D-Day. These folks served out of pride. I'd like to think they were not alone.
This is not just a nation of people but of ideas and spirit. It is an eagle on an unfurled banner. It is the red, white and blue of "Old Glory". It is "the land of the free and the home of the brave". It is that rush of both warm and cold emotion and nearing tears that wash over me when I think about those symbols of my patriotism, when I stand at attention, hand over heart and sing Francis Scott Key's 1814 Overture. This is "One Nation Under God" and it is all our Gods. This is what these young men protect.
I wondered, as I drove on what the world held for those boys. I wondered if I could have mustered to the call and why I did not (I had my letters for the Air Force Academy being prepared when I was told that I could not fly - too many broken bones, and I bailed). I wonder what I will say of one of my kids asks me what I think about them "joining up". All I do know, is that I did not know those 3 young men, but I could not have been more proud of them.
I have more respect for those kids I passed than I do for most residents of a neighboring county, who drive over the border to my fair Camelot and behave like barnyard animals at a trough. These kids show a selflessness, which some of these neighboring residents should learn, and a sense of duty which should make us all stand at attention. Remember that line from "A Few Good Men"? There is an exchange between Demi Moore and Kevin Pollak. She asks him why he hates the soldiers involved so much and he asks her why she likes them so much. Demi's character says: "Because they stand up on a wall, and they say 'Nothing's gonna hurt you tonight. not on my watch'".
That should give you goose bumps. It does me. While a line from Hollywood fiction, it means a lot to me. It means that some young man or woman, maybe just in lieu of a career elsewhere, is willing to sacrifice him/herself to protect what we have here. Sure, the objectives of each individual serviceman/woman may not be that noble, but I choose to believe the vast majority are. I have friends who have served, are serving. I recently lost a neighbor who was an army pilot (there was no air force in WWII), who was shot down over Germany and became a POW before escaping back to Paris. I was close with a friend who's father landed on the beaches at D-Day. These folks served out of pride. I'd like to think they were not alone.
This is not just a nation of people but of ideas and spirit. It is an eagle on an unfurled banner. It is the red, white and blue of "Old Glory". It is "the land of the free and the home of the brave". It is that rush of both warm and cold emotion and nearing tears that wash over me when I think about those symbols of my patriotism, when I stand at attention, hand over heart and sing Francis Scott Key's 1814 Overture. This is "One Nation Under God" and it is all our Gods. This is what these young men protect.
I wondered, as I drove on what the world held for those boys. I wondered if I could have mustered to the call and why I did not (I had my letters for the Air Force Academy being prepared when I was told that I could not fly - too many broken bones, and I bailed). I wonder what I will say of one of my kids asks me what I think about them "joining up". All I do know, is that I did not know those 3 young men, but I could not have been more proud of them.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The End is Nigh
Could not resist the post here. One more sign of how full of themselves players in the NBA are (and delightfully tied to and not allowing the Lebron "Derision" to die down), Dwayne Wade actually had the audacity to compare a string of potential losses with his new "superstar-studded" team this upcoming season to the tragedy of the Twin Towers. Dwayne's exact quote was: "Of course, there's going to be times when we might lose one or two games in a row, three games in a row, you never know. It's going to seem like the world is crashed down...You all are going to make it seem like the World Trade has just went down again".
Aside from his delightful grammar and his shortening the World Trade Center to World Trade, or maybe just making assumptions about his team's impact on global trade with the world trade reference (given something like the chain of jersey sales which would impact importers, exporters and manufacturers from China all the way to Miami), I loved his belief that anyone could equate the losses of a few self-centered infants to the tragic deaths of thousands. I liked his clarification, and "apology" even more as he was quoted (note: quoted, again) as saying it was never his intent to compare basketball success to the tragedy of 9/11 and the destruction of the Twin Towers and that his comments were "taken completely out of context".
Seriously, I watched the interview. What context did he think was incorrect? Did he think he had actually muttered these words only internally and the governor on his grammatically pre-school mouth had malfunctioned? Did he think he was character in one of those old Japanese Godzilla movies? You know the ones where the dubbing into English from Japanese was so bad that it looked like a Milli-Vanilli lip syncing concert gone haywire? Dwayne opened his mouth and someone else placed the words out there like a ventriloquist? Maybe he thought that all of the reporters were just out to get him with misquotes (I think the National Enquirer ran a concurrent piece about his being the father of Hannah Montana or the Lebron, Wade, Bosh threesome being stranded on an island off the Keys with Ginger and Marianne). Whatever the case, Dwayne managed to make Lebron look only half as stupid with his comments (note: half as stupid, which proportionally, given the stupidity involved, is still a multiple of stupidity greater than anything you or I have ever done. Really.).
When do we get tired off these professional babies and megalomaniacs? When do we stop treating them as deities? This guy, in question, and his two teammates can throw a round ball through a peach basket hoop. They can barely, collectively, string together a sentence and they think more of themselves than Donald Trump, which we all know is hard to do. Why don't we just do the smart thing, vote with our feet. Watch college ball. Heck, turn on the Italian or Greek basketball leagues. At least maybe our viewership would help to bail out the financial crisis in Europe through higher revenues (I still think the EU should have paid E1bn to Americans to summer in Greece and Europe to better effect than spending it directly on the Europeans themselves). Better yet, why don't we sell Miami and its contents to Chavez. At least that way there would be competition for the title of biggest fool.
Whatever we do, could we get these gentlemen a tutor. If they are going to say such stupid things, maybe they can at least do so and sound intelligent.
Aside from his delightful grammar and his shortening the World Trade Center to World Trade, or maybe just making assumptions about his team's impact on global trade with the world trade reference (given something like the chain of jersey sales which would impact importers, exporters and manufacturers from China all the way to Miami), I loved his belief that anyone could equate the losses of a few self-centered infants to the tragic deaths of thousands. I liked his clarification, and "apology" even more as he was quoted (note: quoted, again) as saying it was never his intent to compare basketball success to the tragedy of 9/11 and the destruction of the Twin Towers and that his comments were "taken completely out of context".
