Aloha, Molly Ivins. She was one of the first to call a bush a shrub. She had our President pegged as a Pinhead while he was just a Pinhead of a Governor. She was a straight shooter, whether she was writing about politics or the disease that finally caught up to her. "I'm sorry to say (cancer) can kill you but it doesn't make you a better person," she said in an interview with the San Antonio Express-News in September, the same month cancer claimed her friend former Governor Ann Richards.
She was even less afraid of being labeled a liberal: "Even I felt sorry for Richard Nixon when he left; there's nothing you can do about being born liberal — fish gotta swim and hearts gotta bleed." From November, 2003: "The day President Clinton tried to take out Osama bin Laden with a missile strike, every right-winger in America said it was a case of 'wag the dog.' He was supposedly trying to divert our attention from the much more breathtakingly important and serious matter of Monica Lewinsky. And who did he think he was to make us focus on some piffle like bin Laden?"
You've got to love a gal who will use a word like "piffle." And now, alas, her voice has been stilled. We eagerly await another to rise and rail at the injustices of the world, and poke holes in the gasbags that push the buttons and pull the strings. Until then, "We are the people who run this country. We are the deciders. And every single day, every single one of us needs to step outside and take some action to help stop this war. We need people in the streets, banging pots and pans and demanding, 'Stop it, now!'"
Aloha, Molly, and vaya con Dios.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
That Was No Pick!
There's trouble brewing in my household. I haven't wanted to say anything, because I have so very much respect for my son and what he stands for. We agree on so much, and that's why I hate to see a little thing like a Super Bowl come between us.
As a matter of record, the boy grew up in an environment that gave him little or no choice as to who his favorite football team would be. He also had the excruciatingly good fortune to be born into a world in which the Denver Broncos actually won Super Bowls. Not just one - two. For the first two years of his life, my son knew only one world champion: the team of his father and his father before him. Not that it made a vast difference in his world, save the Terrell Davis Beanie Baby in his crib and his father's insistence that he wear his tiny John Elway jersey on game days. That was nine seasons ago. Now he really believes this stuff.
Which brings us to this year's big game. We both felt the Broncos' season slip away near the end of the year, and we both started eyeing the possible playoff teams. He liked the Saints because he has a classmate who used to live in New Orleans. He liked the Jets because he likes jets. When it came down to just two teams, I kept my mouth shut, and listened to him reason through his pick: "The Broncos' colors are blue and orange, and Cal's mascot is a bear, so I'm going to go with the Bears." For just a moment, it occurred to me to give him the "root the conference" line, then I thought better of it. I've lived a happy life where my son thinks Bruce is the Boss and John Elway is the greatest quarterback that ever played and cheeseburgers are haute cuisine. For nine years I've had my way with him. Now it's his turn. I wonder how many points he wants on that spread.
As a matter of record, the boy grew up in an environment that gave him little or no choice as to who his favorite football team would be. He also had the excruciatingly good fortune to be born into a world in which the Denver Broncos actually won Super Bowls. Not just one - two. For the first two years of his life, my son knew only one world champion: the team of his father and his father before him. Not that it made a vast difference in his world, save the Terrell Davis Beanie Baby in his crib and his father's insistence that he wear his tiny John Elway jersey on game days. That was nine seasons ago. Now he really believes this stuff.
Which brings us to this year's big game. We both felt the Broncos' season slip away near the end of the year, and we both started eyeing the possible playoff teams. He liked the Saints because he has a classmate who used to live in New Orleans. He liked the Jets because he likes jets. When it came down to just two teams, I kept my mouth shut, and listened to him reason through his pick: "The Broncos' colors are blue and orange, and Cal's mascot is a bear, so I'm going to go with the Bears." For just a moment, it occurred to me to give him the "root the conference" line, then I thought better of it. I've lived a happy life where my son thinks Bruce is the Boss and John Elway is the greatest quarterback that ever played and cheeseburgers are haute cuisine. For nine years I've had my way with him. Now it's his turn. I wonder how many points he wants on that spread.
Monday, January 29, 2007
The Voice Of Reason
I know I brought this on myself. I could have used, as some sort of screening process before purchasing, a quick call to the customer service center of the cell phone company that I chose. To begin with, I should say that I avoid interactions with customer service representatives like the plague, since I generally feel that any angst or ennui that I might bring to them is wholly without merit, at least as far as that individual is concerned. Usually I begin these interactions with the following disclaimer: "I know that you have nothing personally to do with the difficulty or problem that I am about to ask you to resolve, but you are about to receive the stress and frustration from my entire day - including the part that your company has played a part in. Now it's your turn to turn that attitude around."
