Dear Dr. Dean

I recently received a “grassroots” survey from the Democratic Party. I was, of course, free to make any contribution I wished when I returned the completed survey. Below is what I enclosed in the envelope.

Dear Dr. Dean,

I am returning your survey with mixed emotions. While I agree in general with the principles the Democratic Party has aligned itself with, I am disappointed at the shallow nature of these questions. Many of my responses are indicative of the choice that is the least unlike my views, as they were written with too broad a brush.

My greatest disappointment is with Question 1. Asking me to rate my ten most important issues, and leaving civil liberties off the list completely, shows how seriously out of touch the party is with what is important to me. Aside from Senators Leahy, Dodd, and Biden, I see little interest in rolling back the curbs on the freedoms our elected officials have sworn to protect.

I began this year with great hopes for the Democratic majorities in Congress; those hopes have been largely dashed. Majority Leader Reid is regularly outflanked by his Republican counterparts. His tepid responses, and continued compliance with the Bush Administration have become an embarrassment. Whether he lacks the courage of his convictions, or any convictions at all, is difficult to say, almost as difficult as deciding which is worse.

I gave $100 to a grassroots organizer on Connecticut Avenue in Washington last year; this year I will limit my contributions to specific candidates, such as Senators Dodd and Biden, until the party as a whole shows itself not only concerned about the issues I hold most dear for the good of the country, but willing to act on those beliefs. The politics of appeasement have failed us for almost seven years now. I am not arguing for confrontation, but merely that it is time for the politics of conscience to have its turn.

Tim McCarver is the AntiChrist

Call of the Green Monster is the best baseball fan blog going. For proof, here are his comments about Fox television's Tim McCarver.

This is dead on; I can only add one thing. During Game 2, the ever-obvious Mr. McCarver noted, "once you drop the bat, baserunning is the most important element for scoring runs." Really?! Why didn't I think of that? I mean, I've only watched several thousand baseball games in my life; why didn't such a precise observation ever spring to my lips when enlightening The Sole Heir about the finer points of our National Pastime?

Maybe it's because, once you drop the bat, baserunning is the only element for scoring runs, dumb ass. Offense in baseball consists of two elements:
1. Hit the ball.
2. Run the bases.

Disgusting and incurable diseases abound. There are drug-resistant viruses and flesh eating bacteria. Do you expect me to believe there isn't permanently disabling, incurable disease that only attacks vocal chords? A just and merciful God would have given it to McCarver years ago, if He really answered prayers.

Unless McCarver works for a different employer. Let's think about this. He works for Fox, which is owned by Rupert Murdoch. We might be onto something here.

Like Things Aren't Bad Enough in California

President Bush today dispatched Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff and FEMA Administrator David Paulson to Southern California to aid with the wildfires that have devastated the area for several days. Suicide hotlines were overwhelmed with calls when word of the impending “assistance” leaked.

The Bush Administration made it clear that the lessons learned from Hurricane Katrina will be used to assist California. Boats are on the way now to shuttle displaced persons to the Superdome.

An Organized Crime

There’s an ad making the rounds on the local sports station with a disturbing undercurrent about the current state of America. The ad promises a “garage organization system” uniquely designed for you. Call today, and they’ll take $500 off.

How much do they charge to clean your garage if they can lop off five Benjamins and still make money? I know, you’re thinking the same thing Craze and The Sole Heir thought. “They do more than just clean your garage.” Okay, so they’ll take $500 off for cleaning your garage and building shelves.

Someone willing to spend that kind of money to make sure there’s room in the garage for their car needs a lot more than a “garage organization system.” They need behavior modification. Without it, the garage organization company will just be back next year. If they really want to help these people, they’d have some system to keep their customers away from yard sales. Something like, if you leave the house on a Saturday morning, the kids stay with us. You come back empty-handed, the kids can come home.

There’s a much easier way to handle this. The next time you think of putting something in the garage, make sure the car’s in there first.

Worse and Worse

I can't begin to tell you how the current government disgusts me. Dahlia Lithwick gives you an idea of why here.

The Truth Hurts

The mainstream media may finally have a clue. Read Frank Rich's dead-on column about our conduct in Iraq and at home. I will gleefully debate anyone who disagrees, so long as you don't do it anonymously.