Seriously, I watched the interview. What context did he think was incorrect? Did he think he had actually muttered these words only internally and the governor on his grammatically pre-school mouth had malfunctioned? Did he think he was character in one of those old Japanese Godzilla movies? You know the ones where the dubbing into English from Japanese was so bad that it looked like a Milli-Vanilli lip syncing concert gone haywire? Dwayne opened his mouth and someone else placed the words out there like a ventriloquist? Maybe he thought that all of the reporters were just out to get him with misquotes (I think the National Enquirer ran a concurrent piece about his being the father of Hannah Montana or the Lebron, Wade, Bosh threesome being stranded on an island off the Keys with Ginger and Marianne). Whatever the case, Dwayne managed to make Lebron look only half as stupid with his comments (note: half as stupid, which proportionally, given the stupidity involved, is still a multiple of stupidity greater than anything you or I have ever done. Really.).
When do we get tired off these professional babies and megalomaniacs? When do we stop treating them as deities? This guy, in question, and his two teammates can throw a round ball through a peach basket hoop. They can barely, collectively, string together a sentence and they think more of themselves than Donald Trump, which we all know is hard to do. Why don't we just do the smart thing, vote with our feet. Watch college ball. Heck, turn on the Italian or Greek basketball leagues. At least maybe our viewership would help to bail out the financial crisis in Europe through higher revenues (I still think the EU should have paid E1bn to Americans to summer in Greece and Europe to better effect than spending it directly on the Europeans themselves). Better yet, why don't we sell Miami and its contents to Chavez. At least that way there would be competition for the title of biggest fool.
Whatever we do, could we get these gentlemen a tutor. If they are going to say such stupid things, maybe they can at least do so and sound intelligent.
Two Hands on the Steering Wheel
I live in Connecticut where the law makes hand held cell phone usage illegal while driving. I drove back from New Hampshire yesterday, passing though New Hampshire (cell phone usage is illegal currently for all drivers), Massachusetts (for all drivers as of 9/30/10) and Connecticut (all drivers) and could not have kept track of the number of people I passed (yes, I exceeded the speed limit and am therefore qualifying my hypocrisy upfront) yapping on their phones. Not only did I pass other drivers distracted by their cell phones, but I passed one woman applying makeup, a man balancing a dip cup and a woman reading a book (all while talking as well). This all happened at some point as I raced (with these and other drivers) south on I-93, I-290, I-90, I-91, I-84 and the US15 (all major highways). As I drove, I wondered how many accidents occur each year as a result of cell phones in the car and why people don't realize they are awful, managing just one task - let alone two.
Think about it. We work on a trading floor where one has to be able to carry on a conversation or typing a Bloomberg/email, while at the same time listening to traders and trades around to us ensure we are not missing a key event or price action. We are, generally, the exception that proves the rule, and I have worked with some people who could barely manage even one of those tasks. If you ask my wife, she does not believe that I can manage more than one task (as I generally ignore her, or so she thinks, while glued to some garbage television unwinding at the end of the day). So, how does Joe or Jane Doe think that while barreling down the interstate that they can manage dual tasks?
A car at 75 miles an hour is a speeding bullet of steel (well mostly aluminum and plastic depending on which brand of Amero-Asian garbage you drive these days). At any given moment you are forced to decide on lane changes, speed differentials and directions, as routes converge and diverge. You, generally, have plenty of time to decide your path and speed but, as we all know, you will also, generally, on a moderate to long trip, find yourself faced with a split decision (forced by someone else who is distracted by something other than driving) which requires your full faculties in avoiding some fender bender, or worse.
So, why throw a cell phone into the mix. Let's be honest, there should be an I.Q. test as part of the driving test, and if there was, most people would fail. I know this would result in taxing an already overburdened mass transit system, if we were to force all the citizens who failed a certain measure of intellect, to hop a bus or train or plane instead of driving. Needless to say the auto manufacturers, and now by extension, the US Government as well, would scream at the impact on car sales and thus jobs and votes from such garden spots as Ohio (my usual unwillingness to pass on a jab at Ohio and its contingent cities like Cleveland). But, until they invent cars which drive on their own (they park on their own now - the effectiveness of which I have not personally witnessed), I remain committed to the thought of eliminating a slew of current drivers, especially those who choose to try to drive and talk (on their cell phones), or better yet text (have you ever been behind one of those idiots?).
I also have to ask why can't one spend the $100 to buy a Bluetooth ear piece or a parrot insert for your car, and what the heck is so important that one needs to be talking on his/her phone and driving? I will guarantee you that those who will say buying a Bluetooth is too expensive (These are the same people who have a 60 inch flat screen in their house. The house which they lied on their application to finance, and which they are now one of the many risking default and further financial consequences). I will also guarantee that these people are discussing such wonderfully inane topics as to make my 7 year old daughter seem like Rhodes Scholar (and that is giving "them" credit as she is pretty darned smart).
Why don't we give law enforcement a real ability to enforce the "no cell phone" law? We could allow for immediate incarceration and huge fines for release and expunging of "driving while handheld talking" records. Think of the benefit to local municipalities, who currently, and notoriously, post end of the month speed traps to ensure a top up of revenues. We could force people caught driving and talking to be "named and shamed in the local papers, forced to share the all important topic of their conversation when pulled over (think how embarrassing that could potentially be). We could also send repeat driver/talkers to cell phone drivers' anonymous or some group therapy session to eliminate and reform their need to talk while steering. [I would not advocate, as a friend of mine does, giving drivers the free pass to shoot drivers using cell phones, as I think guns should be even further up the I.Q, cut off chain].
In the end, why don't people just put the phone down and realize that the amount of carbon emissions from all their yapping is not helping the environment, or the highway.
Think about it. We work on a trading floor where one has to be able to carry on a conversation or typing a Bloomberg/email, while at the same time listening to traders and trades around to us ensure we are not missing a key event or price action. We are, generally, the exception that proves the rule, and I have worked with some people who could barely manage even one of those tasks. If you ask my wife, she does not believe that I can manage more than one task (as I generally ignore her, or so she thinks, while glued to some garbage television unwinding at the end of the day). So, how does Joe or Jane Doe think that while barreling down the interstate that they can manage dual tasks?
A car at 75 miles an hour is a speeding bullet of steel (well mostly aluminum and plastic depending on which brand of Amero-Asian garbage you drive these days). At any given moment you are forced to decide on lane changes, speed differentials and directions, as routes converge and diverge. You, generally, have plenty of time to decide your path and speed but, as we all know, you will also, generally, on a moderate to long trip, find yourself faced with a split decision (forced by someone else who is distracted by something other than driving) which requires your full faculties in avoiding some fender bender, or worse.