That's where this cell phone thing began. When I bought my cell phone, I barely noticed that it was from Virgin, a very hip company owned by an amateur hot air balloonist. This company is so hip, that it has a persona for the initial customer service interactions when you call their 800 number. "Simone" is perhaps just a little too cool for words, at least intelligible ones. I suspect that her hope is to set you as a user at ease with her breezy, urban tone. I confess - if I am going to talk to a computer, I want it to sound like Stephen Hawking. I am no fan of this faux conversation that I am asked to have with a voice recognition machine. I know that simply repeating "agent" or "operator" will usually push me through the maze just as soon as pounding on the * or # key, but what I'm after is my pound of flesh. I want that pure chewing satisfaction of getting an obsequious breathing entity to respond to my trivial concerns.
Once I did get through to a human being, a very pleasant woman whose name was Sharon (not too hip), she quickly resolved my issues and did what a good customer service representative should do: She made me feel like I had a right to call her anytime with my problems - as they related to my cell phone service. And before I hung up, I asked her if she had heard any complaints about her electronic doppelganger. She said that she had a tally sheet next to her desk on which she kept track of customers who had trouble "relating" to "Simone." She told me that she would happily add me to an ever-expanding list. Thank you, Sharon, and I hope you have a wonderful evening.
That's where this cell phone thing began. When I bought my cell phone, I barely noticed that it was from Virgin, a very hip company owned by an amateur hot air balloonist. This company is so hip, that it has a persona for the initial customer service interactions when you call their 800 number. "Simone" is perhaps just a little too cool for words, at least intelligible ones. I suspect that her hope is to set you as a user at ease with her breezy, urban tone. I confess - if I am going to talk to a computer, I want it to sound like Stephen Hawking. I am no fan of this faux conversation that I am asked to have with a voice recognition machine. I know that simply repeating "agent" or "operator" will usually push me through the maze just as soon as pounding on the * or # key, but what I'm after is my pound of flesh. I want that pure chewing satisfaction of getting an obsequious breathing entity to respond to my trivial concerns.
Once I did get through to a human being, a very pleasant woman whose name was Sharon (not too hip), she quickly resolved my issues and did what a good customer service representative should do: She made me feel like I had a right to call her anytime with my problems - as they related to my cell phone service. And before I hung up, I asked her if she had heard any complaints about her electronic doppelganger. She said that she had a tally sheet next to her desk on which she kept track of customers who had trouble "relating" to "Simone." She told me that she would happily add me to an ever-expanding list. Thank you, Sharon, and I hope you have a wonderful evening.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Caution: Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery Or Television
I'm still suffering the after effects of a cold. I know this because I laid in bed with my eyes glazing over to the hypnotic sounds of Chuck Woolery's voice, enticing me to buy property in White Bluffs, Texas. To be fair, he wasn't giving me a hard sell. He wanted me to come out and visit - an all-expenses paid trip for two, just eighty short miles from the Dallas, Fort Worth metro area. Deluxe hotel accommodations, air fare, and a "no-pressure" tour of what has to be the fastest growing vacation and resort community in the United States.
Luckily, the remote control was in my left hand, and the phone was across the room. It made so very simple sense: Just $399 a month would ensure me my lot, and I could pick my time to build - a year from now, or five years, even ten years from now. Did you know that the Texas State Golf Championships were held in White Bluffs for the past three years running? I didn't know that Texas had a state golf championship before I started watching. As an owner, I would be allowed up to thirty-six rounds of golf each year - for FREE! Imagine my shock and disbelief.
I know what you're thinking: Isn't White Bluffs a little isolated? That's part of its charm, and still withing easy driving distance of the cultural mecca that is Dallas/Fort Worth. It's only seventeen miles from scenic, historical Hillboro - or is that Hillsboro? They do mention an outlet mall. From the Hillsboro, Texas website: "A sightseeing must! This 1890's structure flamboyantly combines architectural accents of Classical Revival, Italianate, and French Second Empire.
The old Saturday Evening Post called it 'a monstrosity.' But Harper's described it as 'like an outstanding cathedral.' For years tourists have been coming to Hillsboro to see for themselves. You be the judge..."
Chuck told me, and anyone else who happened to be trapped in his real estate vortex, that home sites would be sold on a first-come, first-serve basis. My nerves were jangled and I could feel myself teetering on the brink of dialing the 800 number, or was it just the cough syrup kicking in? Then somewhere, through the haze came a clear and confident voice: "Change the channel, Dave." I blinked once, twice. "You do have the remote, don't you?" It was my wife, the calm voice of reason. The spell was broken. I moved on up the dial to "Pageant School: Becoming Miss America." Ah, sweet relief.