Meanies and Hypocrites

I'd been thinking about writing something about SCHIP and what it said about "true" conservatives, but E.J. Dionne beat me to it here.

Good Riddance (Finally)

I’m a simple man, with simple tastes. Working class background. No extravagant vacations or fancy cars. Meat and potatoes. Coke, not Pepsi. Among my unadorned joys is watching the New York Yankees lose. I enjoy seeing the Yankees lose so much that the city of Cleveland (aka The Mistake By the Lake) has even redeemed itself in my eyes until the Browns play the Steelers again.

With apologies to the Low Brass Correspondent (a dear friend and Yankee fan, proving the two aren’t mutually exclusive), what makes it so much fun to see the Yankees lose is the attitude of Yankee management and fans that it is their divine right to win every year. In their eyes, no one has ever beaten the Yankees. The managers makes a bad decision. A player, or players, stink, or choke. Bad umpiring.

Yankee owner George Steinbrenner sank to a new low this week. Forget about the threat to fire Joe Torre if the Yanks didn’t win. Big Stein has made this threat every year since 2001, so no one but the media got too worked up.

The new low came when the SOB (Senile Old Bastard) said Game Two should have been stopped when his rookie pitcher, Joba Chamberlain, was distracted by swarms of small, flying insects. Blaming umpire crew chief Bruce Froemming, a thirty-seven-year veteran, Big Stein promised Froemming would umpire no more Yankee games.

Huh? Last I heard, teams didn’t get to pick their umpires, and Froemming worked Games Three and Four. This is just the Yankees being the Yankees, blaming everyone and anyone for their own inability to parley a $216 million annual payroll into anything better than a wild card spot and an early playoff exit. Maybe Steinbrenner should ask who authorized paying 45-year-old Roger Clemens $18 million to pitch half a season (and not very well, at that.) Or who signed the checks for Jason Giambi, a $120 million platoon player. Or trade for Alex “The Invisible Man” Rodriguez. Sure, A-Rod hit a home run last night. Down four runs, with no one on base. He hasn’t had a playoff hit that mattered since Saddam Hussein was in charge.

Speaking of early playoff exits, the Yankees’ demise is one of few early exits this year. Last night’s game lasted four hours, three minutes. The average for all Division Series games was 3:24. Contrast this to Game Seven of the 1960 World Series, possibly the greatest baseball game ever played. Pittsburgh beat the Yankees 10-9, in a game with pitching changes and base runners galore, capped by Bill Mazeroski’s home run to lead off the ninth inning, two hours and thirty-six minutes after the game began. (Today is the forty-seventh anniversary of the glorious event, the first memory to which I can attach specifics.) The only games shorter than that so far this year are Josh Beckett’s four-hit shutout of the Angels (2:27) and the Diamondbacks’ 3–1 dispatching of the Cubs in Game One, a game in which ten hits were crushed by both teams combined.

Fox tampered with the post-season schedule to keep Games Six and Seven of the Series from falling on a Saturday and Sunday, where they draw low ratings. Maybe Fox should exercise its considerable clout within the Commissioner’s office to do something about the length of the games. Schedules are tweaked to allegedly accommodate the Eastern and Pacific time zones, but the games go on so long only the Central and Mountain folks can actually see the whole game. People in the Pacific aren’t home from work when the game begins, and those on the east coast are asleep when it ends.

This proves baseball is the single greatest creation of the mind of man. Otherwise, the skills of those in charge for the past 131 years would have run it out of business.

Happy Anniversary. Really.

Six years ago today the Burgh Correspondent and I were released from employment by The Software Company That Shall Remain Nameless or We Get No Severance. (They can't enforce that now, but even though I'm not holding a grudge, I'll be damned if I'm giving those rat bastard asshole pedophiles any free pub.) Time has shown me they actually did me a favor, which I guess I knew early on, as shown by this essay written in my pre-blog days, right after they dropped the hammer on me. (Note: I had moved out, but the divorce from Lady Voldemort had not yet gone final.)

I am not the most industrious person in the world. I hide it pretty well, having learned that most people are lazy enough that any effort at all makes you look conscientious. Beneath it all I have always had a desire to be a Man of Leisure, and I have finally achieved that goal.