So, why throw a cell phone into the mix. Let's be honest, there should be an I.Q. test as part of the driving test, and if there was, most people would fail. I know this would result in taxing an already overburdened mass transit system, if we were to force all the citizens who failed a certain measure of intellect, to hop a bus or train or plane instead of driving. Needless to say the auto manufacturers, and now by extension, the US Government as well, would scream at the impact on car sales and thus jobs and votes from such garden spots as Ohio (my usual unwillingness to pass on a jab at Ohio and its contingent cities like Cleveland). But, until they invent cars which drive on their own (they park on their own now - the effectiveness of which I have not personally witnessed), I remain committed to the thought of eliminating a slew of current drivers, especially those who choose to try to drive and talk (on their cell phones), or better yet text (have you ever been behind one of those idiots?).
I also have to ask why can't one spend the $100 to buy a Bluetooth ear piece or a parrot insert for your car, and what the heck is so important that one needs to be talking on his/her phone and driving? I will guarantee you that those who will say buying a Bluetooth is too expensive (These are the same people who have a 60 inch flat screen in their house. The house which they lied on their application to finance, and which they are now one of the many risking default and further financial consequences). I will also guarantee that these people are discussing such wonderfully inane topics as to make my 7 year old daughter seem like Rhodes Scholar (and that is giving "them" credit as she is pretty darned smart).
Why don't we give law enforcement a real ability to enforce the "no cell phone" law? We could allow for immediate incarceration and huge fines for release and expunging of "driving while handheld talking" records. Think of the benefit to local municipalities, who currently, and notoriously, post end of the month speed traps to ensure a top up of revenues. We could force people caught driving and talking to be "named and shamed in the local papers, forced to share the all important topic of their conversation when pulled over (think how embarrassing that could potentially be). We could also send repeat driver/talkers to cell phone drivers' anonymous or some group therapy session to eliminate and reform their need to talk while steering. [I would not advocate, as a friend of mine does, giving drivers the free pass to shoot drivers using cell phones, as I think guns should be even further up the I.Q, cut off chain].
In the end, why don't people just put the phone down and realize that the amount of carbon emissions from all their yapping is not helping the environment, or the highway.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Nicely Stung
I went to The Metropolitan Opera last night. I saw Sting. It was hard to describe. It was like sitting through a car accident or drowning - that moment before. The music overwhelms. You find yourself travelling through a slideshow of your life. Slide after slide captures moments in time, people, places, smells, your life.
I saw Sting as I originally saw him, not that he has aged. But I saw myself as I saw him, in highschool. He was wearing that Russian naval, horizontal blue and white striped shirt (you know the one from the 80s when we were smuggling blue jean and cassete tapes into Moscow in exchange for fur caps and pea coats). I was wearing a red mohawk. Not just red, but bright red. Aided by a little lemon, a lot of "sun in" and a blow dryer (hey, it was the 80s). I wore Doc Martens and Diesel Tee Shirts. I sang to "The Sex Pistols: God Save the Queen" like it was my own personal, national anthem, and then I melted to songs like Roxanne and Walking on the Moon. I found a voice in a man, and a group, who felt as I did but could say it, sing it, so much cooler. Last night he brought me up to date.
Over the years, Sting has meant my wife and married life (she has threatened on more than one ocassion to leave me for him). His music has captured the room where my first son, and child, was born. It has reminded me of an open air ride to a soccer game with the whole family jamming to a version of Synchronicity (even my two year old, who just yelled anything and everything he could to keep up). It is joy, sadness and longing, but overall it is everything I feel: good and bad.
If I take one thing from tonight, as I look around at all the people here, different people, but happy people, it is the electricity and energy. Maybe its not love but it is emotion. I wonder what would happen if we could get Osama and Obama, Jews and Palestinians, Muslims and Christians, Catholics and Protestants, Democrats and Republicans, Yankees and Red Sox all in the hall to listen to Sting. Bring their wives and lovers, fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers to hear his music. To feel that slideshow of emotion. I wonder if we could not solve a lot of what plagues us today.
I saw Sting as I originally saw him, not that he has aged. But I saw myself as I saw him, in highschool. He was wearing that Russian naval, horizontal blue and white striped shirt (you know the one from the 80s when we were smuggling blue jean and cassete tapes into Moscow in exchange for fur caps and pea coats). I was wearing a red mohawk. Not just red, but bright red. Aided by a little lemon, a lot of "sun in" and a blow dryer (hey, it was the 80s). I wore Doc Martens and Diesel Tee Shirts. I sang to "The Sex Pistols: God Save the Queen" like it was my own personal, national anthem, and then I melted to songs like Roxanne and Walking on the Moon. I found a voice in a man, and a group, who felt as I did but could say it, sing it, so much cooler. Last night he brought me up to date.
Over the years, Sting has meant my wife and married life (she has threatened on more than one ocassion to leave me for him). His music has captured the room where my first son, and child, was born. It has reminded me of an open air ride to a soccer game with the whole family jamming to a version of Synchronicity (even my two year old, who just yelled anything and everything he could to keep up). It is joy, sadness and longing, but overall it is everything I feel: good and bad.
If I take one thing from tonight, as I look around at all the people here, different people, but happy people, it is the electricity and energy. Maybe its not love but it is emotion. I wonder what would happen if we could get Osama and Obama, Jews and Palestinians, Muslims and Christians, Catholics and Protestants, Democrats and Republicans, Yankees and Red Sox all in the hall to listen to Sting. Bring their wives and lovers, fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers to hear his music. To feel that slideshow of emotion. I wonder if we could not solve a lot of what plagues us today.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Reverend Jessie Jack*ss
How can I leave it be. Jessie Jackson has felt the need to insert himself into the Lebron situation and owner Dan Gilbert's response. The Reverend Jessie Jackson. He managed to draw in an analogy to a slave and his master. Only Jessie Jackson (well not actually just Jessie, prepare for Al Sharpton as we have not heard his attempt at capitalizing on this yet) could find a dispute between player and owner (of a basketball team) to be tied to a tragic and unfortunate 100 plus year old piece of American history.