Luckily, the remote control was in my left hand, and the phone was across the room. It made so very simple sense: Just $399 a month would ensure me my lot, and I could pick my time to build - a year from now, or five years, even ten years from now. Did you know that the Texas State Golf Championships were held in White Bluffs for the past three years running? I didn't know that Texas had a state golf championship before I started watching. As an owner, I would be allowed up to thirty-six rounds of golf each year - for FREE! Imagine my shock and disbelief.
I know what you're thinking: Isn't White Bluffs a little isolated? That's part of its charm, and still withing easy driving distance of the cultural mecca that is Dallas/Fort Worth. It's only seventeen miles from scenic, historical Hillboro - or is that Hillsboro? They do mention an outlet mall. From the Hillsboro, Texas website: "A sightseeing must! This 1890's structure flamboyantly combines architectural accents of Classical Revival, Italianate, and French Second Empire.
The old Saturday Evening Post called it 'a monstrosity.' But Harper's described it as 'like an outstanding cathedral.' For years tourists have been coming to Hillsboro to see for themselves. You be the judge..."
Chuck told me, and anyone else who happened to be trapped in his real estate vortex, that home sites would be sold on a first-come, first-serve basis. My nerves were jangled and I could feel myself teetering on the brink of dialing the 800 number, or was it just the cough syrup kicking in? Then somewhere, through the haze came a clear and confident voice: "Change the channel, Dave." I blinked once, twice. "You do have the remote, don't you?" It was my wife, the calm voice of reason. The spell was broken. I moved on up the dial to "Pageant School: Becoming Miss America." Ah, sweet relief.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
The Power Of The Manipulated Press
Remember the good old 1970's? Foghat, The Carol Burnett Show, Reggie Jackson, Viet Nam, Nixon's Enemies List? If you don't, you can always turn on TV Land or download a few choice tunes - or you could take a look at the testimony from "Dick" Cheney's former top press assistant, Cathie Martin.
Testifying at "Scooter" Libby's trial, Ms. Martin described the rating of certain journalists as friends to favor and critics to freeze out. The most pressing example comes from the story of ex-ambassador Joseph Wilson, who happened to be married to a CIA agent. His wife's unit at the CIA had sent him to Niger in 2002 to check a report Iraq was buying uranium for nuclear weapons. Cheney and the departments of State and Defense wanted to verify that. Wilson thought he had debunked the report, but Bush mentioned it anyway in his State of the Union address in 2003. The story helped justify war with Iraq.
Wilson claimed Cheney's questions prompted his trip and Cheney should have received his report long before Bush spoke. Wilson's charges first surfaced, attributed to an unnamed ex-ambassador, in Nicholas Kristof's New York Times column. But Martin testified she felt no urgency to set him straight because Kristof "attacked us, our administration fairly regularly." The liberal bastion of the media, the New York Times, had made the list.
But the questions wouldn't stop. It was decided that CIA Director George Tenet would issue a statement taking the blame for allowing Bush to mention the Niger story. Cheney and Libby worried Tenet would not go far enough to distance the vice president from the whole mess.
You may remember George Tenet as the recipient of the Medal of Freedom. Who resigned in disgrace. And that creaking sound you hear is "Scooter" twisting in the wind.
Testifying at "Scooter" Libby's trial, Ms. Martin described the rating of certain journalists as friends to favor and critics to freeze out. The most pressing example comes from the story of ex-ambassador Joseph Wilson, who happened to be married to a CIA agent. His wife's unit at the CIA had sent him to Niger in 2002 to check a report Iraq was buying uranium for nuclear weapons. Cheney and the departments of State and Defense wanted to verify that. Wilson thought he had debunked the report, but Bush mentioned it anyway in his State of the Union address in 2003. The story helped justify war with Iraq.
Wilson claimed Cheney's questions prompted his trip and Cheney should have received his report long before Bush spoke. Wilson's charges first surfaced, attributed to an unnamed ex-ambassador, in Nicholas Kristof's New York Times column. But Martin testified she felt no urgency to set him straight because Kristof "attacked us, our administration fairly regularly." The liberal bastion of the media, the New York Times, had made the list.
But the questions wouldn't stop. It was decided that CIA Director George Tenet would issue a statement taking the blame for allowing Bush to mention the Niger story. Cheney and Libby worried Tenet would not go far enough to distance the vice president from the whole mess.