My last job change brought me to a pre-IPO software company. Everything looked rosy, it was a new and open market space and we had an experienced and respected team at the top. We were shown slides of how much money people who got in early made at Microsoft, Oracle, and PeopleSoft. The sales people in the training class were secreting enough greed hormones to smother an elephant.

I am made of sterner stuff. None of this “all shake, no bake” business for me. I took what they told me with a large block of salt and put my shoulder to the grindstone and my nose to the wheel, metaphorically speaking. I hoped that I might be able to retire by the time I was fifty-five, with some conscientious saving and a little luck. Little did I know that within a mere five hundred ninety-seven days, my employer would make me a Man of Leisure.

They fired me.

I was in good company. About twenty-five per cent of the workforce got whacked. Some of them were high profile types, although I don’t think any were vice presidents. This was significant, as the ratio of employees to vice presidents before the recent blood letting was fourteen to one. Rumor has it some veeps became directors, to keep Manuel Noriega from moving in on the company like another banana republic.

I have studiously refrained from mentioning my company. I would like to say it is because I am a highly evolved human who derives no joy from denigrating others . Anyone who knows me has understands that this is not true. If I want to collect my severance, I have to refrain from making any disparaging remarks about the company, and to not divulge any company secrets or techniques.

At first I was mad about the gag order, but it’s not as strict as it sounds. We are talking about a company whose stock went from twenty-nine dollars a year ago to a low of a buck fifty-two the week I was riffed. (Note: The company has since had to engineer a reverse stock split to keep from being de-listed.) I realize the market has had a tough year, but the Titanic didn't sink that low. What insults could I possibly add to, “and Software X has lost ninety-five per cent of its value from its fifty-two week high?” They’re ugly and their mothers dress them funny? Their performance isn't insulting enough to insulate them from further damage to their reputation?

I like the company secrets bit, too. I’m sure their competitors are slavering over the chance to find out what they might be able to do to lower their value by ninety-five per cent in less than a year. Soviet Union stock did better than that. Even if the secrets were worth anything, it’s not like I ever had any training on the stuff.

Training for the pre-sales technical staff consisted on semi-annual meetings where we would all sit in a room for a day and marketing people would show us what the new product did. We could then play with it, hands-on, for an hour and a half if we were lucky, although at least half of that time was spent installing it and working around issues the marketing folks hadn't discovered.

It has occurred to me that some of you might not know what a pre-sales technical person does. It’s simple. Our role is to tell the prospective customer that what he thinks he heard the salesman say isn't exactly what the salesman meant without calling the salesman a liar to his face. It’s a job calling for enormous tact and diplomatic aplomb. Guess how good I was at it?

Those of you who have been paying close attention may detect a note of bitterness in this essay. Not really. They may have done me a favor. Several people have been telling me that I should look for something else for months now. I have been reluctant to look for reasons of my own.

First, I've had too much going on. Doing battle with Lady Voldemort has been a full time job, not unlike doing your own dental work while wearing mittens. There’s only so much energy to go around for anyone. The stress of looking for and starting a new job could wait.

It could wait indefinitely, as far as I was concerned. I was tired of changing jobs. The years of being a freelance musician have taken their toll. I want to be some place where I will know how things work, who to call for what, and how to get things done. Not the stuff they teach you in Orientation, but how things really get done. That only comes with time.

In fairness, it should also be pointed out that I was paid very well for what I did. My immediate working environment, as far as my boss and most of my peers were concerned, was excellent. I was allowed to do my thing in my own particular idiom. There was no urgency to leave, whether staying was a good idea or not.

Now I have to get busy. I have been granted an opportunity with very little downside. The Desert Flower Correspondent told me that I should view myself as uniquely free right now. I am all but rid of Lady Voldemort. I have some money in the bank, and my total indebtedness is about $800 on a credit card. I own my car, and I am not tied to a house. My health is good, and my age is not a major concern. I can do whatever I want.

What I want is to be a Man of Leisure. The problem is that I can’t afford it for too long right now. I’ve done a budget and I’m good for at least three months without having to dip into savings, unless I want some training or to relieve my stress with daily “therapeutic” massages. There are lots of daytime baseball playoff games over the next couple of weeks. I can spend some of the time between innings using some of my free brain cycles to pick winning lottery numbers.