I am pretty sure everyone who reads this understands the gravity and morally bankrupt policy which was perpetuated in this country before 1865, and quite frankly not fully addressed (and some would argue still not fully addressed today) as regards slavery and the "owning of a human being". I also think that "owning" a basketball team is not even in the same category. Gilbert is a passionate owner. He has a responsibility to his fans (and don't anyone out there say that they have not been on the other side of the coin here, ready to pillory an owner who has shown a propensity to be cheap, ignoring the fans' desire for a winning team). Gilbert reacted to a very poorly handled situation by a player. His team's leader and might I add a high schooler (in educational value). A man, who's maturity is clearly in question which may be a result of his growing up on the basketball court instead of fully developing in a classroom (sure, we can argue whether college is necessary for all, but clearly Lebron did not learn any humility at whatever level of education he did complete). He behaved poorly. He gave his owner no time to prepare for a "game changing" situation. Sure, his owner's motivation is also financial. He lost his "goose that was laying the golden egg". That said, he also saw his loyalty to a player paid well and treated like a king in his city tossed aside in a spectacle that deserves all the "derision" it has received.
So, where does Jessie Jackson get off inserting himself in this process. Doesn't he have some high profile gala cum fundraiser cum other self-promotion that needs more attention? Does he really need that much attention. After all, he has been awfully quiet of late, dwarfed by real African American role models who have achieved positions and success of real importance (Colin Powell, Condoleezza Rice, and despite my dislike for his politics, Obama). Jessie's time has past. let's put him out to pasture. Better yet, let's send him to Miami, as tall as he thinks he is, maybe he can play center with Bosh, Wade and Lebron.
I am pretty sure everyone who reads this understands the gravity and morally bankrupt policy which was perpetuated in this country before 1865, and quite frankly not fully addressed (and some would argue still not fully addressed today) as regards slavery and the "owning of a human being". I also think that "owning" a basketball team is not even in the same category. Gilbert is a passionate owner. He has a responsibility to his fans (and don't anyone out there say that they have not been on the other side of the coin here, ready to pillory an owner who has shown a propensity to be cheap, ignoring the fans' desire for a winning team). Gilbert reacted to a very poorly handled situation by a player. His team's leader and might I add a high schooler (in educational value). A man, who's maturity is clearly in question which may be a result of his growing up on the basketball court instead of fully developing in a classroom (sure, we can argue whether college is necessary for all, but clearly Lebron did not learn any humility at whatever level of education he did complete). He behaved poorly. He gave his owner no time to prepare for a "game changing" situation. Sure, his owner's motivation is also financial. He lost his "goose that was laying the golden egg". That said, he also saw his loyalty to a player paid well and treated like a king in his city tossed aside in a spectacle that deserves all the "derision" it has received.
So, where does Jessie Jackson get off inserting himself in this process. Doesn't he have some high profile gala cum fundraiser cum other self-promotion that needs more attention? Does he really need that much attention. After all, he has been awfully quiet of late, dwarfed by real African American role models who have achieved positions and success of real importance (Colin Powell, Condoleezza Rice, and despite my dislike for his politics, Obama). Jessie's time has past. let's put him out to pasture. Better yet, let's send him to Miami, as tall as he thinks he is, maybe he can play center with Bosh, Wade and Lebron.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Athletes and Movie Stars
Michael Vick cannot leave Philadelphia. Post a shooting at his birthday party last month, while on probation for his "dog sporting", he appears to have lied about the timing of his departure from the party and the subsequent timing of the shooting (he claimed a much wider gap in the timing). Prior to his travel ban, Vick had to have all his travel plans approved. He missed attendance this weekend at his own golf tournament in Atlanta and a youth football camp in Raleigh, NC. He stayed in Philly.
Do we really care. The prosecutors say he was not involved in the shooting but that he was involved in a confrontation earlier at the party. This is a guy who kept dogs and had them fight each other to the death, burying the losers in a field on his property. Upon his release from prison he pledged his "reformed" nature and humbly begged forgiveness for past behavior. He vowed "to change", to earn his redemption, and to be a role model. Yup. Heard it all before. Anyone who believed anything he said, is either a wonderful Christian who truly does believe in redemption or a completely naive fool. How many times do we need to grant these athletes and Hollywood types a free pass for behavior that would put most "common" people on a permanent list of "pariahs". What makes these guys more exempt than the father of 3 or the 25 year old office worker who does something stupid (even if a repetition as opposed to a one-off). They can throw a ball or kiss some hot leading lady? Why do we continue to pay the GDP of a small country to these athletes and actors who take "selfish" to new heights and morals to new lows. Are we really that dumb, or just caught up in the fairytale belief that these people care about us and maybe, just maybe, their luck and life may rub off on us some how. The American dream was always about hard work to achieve a better life. Not a lottery win or a gambling run at a casino. We were never entitled to anything other than better ourselves through effort. When did everyone get the right to have a flat screen tv, two new cars in the driveway and a swimming pool in the backyard?
Vick should have spent as much time as he could at home watching tv after 7pm (or reading a book, assuming he can read something other than a playbook). He should have been devoting every spare minute to animal rights causes and children. He should have been doing everything he could to truly act for, as opposed to giving lip service to, his chance at redemption. He should not have been at some club at 2am with a "posse" of what I am sure was all model, church going, citizens. But, what do we expect, we hold these guys and more to a higher standard. Maybe we can get Michael a cell with Charlie Sheen. They might have a lot to talk about.
Do we really care. The prosecutors say he was not involved in the shooting but that he was involved in a confrontation earlier at the party. This is a guy who kept dogs and had them fight each other to the death, burying the losers in a field on his property. Upon his release from prison he pledged his "reformed" nature and humbly begged forgiveness for past behavior. He vowed "to change", to earn his redemption, and to be a role model. Yup. Heard it all before. Anyone who believed anything he said, is either a wonderful Christian who truly does believe in redemption or a completely naive fool. How many times do we need to grant these athletes and Hollywood types a free pass for behavior that would put most "common" people on a permanent list of "pariahs". What makes these guys more exempt than the father of 3 or the 25 year old office worker who does something stupid (even if a repetition as opposed to a one-off). They can throw a ball or kiss some hot leading lady? Why do we continue to pay the GDP of a small country to these athletes and actors who take "selfish" to new heights and morals to new lows. Are we really that dumb, or just caught up in the fairytale belief that these people care about us and maybe, just maybe, their luck and life may rub off on us some how. The American dream was always about hard work to achieve a better life. Not a lottery win or a gambling run at a casino. We were never entitled to anything other than better ourselves through effort. When did everyone get the right to have a flat screen tv, two new cars in the driveway and a swimming pool in the backyard?