You may remember George Tenet as the recipient of the Medal of Freedom. Who resigned in disgrace. And that creaking sound you hear is "Scooter" twisting in the wind.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Humility Benchmark
President Pinhead has decided to accept the Republican version of the House resolution to set "benchmarks" for progress in his plan to send more troops to Iraq. How very noble of him. Add this to his utterance of the words "global warming" the other night in the State of the Union address, and one might think that he was becoming almost contrite. Don't worry, it won't last long.
"He said, 'I have faith in the leaders to craft a proposal, because I know in their hearts they want this country to succeed,"' said Eric Cantor, House Republican chief deputy whip from Virginia. Once again, the question of which country is he referring to comes to mind. The one with the civil war, or the one with the massive public image problem?
The part about this that struck me closest to where I live is the "benchmark" idea. Teachers give their kids benchmark tests to document their progress. Not necessarily for the kids, but for the bureaucrats who insist that No Child wild be Left Behind. Benchmarks are the proof that we are doing our job - really. Don't we want our armed forces to be as accountable as our schools?
Pinhead had this to say after meeting for two hours with his fellow Republicans: "If failure is not an option, then it's up to the president to come up with a plan that is more likely to succeed."
While many of the president's lines drew applause, lawmakers sat in silence after he said that.
First benchmark - achieved.
"He said, 'I have faith in the leaders to craft a proposal, because I know in their hearts they want this country to succeed,"' said Eric Cantor, House Republican chief deputy whip from Virginia. Once again, the question of which country is he referring to comes to mind. The one with the civil war, or the one with the massive public image problem?
The part about this that struck me closest to where I live is the "benchmark" idea. Teachers give their kids benchmark tests to document their progress. Not necessarily for the kids, but for the bureaucrats who insist that No Child wild be Left Behind. Benchmarks are the proof that we are doing our job - really. Don't we want our armed forces to be as accountable as our schools?
Pinhead had this to say after meeting for two hours with his fellow Republicans: "If failure is not an option, then it's up to the president to come up with a plan that is more likely to succeed."
While many of the president's lines drew applause, lawmakers sat in silence after he said that.
First benchmark - achieved.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Bachelor Pad
I got home around five thirty this evening. Not too late for a Thursday, but tonight was different. Tonight I had the house to myself. I could go crazy. I could eat whatever and whenever I wanted. I could eat in the living room. I could eat in the bathroom if I got it into my head.
I could watch whatever I wanted on the television. I could pick any one of the hundreds of DVDs to look at, or just watch the extras off the ones that I never had the chance to wallow in before. Or maybe I could just pick a few CDs from my collection that don't get played much when mom and son are around. There's not much that offends my dog, so as long as I remember to feed her, I could probably even blast a little Rush through the subwoofer.
Instead I came inside and immediately set to work: Gathered the trash and recycling for the trip to the curb, started a load of laundry, went back upstairs and stripped the sheets off our bed to fill up the second load. Somewhere in there I managed to pack a lunch for tomorrow and get the rugs up off the floor to prepare for sweeping. After I vacuumed, I swept and mopped the floors, then set about replacing all the displaced furniture and dog toys. The microwave sounded and I wandered back to the living room and did in fact eat in front of the television as it played a Green Day DVD. Then it was time to bring up the laundry to be folded, and heck, why not give the dog a bath while I'm at it?
It's now almost eight o'clock. The second load of laundry is almost done. Now I'm too tired to do whatever I want.
I could watch whatever I wanted on the television. I could pick any one of the hundreds of DVDs to look at, or just watch the extras off the ones that I never had the chance to wallow in before. Or maybe I could just pick a few CDs from my collection that don't get played much when mom and son are around. There's not much that offends my dog, so as long as I remember to feed her, I could probably even blast a little Rush through the subwoofer.
Instead I came inside and immediately set to work: Gathered the trash and recycling for the trip to the curb, started a load of laundry, went back upstairs and stripped the sheets off our bed to fill up the second load. Somewhere in there I managed to pack a lunch for tomorrow and get the rugs up off the floor to prepare for sweeping. After I vacuumed, I swept and mopped the floors, then set about replacing all the displaced furniture and dog toys. The microwave sounded and I wandered back to the living room and did in fact eat in front of the television as it played a Green Day DVD. Then it was time to bring up the laundry to be folded, and heck, why not give the dog a bath while I'm at it?
It's now almost eight o'clock. The second load of laundry is almost done. Now I'm too tired to do whatever I want.
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