He Who Hesitates is Lost

I've been thinking just about exactly this for several days, but several distractions like work and family obligations Kept me from getting to it. Many thinks to the New York Times for writing almost exactly what I would have said, if a little dryer.

Who's in Charge Here?

It’s been a while since I bashed Hapless Harry Reid. This week’s excuse was another defeat in the Senate. Not that I’ll post something to rip Harry every time he gets rolled by the Republicans. I have a full-time job already.

Harry finds himself, and the party that has lashed its ambitions to his incompetence, stuck in what may be a unique situation in American politics: he can’t do anything worth doing without sixty votes. The Republicans threaten to filibuster anything he might try, so the usual “majority rules” principle doesn’t apply.

While the Republicans may be superior parliamentarians, they’re still fascists. This week they quashed a bill that would have restored habeas corpus, a right that had withstood all manner of threats from 1215 till last year’s passage of the Military Commission Act.

Before my Republican friends get their glands on their shoulders over the term “fascists,” let’s examine the evidence. Habeas isn’t one of those “penumbra” rights they claim were invented by the Warren Court and its heirs, like Miranda or abortions. It’s a fundamental right of a free society. Latin for, “produce the body,” it’s the principle through which someone held by the government can demand to hear the charges against him, or be set free. To say anyone can be held indefinitely, without charge, is patently anti-American. It’s the kind of thing the Nazis would have done, and did. Ergo, fascists.

Here’s the question I can’t answer: if the Republicans can hold up the restoration of habeas corpus with the threat of a debate, why didn’t Harry save it that way in the first place? Walk up to then-Majority Leader Bill Frist and say, “Habeas stays, or we’ll shut the whole operation down.” Probably because he was afraid Frist would invoke the dreaded “nuclear option,” thus rendering filibuster obsolete. Mitch McConnell, the current Minority Leader, doesn’t have that fear. He’s already bluffed Harry into a ghost filibuster with every bill.

Here’s a suggestion: let them filibuster. Shut down the whole operation. It’s not like the Senate is accomplishing anything, anyway. If you’re going to get nothing done because the Republicans are being obstructionist, let the world see how obstructionist they really are. Losing votes is the quickest way to make a majority look like a minority with a big mouth, while allowing the minority with a big mouth govern as though they were the majority.

Enough should have been enough a long time ago.

Dogs and Ponies

It wouldn’t be so bad for George Bush to lie every time he opens his mouth if it wasn’t so obvious that he doesn’t care that you know he’s lying. Last week’s clumsily choreographed events in Washington are another episode in the continuing saga of the Bush Administartion’s remake of The Man Who Would Be King.

General David Petraeus and Ambassador Ryan Crocker spent Monday and Tuesday on Capitol Hill, testifying under oath their “reports” were not vetted or aided by the White House. This might have played better had Bush not announced his agreement with Petraeus’s recommendation to draw down our forces in Iraq before the general was even finished talking about it.

Salient fact: there’s no drawdown. The “surge” was supposed to be temporary. The troops coming are coming out on almost exactly the same timeline they would have originally. Extending them wasn’t really an option, as the Joint Chiefs of Staff are near mutiny now over the tattered state that passes for military readiness. Claiming credit for bringing them out without replacing them is a hollow truth; there are no troops to replace them with.

Much of Petraeus’s testimony alludes to improved conditions that allow him to send troops home, contradicting a recent audit by the Government Accountability Office. Ah, but, the GAO data is five to nine weeks older than what Petraeus brought forward. Things are completely different now, wink wink, nudge nudge.

On Thursday, Bush made a televised address to announce his new “return on success,” initiative, touting accomplishments that contradicted his own recent statements. Petraeus set him up nicely – if, of course, coincidentally, since no coordination was taking place – by stating in a media interview hours earlier that Iraq should reach a state of “sustainable security” by June 2009. Was this something he came up with on Wednesday? It must be, since he said nothing positive about the prospect of “sustainable security” while on Capitol Hill, unless he mentioned it to Larry Craig in the men’s room.

The parallels between Iraq and Vietnam grow greater by the day. Petraeus occupied a seat eerily similar to one William Westmoreland sat in forty years ago, being asked the same questions. “How long?” “Are we winning?” And the answers, while phrased with forty years of marketing savvy behind them, served the same purpose: to buy time. Keep the money coming. Keep the war more alive than the thirty-eight hundred who have come home in boxes.