Vick should have spent as much time as he could at home watching tv after 7pm (or reading a book, assuming he can read something other than a playbook). He should have been devoting every spare minute to animal rights causes and children. He should have been doing everything he could to truly act for, as opposed to giving lip service to, his chance at redemption. He should not have been at some club at 2am with a "posse" of what I am sure was all model, church going, citizens. But, what do we expect, we hold these guys and more to a higher standard. Maybe we can get Michael a cell with Charlie Sheen. They might have a lot to talk about.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Was just sitting here thinking about what to post today. Had a dinner party with a great group of friends last night, including our wonderful neighbors who crashed at about midnight. Played golf this morning, but aside from working off a mean hangover, there was nothing to really write about (the only thing worse than the stench of last night's bourbon burning off in the sun, was my swing). Started packing for our long weekend this coming weekend in New Hampshire (have a busy social calendar this week, including the Sting concert, so I needed to start getting organized). None of these things really warranted any additional comment. I was starting to think I would just wait until tomorrow morning, before taking a shot, but then I watched the World Cup final.
I am a huge football (ok, soccer, for all us Yanks who cannot distinguish between two games which use the same word) fan. I root for Chelsea in the English Premier League, and, of course, I live and die by the US National Team. I enjoyed this World Cup. I love the international aspect of the tournament. Teams from every corner of the world. The Uruguayans, Paraguayans, Argentinians, Brazilians, Mexicans and Hondurans. The who's who of Latin and South America (ok, you got me as Mexico is in North America, but then I am willing to bet at least two or three of you reading this had not idea where half these countries actually are). How about the North Koreans who sent a few "fans" over to watch their team. I wonder how many went home. There were the African teams which are always as fun to watch on the field, as are their fans in the stands. There are the European power houses: France, Italy, England, Spain, Portugal, the Netherlands and Germany. What's not to like.
The one issue I have and always will (no matter how much of a fan I am - and I am) is the acting. Why do footballers (apologies, again to America: soccer players) have to act as though they have been shot every time someone comes within 10 feet of them. If the Oscars had an award for best performance under duress, the Academy might never leave the deliberation room given the number of worthy candidates. The acting really detracts from the beauty and skill of the game. The player's ability to manipulate the ball, direct it and bury it in the back of the net from all angles and distances on the field, is spectacular. Their ability to look violated like Rodney King when getting a whiff of a competitor, is nuts.
The game has instituted a dive rule. It is not enforced enough for my satisfaction, How do the Italians, for example, not compete for "gold" in the platform and springboard events. They certainly have plenty of young men who have perfected the art, and full extension, in a tumble from great heights of at least 3 inches off the turf. If I coached their dive team, I'd have an opposing player stare at them - really hard. I am sure they could pull a 2-and-a-half twist with a pike given all that pressure and potential "interference" (of a stern look). I think if the players want to act like they have been shot anytime someone makes even the slightest of contact, then maybe we should find some sort of fitting way to make it mean something. Maybe we could pad them up like the "waste landers" from 'The Road Warrior". We could force them to wear shin pads studded with blades or nails, or gloves with spikes to ensure a well-planned grapple in the box leaves more than just hurt feelings. Then again, maybe these boys could just grow up and and strap on a pair, assuming they can find them.
By the way, congrats Espana.
I am a huge football (ok, soccer, for all us Yanks who cannot distinguish between two games which use the same word) fan. I root for Chelsea in the English Premier League, and, of course, I live and die by the US National Team. I enjoyed this World Cup. I love the international aspect of the tournament. Teams from every corner of the world. The Uruguayans, Paraguayans, Argentinians, Brazilians, Mexicans and Hondurans. The who's who of Latin and South America (ok, you got me as Mexico is in North America, but then I am willing to bet at least two or three of you reading this had not idea where half these countries actually are). How about the North Koreans who sent a few "fans" over to watch their team. I wonder how many went home. There were the African teams which are always as fun to watch on the field, as are their fans in the stands. There are the European power houses: France, Italy, England, Spain, Portugal, the Netherlands and Germany. What's not to like.
The one issue I have and always will (no matter how much of a fan I am - and I am) is the acting. Why do footballers (apologies, again to America: soccer players) have to act as though they have been shot every time someone comes within 10 feet of them. If the Oscars had an award for best performance under duress, the Academy might never leave the deliberation room given the number of worthy candidates. The acting really detracts from the beauty and skill of the game. The player's ability to manipulate the ball, direct it and bury it in the back of the net from all angles and distances on the field, is spectacular. Their ability to look violated like Rodney King when getting a whiff of a competitor, is nuts.
The game has instituted a dive rule. It is not enforced enough for my satisfaction, How do the Italians, for example, not compete for "gold" in the platform and springboard events. They certainly have plenty of young men who have perfected the art, and full extension, in a tumble from great heights of at least 3 inches off the turf. If I coached their dive team, I'd have an opposing player stare at them - really hard. I am sure they could pull a 2-and-a-half twist with a pike given all that pressure and potential "interference" (of a stern look). I think if the players want to act like they have been shot anytime someone makes even the slightest of contact, then maybe we should find some sort of fitting way to make it mean something. Maybe we could pad them up like the "waste landers" from 'The Road Warrior". We could force them to wear shin pads studded with blades or nails, or gloves with spikes to ensure a well-planned grapple in the box leaves more than just hurt feelings. Then again, maybe these boys could just grow up and and strap on a pair, assuming they can find them.
By the way, congrats Espana.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The Derision
"Come on baby,
Do you want to dance
Come one everybody
You've gotta take a chance
Come on baby
Do you wanna dance
come on everybody
You've got to take a chance".
