We are having a "safe and sane" New Year's, which means we didn't truck down to St. Petersburg as we have in the past. Instead, we had Thai take-out after watching FSU look better than expected against Kentucky, and now the Auburn-Clemson game is on.
Kentucky? In a bowl game? Playing football? And winning against FSU? Football is usually what they play waiting for basketball season to start. I can't say they looked great, but they were good enough to fend off a last-minute surge by FSU to hold onto their lead. FSU looked good enough to keep the wolves away from Bobby Bowden's front door for another year.
This has been a good year for us. We are still employed, and enjoy the work. We've had some highlights during the year to look back on. We have some major tasks to deal with in the next 4 to 6 weeks that won't be fun -- but if it was easy they wouldn't need us.
In case you have lost count, there are 55 weeks left in George Bush's occupancy of the White House. This time next year we will know who the next White House tenant is and at this point I (almost) don't care who it will be.
I could go on, but it's time to get back to the ball game. May 2008 be a good year for you, and for all of us, all around this small world.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
I'm definitely ready for a Christmas break
I'm remembering the Christmas break in college, when you'd take your last final for the quarter, drive or get a ride home, and collapse until New Year's.
I'm at that point now. I'm writing this at 1:00 a.m. because I just finished a home plumbing repair job and want to sit in a quiet house for a few minutes, knowing the job is done. Never, ever, start a plumbing job in the evening, after shutting off the water supply to the house. Never on a Friday evening. Never on the last Friday before Christmas, when your average plumber would respond to a call for help by telling me to take two aspirin and call back on January 2.
December has been one of those "joys of home ownership" months. Everything in the house seemed to come unglued or the wheels fell off. In no particular order:
The gas grill leaked gas from the hose that connects the regulator to the burners. Solution: A new tank, because the valve on the old one was defective, plus a new hose and regulator.
The pool pump, which sounded like a bucket of bolts anyway, began emitting a high-pitched whine, undoubtedly irritating the neighbors. Solution: New pump motor, which I installed myself, and a $109 repair job for a guy to come out and fix an air infiltration problem (which isn't totally fixed yet).
The fridge seemed to have a mysterious, random leak leaving small puddles of water every few days. I pulled it out to look behind it, got out the vacuum sweeper to clean up the crud that was under it . . . and the vacuum sweeper motor burned up. Solution: New vacuum sweeper. (I shoved the fridge back in place and it hasn't puddled since.)
The bathroom shower had a small drip, which brings me down to tonight. I should have saved this for January and made it a New Year's Resolution but, no, we are leaving for Boston and I didn't want it dripping while we were gone. A handle was corroded and stuck to a valve stem and I broke the stem. Solution: Not merely new washers, but new valve stems, seats, and handles to boot.
Problem saved for a New Year's Resolution: How to remove the old seats and put in the new ones. One of those tools you buy and then use once every eight or nine years is a seat removing tool. Mine didn't fit and neither did two versions bought from Lowe's, which will be returned to Lowe's tomorow.
I take a perverse pleasure in doing odd jobs around the house. What I do for a living can take months or years before anyone can see results and it doesn't get my hands dirty. When I see that a pool pump motor that I installed works and doesn't emit green sparks, or the shower doesn't drip after spending entirely too much time on it, I get Job Satisfaction. I love it.
I mowed the lawn this afternoon, too. December 21, and I'm out mowing the lawn. For Christmas, all I want is a bowl of egg nog to drink with my shoes off. I'm ready for a break.
I'm at that point now. I'm writing this at 1:00 a.m. because I just finished a home plumbing repair job and want to sit in a quiet house for a few minutes, knowing the job is done. Never, ever, start a plumbing job in the evening, after shutting off the water supply to the house. Never on a Friday evening. Never on the last Friday before Christmas, when your average plumber would respond to a call for help by telling me to take two aspirin and call back on January 2.