We support a regime no more legitimate than the Diem government in South Vietnam. Bush has spoken of the bloodbath that resulted when we left Vietnam, and how he will avoid the same result here. Left unsaid was how much of that bloodbath was the result of our own actions: destabilizing the Cambodian government, allowing the Khmer Rouge to take over and slaughter millions of their own citizens, until the Vietnamese came in and took over themselves. Had we actually used Bush’s standard in Vietnam, we’d still be there, with over 100,000 names on The Wall.

The analogy to look at is Yugoslavia, where another strong dictator (Tito) kept bitter ethnic hatreds submerged through his own iron hand, and by providing a common enemy to the various factions. Yugoslavia fell apart into civil war, ethnic cleansing, and more new countries than anyone outside the State Department can keep track of. Things got sorted out there, but only after much violence that had been repressed found its way to the surface, and with the support and disinterested supervision of the United Nations and NATO.

Bush’s pronounced intention of buying time for the Iraqi government to get its act together is disingenuous to the point of perjury. He’s buying time to get his own ass out, to allow someone to make the inevitable departure so he can claim they “lost” Iraq. As for his alleged desire to avoid another Vietnam, it’s too late. Better to avoid another Yugoslavia, which can best be done by eliminating the factions’ current common enemy: us.

Maher vs. Clinton - No Contest

Slate Magazine recently held what it called a Democratic Mash-up, a form of online debate. The following came from John Dickerson’s follow-up article describing the winners and losers. Click here for the full article.

Press critics swarm after every debate with a list of the zingers and truth-exposing questions they would ask if only they had the chance. They assume that merely asking the question will get the desired answer. Bill Maher asked a sensible right-between-the-eyes question of Hillary Clinton about her vote to authorize the use of force in Iraq: "Sen. Clinton, all the senators here, except Sen. Obama, voted for the Iraq resolution in 2002, saying that their decision was based on intelligence that they believed to be accurate at the time. In other words, George Bush fooled you. Why should Americans vote for someone who can be fooled by George Bush?" This was a great question, and Sen. Clinton's answer was nearly identical to the one she has given so many times before in discussing her Iraq vote. Sometimes a great question doesn't get you any closer to a deeper answer.

Heroism in Government

Somewhere there must be a more craven, spineless, and detestable job than member of the United States House of Representatives. If so, it occupies a rung so low illegal immigrants won’t do it. Only lawyers and MBAs need apply.

General David Petraeus and Ambassador Ryan Crocker made the rounds of the House and Senate this week to deliver their much anticipated “report” on the status of Iraq. There were few surprises, as they painted a picture optimistic enough to allow hawks to roll out the predictable “stay the course” rhetoric, while staying on the safe side of what can be said under oath.

My day job prevented me from listening during the day, so I caught as much as I could stand in the car after work. Fortunately, the drive took only about an hour. Fully half of the “questioners” I heard – regardless of which side of the aisle they occupied – failed to ask a question. Ass coverings in the form of speeches abounded. Democrats, sensitive to charges they do not sufficiently support the troops, praised Petraeus as though he was Eisenhower, Grant, and MacArthur reincarnated in one package. Republicans – who really don’t support the troops except with verbiage, but are impervious to criticism – lobbed him softballs all day. Petraeus’s contention that he had not vetted or coordinated his testimony would have been more convincing had he not answered several Republican questions before they were asked.

The Senate was better: less overt partisanship, more probing questions. It doesn’t matter; nothing will change, except the level of vitriol directed at Democrats by those who don’t think they’re moving fast enough. They’re not moving fast enough, but it’s not because they think the war is accomplishing anything. It’s because they’re Democrats, who live their lives afraid that anything they say, do, or think will offend someone, somewhere, even if that person was no more likely to vote Democratic than George Bush is to win the Nobel Peace prize.

Republicans, good for so long at framing any political discussion, have missed the boat one hundred eighty degrees. It’s not that the Democrats lack the courage to stay in Iraq. The Democrats lack the courage to leave.

Be Careful What You Ask For

We've all heard about the "General Betray Us" ad put out by MoveOn.org. I've been on their mailing list for some time, until tonight, when they asked those of us on the list what we thought of the ad, and provided a link with which we could email directly to their president Eli Pariser.