Just warming you up to the sounds of Gloria Estefan and her aptly located "Sound Machine". I could have gone with a little Will Smith, though I am a little less partial to the rap:
"Screaming (ay, papi),
Everytime I come to town, they be spotting me,
In the drop Bentley, ain't no stopping me
So, cash in your dough
And flow to this fashion show
Pound for pound anywhere you go
Yo ain't no city in the world like this
An if you ask me how I know I gots to plead the fifth...
I'm going to Miami,
Welcome to Miami".
Anyone else embarrassed? We spent at least 30 minutes of our lives, and precious time at home with our families last night captivated by the spectacle which was "The Derision" (yes, I know Disney and ESPN preferred it billed as "The Decision").
While we sat and watched 4 talking heads, and largely guys with no sporting experience other than supporting roles on a court or a hot cellphone, I became very uncomfortable for the 20 some odd kids stuffed into the bleachers behind "The King" and the other talking head from ESPN on location in Greenwich (by the way, if Elvis is, in fact, living somewhere in a former artist colony on the coast of Australia with Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison, among others, do you think he is happy or mad that Lebron has stolen his moniker?). I worried for those poor kids, at the Greenwich, CT, Boys Club (I grew up there so don't get me wrong there is plenty of need for that particular club to enrich some wonderful and needing children's' lives, though the choice of a Boys Club in Greenwich seemed a bit ironic) as they had to endure fawning corporate sponsorship, inane questions and the ever-escalating drama of the run up to Lebron's big announcement. I became more uncomfortable as ESPN panned away and they sat quietly while the corporate sponsors all made their pitches with witty commercials (the best was actual the Denzel Washington voice over of his Oscar acceptance speech with some seedy elementary school stage in the back round, noting support for the Boys and Girls clubs - very cleaver). I sat glued watching those kids and the "King"; and then it happened, Lebron made his choice: South Beach, parties with Madonna, a guest spot with Crockett & Tubbs. "Going to Miami. Getting jiggy with it"
Afterwards, Lebron had the audacity to say: "I wanted to do what was best for Lebron James...At the end of the day I feel awful". Guess what, Lebron, no one cares how you feel. We especially like it when you refer to yourself in the third person (there are some wonderfully notable and colourful characters in history who have had a habit of doing that).
239,000 in Cleveland get to wake up this morning and rehash your painstaking "decision" and subsequent "angst" over and over again on local and national news, while you, by all reports, will be sitting with your couple hundred closest friends in the cabanas at some swank South beach hotel which you booked in advance. I am sure they will feel better that you feel "awful". [Then, again, it is Cleveland, so from a sporting perspective they have to be used to last minute let downs at this point - call John Elway, among others, if you need some brush up help on this point]. Heck, just remember they have to wake up in Cleveland this morning.
I feel awful for those 20 odd kids who got to spend an hour, after most of their bed time's, last night seeing just how screwed up the world, and our country's, priorities are.
Stewardess, I'd like another mojito on the flight into Dade County. Thanks.
What's In A Name
Good morning. So, with everything my family has done throughout the years, and they have done plenty to annoy, they have never done anything that would make me seek to hide my identity. Sure, I had a great-grandfather who modeled himself a bit of a "robber baron". I had a grandfather who claimed to serve in WWII, while sailing his boat around Long Island for the "Coastal Defense Force" searching between drinks and dinners for U-boats. I have a brother, who, while running for Congress in Georgia, chose to bring his sidearm with him to a campaign rally in a public park (makes it a bit tough to kiss the babies but looks macho for a decidedly representative crowd). Heck, I have done a few "amusing" things in my day (ask my parents if they defined them the same way), including being "detained" by the Heritage, SC peace officers for a fraternity stunt that involved a birthday suit celebration on Jim and Tammy Faye Baker's front lawn (you remember them of the religious televangelist set). All this aside, I am very proud of my heritage and family. My oldest is named after my great grandfather: Bear. My youngest has a middle name representing his "naval" grandfather. In general, my wife and I pay tribute to and enjoy the facts of who and where we come from and belong to in our lineage.
So, how about Harry Reid's son? You know Harry Reid. The Senate Majority leader. The Senator from Nevada who is waging a real battle to keep his seat (for what would be a 5th term). The man who seemingly hates everyone, especially Wall Street types. The man who enjoyed his air time in 2008 featured with the likes of Pelosi, Waxman, Waters and the rest of the 'illiterati" questioning, if not grilling, intelligent individuals who had stepped into the breach to try to solve a national crisis. The Harry Reid who's son, Rory, is running for governor as the state's democratic candidate. The same Harry Reid, who's son, Rory, in running for governor but has evidently chosen to go the way of the Brazilian footballer in shunning his last name in any mention of his father or family. Can't you picture the campaign posters and adds: "Vote for Rory" and "Paid for and Approved by Rory" who happens to be some sort of suit and samba wearing left winger (both party and position) with a mean header and a bending kick. As one political pundit said: the family ticket "Plays into the narrative that this is not about Nevada, this is about the Reids". Evidently, this about recognizing when your family is an albatross around your neck and running for the door. Despite his father's longevity in local and national politics (maybe worth another discussion about term limitations), here is a son who wants to be disassociated from that legacy. Not even when my dad rooted for his prep school alma mater, Trinity Pawling, against my Taft did I consider becoming a one-named lad (not the least of which because with my last name I would have sounded like a pole dancer from Tallahassee - no offense to pole dancers or Tallahassee). If Rory wants to be only Rory, I can only imagine the wave of single named children emerging from their childhoods in the modern Sodom and Gomorra just down the I-95 corridor. Go get them, Malia Ann and Natasha.