December has been one of those "joys of home ownership" months. Everything in the house seemed to come unglued or the wheels fell off. In no particular order:
The gas grill leaked gas from the hose that connects the regulator to the burners. Solution: A new tank, because the valve on the old one was defective, plus a new hose and regulator.
The pool pump, which sounded like a bucket of bolts anyway, began emitting a high-pitched whine, undoubtedly irritating the neighbors. Solution: New pump motor, which I installed myself, and a $109 repair job for a guy to come out and fix an air infiltration problem (which isn't totally fixed yet).
The fridge seemed to have a mysterious, random leak leaving small puddles of water every few days. I pulled it out to look behind it, got out the vacuum sweeper to clean up the crud that was under it . . . and the vacuum sweeper motor burned up. Solution: New vacuum sweeper. (I shoved the fridge back in place and it hasn't puddled since.)
The bathroom shower had a small drip, which brings me down to tonight. I should have saved this for January and made it a New Year's Resolution but, no, we are leaving for Boston and I didn't want it dripping while we were gone. A handle was corroded and stuck to a valve stem and I broke the stem. Solution: Not merely new washers, but new valve stems, seats, and handles to boot.
Problem saved for a New Year's Resolution: How to remove the old seats and put in the new ones. One of those tools you buy and then use once every eight or nine years is a seat removing tool. Mine didn't fit and neither did two versions bought from Lowe's, which will be returned to Lowe's tomorow.
I take a perverse pleasure in doing odd jobs around the house. What I do for a living can take months or years before anyone can see results and it doesn't get my hands dirty. When I see that a pool pump motor that I installed works and doesn't emit green sparks, or the shower doesn't drip after spending entirely too much time on it, I get Job Satisfaction. I love it.
I mowed the lawn this afternoon, too. December 21, and I'm out mowing the lawn. For Christmas, all I want is a bowl of egg nog to drink with my shoes off. I'm ready for a break.
Friday, December 21, 2007
happy anniversary, Mom and Dad
December 21 would have been their 66th wedding anniversary. I'm very grateful that they met and married. Otherwise, I'd have a hard time explaining myself.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
missing persons report
This is is among my parents' collection of old photos that I've been trying to decide what to do with. To make a long story short, I've found this family thanks to Google and the Internet, and I'm sending the original to the boy's cousin, who will give it to him. I'll not mention their names to protect their privacy but one huge clue was that I knew the city they came from. After the war they went back home and raised their family. I wouldn't have found them except that their synagogue's newsletter from several years ago is still on line to be found by snoops like me. Don't you love those smiles?
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
"Clearwater City" -- the worst place to retire?
The following is from America On-Line's "Finance" page, in which they list the 13 worst places to retire. The worst place? Read on:
Clearwater City, Fla.
Too Many Fellow Seniors
This Tampa Bay area hamlet has the highest percentage of seniors of any U.S. city. This 'graying' of Florida in general, has caused many retirees to change their mind and leave, fleeing the bland culture, extreme weather and high real estate and homeowner's insurance prices of Florida.
Hmmph. For openers, there is no hamlet named "Clearwater City," although there is a city named the City of Clearwater. We have a Dade City, a Panama City, even a Florida City, but not a Clearwater City by that name. When I see a blunder like that, I have to ask, do they have any clue what they are talking about?
Having lived in the City of Clearwater (off and on) since 1955, I have as much right to knock my home town as anybody, and I have done so, but let's be fair. Clearwater was a small town until the 1960's, a nice place on the Gulf to grow up and then raise a family. As it grew over the past 40 years it never pretended to be another Tampa or even another St. Petersburg, which used to have a reputation as the place to retire and listen to your arteries harden as you sat on their green benches.
Too many seniors? If your idea of retirement is to hole up in a condo populated by people of your generation who have nothing to do but sit around and bitch about everything, that's a problem. Personally, I've met a lot of people older than myself, mainly through our Methodist church, and I can tell you they are a lively bunch of positive-minded people who would make great neighbors.