Most of you already know better than to do something stupid and then dare The Home Office to say something about it. Below is my letter to Mr. Pariser:

Dear Mr. Pariser,

It pains me to write this, as I agree with virtually all of MoveOn’s positions. I have also told my significant other that, while I’m not a marcher, I’d love to find an organization for which I could do some writing. I see you’re currently looking for people to do just that, Unfortunately, I am so disgusted with your organization right now, I have to pass.

The timing of the Petraeus ad was abominable. Taking a decorated and respected member of the armed services to task in such a disrespectful and sophomoric manner on the eve of this week’s hearings served no purpose other than to give Republicans a diversion to taunt the Democrats with, when all attention should have been on his testimony. Petraeus is not the architect of this failed policy; your ad merely shot the messenger, doing his job as he saw fit. Like you, I strongly disagree with him, and I feel the Bush Administration has used him shamelessly. Still, to vilify the tactician for the mistakes of the strategist is to blame the quarterback for calling the wrong play when the coach’s faulty game plan already has the team down by forty points.

Shame on MoveOn for sinking to the level of Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter, taking the cheap and gratuitous shot when more focused action was demanded. I’ll be removing myself from your email list tonight.

Stalling Your Career

The Burgh Correspondent asked what the big deal was about the Senator Larry Craig fiasco, wondering if it might have just been a misunderstanding over needing more toilet paper. I'm not sure how I feel about being her go-to guy on cruising etiquette, but I was able to summon up a few thoughts.

I don’t know a lot about the cruising habits of homosexuals in restrooms, but I expect that cop does. It’s his job. (I wonder who he pissed off to get that gig.)

What I do know is this:

1. Guys who need toilet paper don’t use hand gestures to request it; we ask.
2. Those were either really tight stalls, or he has a wider stance than Shaquille O’Neal.
3. After six or seven weeks of contemplation, the distinguished Senator from Idaho pled guilty.
4. He didn’t mention it to anyone, which an innocent man would have done.
5. Rumors have floated around him 25 years, ever since he went out of his way to profess his innocence during a congressional page scandal that no one accused him of being involved in.
6. While no one (except maybe a few of his conservative peers) cares that he’s gay, a lot of people care that he’s a hypocritical asshole, who would happily vote in favor of public flogging for someone (else) convicted of his offense.

I just wish this had taken place closer to the election, so a few more of his holier than thou conservative brethren could go down the tubes with him.

An Elegant Solution to a Weighty Problem

Tomorrow is my quarterly visit to the doctor. My cholesterol will be checked, as will my liver, to make sure the cholesterol medication isn’t killing me faster than the cholesterol. It’s also time for the annual “Senator Larry Craig does this every day but he’s not gay” digital prostate exam.

The prostate I can live with. Too many people have called me an asshole for too long for me to take offense. It’s the damned cholesterol and the dance my doctor and I will go through that’s wearing thin.

DOCTOR: Hmm, weight’s still up at 245.

ME: Yep. I’ve been meaning to exercise, but things have been busy. Work schedule’s bad, no time for walks, eating on the run sometimes.

DOCTOR: I know it’s tough, but those triglycerides are still high. Need to cut back on the sweets. Or there’s another prescription I can write that could help there.

That’s enough. I already take enough drugs every morning that I don’t feel as though I’m skipping breakfast; I’m full.

Here’s my gripe. I don’t smoke, do unprescribed drugs, or engage in indiscriminate and/or risky sexual behavior. My total alcohol intake is about a case of beer a year. The house bottle of Jack Daniel’s lasts, on average, three years. I drink no coffee, decaffeinated tea, and caffeine-free Coke when it’s available. I have one vice. (Aside from the asshole thing noted above.) I like chocolate. Sweets in general, but especially chocolate. It’s my preferred form of stress relief.

When I get stressed, I don’t come home, do a couple of lines of coke, drink half a bottle of Jack, and shove the Crazy Like Me Correspondent around. I eat a Hershey bar. With almonds, if I feel like indulging myself. Sometimes, after a really tough day of wallowing in the trough of government waste and largesse, I need some ice cream, or even – dare I say it? – a milkshake.