So, how about Harry Reid's son? You know Harry Reid. The Senate Majority leader. The Senator from Nevada who is waging a real battle to keep his seat (for what would be a 5th term). The man who seemingly hates everyone, especially Wall Street types. The man who enjoyed his air time in 2008 featured with the likes of Pelosi, Waxman, Waters and the rest of the 'illiterati" questioning, if not grilling, intelligent individuals who had stepped into the breach to try to solve a national crisis. The Harry Reid who's son, Rory, is running for governor as the state's democratic candidate. The same Harry Reid, who's son, Rory, in running for governor but has evidently chosen to go the way of the Brazilian footballer in shunning his last name in any mention of his father or family. Can't you picture the campaign posters and adds: "Vote for Rory" and "Paid for and Approved by Rory" who happens to be some sort of suit and samba wearing left winger (both party and position) with a mean header and a bending kick. As one political pundit said: the family ticket "Plays into the narrative that this is not about Nevada, this is about the Reids". Evidently, this about recognizing when your family is an albatross around your neck and running for the door. Despite his father's longevity in local and national politics (maybe worth another discussion about term limitations), here is a son who wants to be disassociated from that legacy. Not even when my dad rooted for his prep school alma mater, Trinity Pawling, against my Taft did I consider becoming a one-named lad (not the least of which because with my last name I would have sounded like a pole dancer from Tallahassee - no offense to pole dancers or Tallahassee). If Rory wants to be only Rory, I can only imagine the wave of single named children emerging from their childhoods in the modern Sodom and Gomorra just down the I-95 corridor. Go get them, Malia Ann and Natasha.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Fromage, please
Always nice to be writing on the second day of the work week and have it be a Wednesday. Why do we spend so much time ridiculing the French instead of joining them and realizing the benefits of their work ethic. Every second work week day would be a Wednesday. We could have days off for Bastille Day (their attempt a something as glorious as Fourth of July), Cheese Day, Beret Day, the "Current French Prime Minister is Married to a Hot Former Model" Day, and the annual "I Surrender Day". By the time we got through all the holidays, we would actually be excited to be at work. So, why do we ridicule the French? I am happy to eat the Royale with Fromage, "s'il vous plait".
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Heat
Good mid-day. Hope it was a good Fourth. We enjoyed the fireworks Sunday night, though given how dry things are I am surprised the local woods did not ignite. Can only imagine how long they must have soaked the staging area prior to lighting the first match. Might have been a problem if multiple polo and vineyard vine clad families were swept up in an incendiary wave caused by a wayward spark (generally not good for public relations, among other things). That said we did offer some of the out of towners, you know they type (have on hand on their car horns while using the other to hold their cell phone and speeding through town in complete disregard for the locals, because, of course, they don't actually live here) front row seating, just in case.
Speaking of the heat, and lack of rain, it is supposed to hit 100 degrees here this week. That should be fun. My air conditioning seems to running full time now and I have had to lengthen the sprinkler time to ensure my garden stops wilting. The kids seem to live at the club to be constantly in the pool (constantly, save for their ability to spend the gross domestic product of Peru at the snack bar, when not swimming). Fortunately, I am able to get in my air conditioned car first thing in the morning (clearly a bit of an issue today, though nothing to do with air conditioning or heat), drive to my office garage and enter my air conditioned office. I no longer have to make that gulag's march to Manhattan, enjoying the pleasure and luxurious service of MetroNorth and the every other car with "air". I also don't get to enjoy the summer aromas of NYC (you know, the fresh wholesome smell of rotting garbage and sewage). Yes, I truly miss those days, sprinting for the train in 100 degree heat, magnified to near melting point by glass and tarmac, dodging the hawkers on 48th Street who want to "buy or sell" and who never seem to find a shower or a bath compulsory. Yes, the heat will be bad this week and I will really miss my days of commuting in and out of NYC.
Nice and cool up here as a "Manonaplane".
Speaking of the heat, and lack of rain, it is supposed to hit 100 degrees here this week. That should be fun. My air conditioning seems to running full time now and I have had to lengthen the sprinkler time to ensure my garden stops wilting. The kids seem to live at the club to be constantly in the pool (constantly, save for their ability to spend the gross domestic product of Peru at the snack bar, when not swimming). Fortunately, I am able to get in my air conditioned car first thing in the morning (clearly a bit of an issue today, though nothing to do with air conditioning or heat), drive to my office garage and enter my air conditioned office. I no longer have to make that gulag's march to Manhattan, enjoying the pleasure and luxurious service of MetroNorth and the every other car with "air". I also don't get to enjoy the summer aromas of NYC (you know, the fresh wholesome smell of rotting garbage and sewage). Yes, I truly miss those days, sprinting for the train in 100 degree heat, magnified to near melting point by glass and tarmac, dodging the hawkers on 48th Street who want to "buy or sell" and who never seem to find a shower or a bath compulsory. Yes, the heat will be bad this week and I will really miss my days of commuting in and out of NYC.
Nice and cool up here as a "Manonaplane".
Monday, July 5, 2010
Local Matter
I received a forward of an email from a teammate on Friday night addressing a purely local matter. The czar, or czarina in "his" particular case, who runs our local hockey league administration, decided that our team had not signed in for enough games over the spring season, and should therefore be banned from the playoffs, effective immediately. The little czarina's rationale for our untimely demise was a failure to sign in with enough frequency during the season. Now, coming from the neanderthal in charge, this could only have been done via cave painting or some other means of pictography which his limited intellect would be able to grasp. So, one can imagine that we were a little space and time constrained, during a full season of skates, to meet the infant in charge's demands. Further, if we were unable to meet the little czarina's demands for fully actuated initialing of our regular presence, I can only imagine the difficulty this must have presented to a number of the teams we found ourselves playing this season, as I am not sure they have begun teaching cursive in elementary school (ah, yes, there is an age restriction in our tier within this league which is seemingly open to seriously flawed interpretation, but not which meets with the czarina's criteria for sportsmanship or competition).
By means of further back round, and to give more detail to my grievence, one should have a better picture of the contrite, little empress. By nature, the despot of our league has only managed to attain the titular post of "assistant rink manager". To me this harkens a number of other autocrats, dictators and general morons with whom find ourselves bemused on a daily basis by their rantings on the world and local stages. Take the "great" Colonel Chavez of Venezuela, for example. He clearly attended the same school of self-promotion as another global leader - the crazy Libyan - unable to achieve a satisfactory measure of his own merit, as he has been unable to rise above the rank of colonel despite being the titular head of state. At least the cigar chomping former head of state in Cuba managed to promote himself to Generalissimo.
So back to (let's just call him Murray) our little colonel of the local over 40 hockey league and his decision. Bravo, El Colonel, for effectively flexing your muscle, spreading your wings, clearing your throat. Clearly, the daily yell at 7 and 8 year olds aside, this decision, as petty as it is, makes you feel like the king and man you are not. Do us all a favor, find the nearest castle tower, and jump.
That would be view from on high (or on a plane).
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Saturday on the Face of the Sun
Saturday's. Every now and again, and not regularly enough given four kids, and a nearly year round coaching schedule, I get to sneak away for a round of golf. Today was one of those Saturday's. 3 very good friends and I jumped in a car and hoofed it up to New Haven to play the Yale Golf Course.
For those of you who have never had the pleasure, it is a lovely course, which will eat your lunch - regularly. A wayward shot will send you to an Audubon Society outing; and let me tell you, today I became a platinum member, contributing a great deal of time and more than a few sleeves of balls. Sure I hit the odd corker of a shot. Heck, I even parred a few holes along the way. My partner and I managed to win the front nine on a great par putt, but then we managed to lose the match, along with our attention spans, coming down 18 (and, quite honestly, at about the turn).
We have all heard golf referred to by many terms: the "four letter word", a "good walk spoiled", "better than any day in the office" and so on. Similarly, we've been out there with that one bone head, who comments after that occasional shot, ripped beautifully: "heck, that's the one that keeps you coming back". No offense at his attempt to heap praise, but if I only hit one decent shot per round, my clubs would be collecting dust in some corner of my garage behind the bikes, bins of balls and other used sporting goods. I'd like to think that I start out my round a winner, because I am the best dressed guy out there. Everything else I do after donning my attire is gravy.
Golf is a great game but it is also a war. It is a mental war - usually a losing one. I can pinpoint the accuracy of my shot into any body of water or sand trap. I cannot find the green or fairway with the same accuracy, usually finding those with the greatest of luck only (and I play to about an 18 handicap).
Golf is a war against other golfers. The golf course is a petrie dish of current society. Manners appear to be optional. Not that some of the miscreants who play have shown any aptitude for a semblance of civility. Walking into another fairway without checking to see if some one might be hitting, taking 400 practice swings before "duffing" the ball all of 25 feet to repeat the process, yelling across the course: these are a few of my favorites. We saw them all today. We expected it, though. While it is Yale's course, it is still a "muni", which allows anyone who can afford the fee to put on the spikes and swing the sticks. It is also about 50 yards from the "projects", which makes it an interesting oasis amid some pretty shady surroundings.
Golf can also be a war against the elements. It was today. It may not have reached the mid-90s on the thermometer, but it felt like it did. The sun sapped our energy (and we were riding as opposed to the two morons who walked ahead of us caddied for by two banjo playing West Virginia refugees). Water was only available every 5th or 6th hole (you would think a municipal golf course could find one coed in a skin tight tank top to make the rounds with overpriced beer, gatorade and the likes in a cart). It was soul sucking, and then there was the golf. Yet, we endured. We enjoyed our time together, hitting the usual topics: why would Tiger cheat on his wife (notable for its golfing theme), why would he cheat on her with the biggest roster of ugly women since my 1989 mixer with the Pi Mu sorority, why is our government so screwed up, and who did we have to kill to get a drink?
All in all, it was fun. It was a Saturday well spent with friends, melting under a depleted ozone layer (though recent reports say that the ozone is back). It was a prelude to drinks and dinner with the same crew, and their wives. It was what a Saturday was all the time before I had kids. And, for 5 hours, it was a nice reminder of those days. But, boy was it hot.
Off to the shower. That's my view from a plane.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Friday Before The Fourth
First day. First go. I wrote in anger during the financial crisis in '08. Now I have decided to write just for fun. I write a daily column for my clients and internal colleagues. For months I have had some of these folks say: "you ought to write a blog". Well, I guess I basically do. So here, we go.
This is not for the feint of heart. No punches pulled. If I don't like you, you will know - often.
Good morning. Ok, let's start off by being honest, my head is already on the golf course. Beyond that, it is at the pool with the kids and then watching some "made in China" fireworks, which hopefully were not part of a batch made in some small village where over 100 people died during a defective manufacturing process, launch over Waveny Park to ooh's and aah's. I am thinking about my friend's "famous" lobster tacos tomorrow night as my wife and I and a few couple sit around to sip some bourbon, some "southside's" and more than likely a bucket of "dark and stormies". I am hoping that the clock stops one of these "long" weekends and we can forever run the beach, the backyard, the golf course with our families and forget about work and the daily grind (don't get me wrong I "love" my job). However, when I think of the Fourth of July, I think about all the great things that make this country Camelot. Sure, we have our issues (as you know I think most of these start in Washington, DC) but we also have the ability to enjoy our friends and communities and celebrate an awakening of freedom that exists, and really still exists nowhere else (unless you want to pretend you are not American and are "Canadian" or a socialist in Europe). The Fourth of July is Norman Rockwell. There is no gift giving. There are kids running the block with small nuclear arsenals which make noise and spew colours. There are gatherings of all ages and flags waiving in front yards and from porches and fences. There is a general remembrance that this is a land of bountiful harvest and bountiful opportunity (unless Obama keeps taxing and spending).
Happy Fourth.
That's my view from "The Man On A Plane".
This is not for the feint of heart. No punches pulled. If I don't like you, you will know - often.
Good morning. Ok, let's start off by being honest, my head is already on the golf course. Beyond that, it is at the pool with the kids and then watching some "made in China" fireworks, which hopefully were not part of a batch made in some small village where over 100 people died during a defective manufacturing process, launch over Waveny Park to ooh's and aah's. I am thinking about my friend's "famous" lobster tacos tomorrow night as my wife and I and a few couple sit around to sip some bourbon, some "southside's" and more than likely a bucket of "dark and stormies". I am hoping that the clock stops one of these "long" weekends and we can forever run the beach, the backyard, the golf course with our families and forget about work and the daily grind (don't get me wrong I "love" my job). However, when I think of the Fourth of July, I think about all the great things that make this country Camelot. Sure, we have our issues (as you know I think most of these start in Washington, DC) but we also have the ability to enjoy our friends and communities and celebrate an awakening of freedom that exists, and really still exists nowhere else (unless you want to pretend you are not American and are "Canadian" or a socialist in Europe). The Fourth of July is Norman Rockwell. There is no gift giving. There are kids running the block with small nuclear arsenals which make noise and spew colours. There are gatherings of all ages and flags waiving in front yards and from porches and fences. There is a general remembrance that this is a land of bountiful harvest and bountiful opportunity (unless Obama keeps taxing and spending).
Happy Fourth.
That's my view from "The Man On A Plane".
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