Is that so bad? Should I have to die for it? Maybe Congress, instead of whoring themselves out to the highest bidder, should try doing something that will benefit everyone for a change. Maybe a program, like they have for polluters, where one company’s unused credits can be bought by a worse polluter. “Well, he doesn’t smoke or drink, and he stays clear of hookers. Okay, half a dozen Oreos.”

Is that too much to ask?

Some May Little Note Nor Long Remember August 22, But She Will

Wednesday, August 22, 2007 is a day The Sole Heir will not soon forget.

She opened by not just passing her driver’s test on the first try, but getting a license photo she likes. Granted, she photographs well, but she’ll learn as time goes on that the Maryland MVA hires photographers who were fired by the Department of Corrections for taking unflattering mug shots.

Next came another special occasion: her first major league doubleheader. Seeing two games for the price of one is a cherished memory of my adolescence. Twin bills are rare now, unless they clear the yard after Game One so they can resell the seats for Game Two. Seeing two games for the price of one was a new experience for her. She was jazzed.

I had planned to watch at least part of the games so we could compare notes. I turned on the game, saw they were losing 14-3, and went upstairs to read before chancing Game Two.

Five minutes later the phone rang.

SOLE HEIR: Are you watching the game?

ME: I was going to, but I saw it was 14-3, Texas.

SOLE HEIR: Well, it’s 16-3 now. (Uproar drowns out voice. I hear her shouting to her mother, “Was that a grand slam?”) They just hit another grand slam. It’s 20-3.

She called back between games to ask if I could find out whether losing 30-3 was a record. (It was, for the American League. In the National League, where they still play real baseball as God intended for it to be played, the record for runs in a game is 36.)

She drove herself to school the next day on three hours sleep. Not easily daunted, she called me Friday morning to ask about the dinner out I promised her for passing her test.

“Am I limited to the usual list of restaurants?” she said.

“What do you have in mind?” I said, visions of Morton’s or The Palm dancing through my head.

“How about Camden Yards?”

So we went to the game again Friday night. And the Os lost again. She went back today with her mother, as her birthday gift for a friend. They lost all four game she saw this week. That means it will be at least the day after tomorrow before she starts politicking to go to another game. I say this with great confidence, because the Birds are off tomorrow.

That’s my girl.

Bush, Iraq and Vietnam

Our Fearless Leader, the great and powerful George Dubya “Bring it On” Bush, has reached another low in puzzling and scary statements. This week he said we need to stay in Iraq because it’s like Vietnam, and "One unmistakable legacy of Vietnam is that the price of America's withdrawal was paid by millions of innocent citizens…”

Gee, Dubya, we’ve only been telling you Iraq is like Vietnam for three years now. Nice to see you’re finally with the program. Except, he’s not. Read his statement again. In Bushland, our biggest mistake in Vietnam was not staying long enough.

Let’s not forget, George W. Bush and Dick Cheney combined spent no more time in Vietnam than I did. Only difference was, I was only twelve years old at the time of the Tet Offensive. The saddest part is that we’ve reached a point where it’s no longer disappointing for either of them to such statements. It’s just business as usual.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation, Part II

You know how you can tell you’ve had a great vacation? When you’re paying the bills with a smile on your face because reading the credit card statement reminds you of what you did.

Here’s the gas we bought on the way to the tour of Camden Yards. Dinner at Famous Dave’s. The boat ride on the Potomac. Lunch at the Smithsonian. The liquor store to buy the beer for the cookout. Souvenir shop at the Football Hall of Fame.

My brother has his receipts; so do my parents. Nothing special. No safaris, or hang gliding onto a glacier. No one rappelled into the Grand Canyon, though I suspect my younger niece might be game if someone put it to her in the right way.

It was just three generations of a family, ranging in age from twelve to eighty, who, unlike the great majority of families, genuinely enjoy each others’ company.

We don’t get together as often as we’d like. The Ancestral Correspondents still live in the family estate in western Pennsylvania. The Sibling Correspondent and his family are in Colorado. That’s a lot of ground to cover for a casual visit. It’s not nearly so far as you might think, though; not when everyone involved knows that a phone call would bring any one of us to do whatever was needed. There are families living across the street from each other who can’t say that.

You can’t get any closer.

Damn, that was fun.