If you want culture, meaning the performing arts or the fine arts, you can go to several venues in the Tampa Bay area including our own Ruth Eckerd Hall. If "bland culture" means bland architecture and plain-vanilla Midwestern social values, we plead guilty, but so does every other city and town on Florida's Gulf Coast.
Extreme weather? It gets hot in the summer, but we never see 100-degree days or even temps in the high 90's. It ain't the heat, it's the humidity, which is why God created air-conditioning on the Eighth Day. In the winter, we rarely see a "hard freeze," which is what the strawberry and citrus growers call it when it drops below 32ยบ F. for more than a few hours.
High real estate and homeowner's insurance prices? This is the only part of the piece that has any validity but none of it is unique to Clearwater. The real estate market is in the tank and prices are high, but that's a national problem. The state legislature is too deep in the pockets of the industry to make any headway on homeowner's insurance, but these problems are common throughout Florida.
In short, I've lived here for 29 of the past 52 years and will probably retire here unless I hit the Florida Lottery, and even then I'm not sure I'd blow the money on an expensive home somewhere else.
Clearwater City, Fla.
Too Many Fellow Seniors
This Tampa Bay area hamlet has the highest percentage of seniors of any U.S. city. This 'graying' of Florida in general, has caused many retirees to change their mind and leave, fleeing the bland culture, extreme weather and high real estate and homeowner's insurance prices of Florida.
Hmmph. For openers, there is no hamlet named "Clearwater City," although there is a city named the City of Clearwater. We have a Dade City, a Panama City, even a Florida City, but not a Clearwater City by that name. When I see a blunder like that, I have to ask, do they have any clue what they are talking about?
Having lived in the City of Clearwater (off and on) since 1955, I have as much right to knock my home town as anybody, and I have done so, but let's be fair. Clearwater was a small town until the 1960's, a nice place on the Gulf to grow up and then raise a family. As it grew over the past 40 years it never pretended to be another Tampa or even another St. Petersburg, which used to have a reputation as the place to retire and listen to your arteries harden as you sat on their green benches.
Too many seniors? If your idea of retirement is to hole up in a condo populated by people of your generation who have nothing to do but sit around and bitch about everything, that's a problem. Personally, I've met a lot of people older than myself, mainly through our Methodist church, and I can tell you they are a lively bunch of positive-minded people who would make great neighbors.
If you want culture, meaning the performing arts or the fine arts, you can go to several venues in the Tampa Bay area including our own Ruth Eckerd Hall. If "bland culture" means bland architecture and plain-vanilla Midwestern social values, we plead guilty, but so does every other city and town on Florida's Gulf Coast.
Extreme weather? It gets hot in the summer, but we never see 100-degree days or even temps in the high 90's. It ain't the heat, it's the humidity, which is why God created air-conditioning on the Eighth Day. In the winter, we rarely see a "hard freeze," which is what the strawberry and citrus growers call it when it drops below 32ยบ F. for more than a few hours.
High real estate and homeowner's insurance prices? This is the only part of the piece that has any validity but none of it is unique to Clearwater. The real estate market is in the tank and prices are high, but that's a national problem. The state legislature is too deep in the pockets of the industry to make any headway on homeowner's insurance, but these problems are common throughout Florida.
In short, I've lived here for 29 of the past 52 years and will probably retire here unless I hit the Florida Lottery, and even then I'm not sure I'd blow the money on an expensive home somewhere else.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Christmas, 1979
One thing Christmas does for you is bring back memories of childhood, hopefully happy memories. Here, our twins, who were four-and-a-half at the time.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
thanksgiving
We spent Thanksgiving with our son and daughter-in-law in Pennsylvania, where he's started dental school and she's holding down two jobs, one of which furthers her career as a chemist. The other is a fine place to raise some extra cash and take advantage of the employees' discount on some very nice stuff although most of it is "chick" stuff (Anthropologie). We were joined by a daughter who now lives in Boston. It was good to have half of our offspring and half of our two children-in-law (what a horrible-sounding term) with us.
They cooked a 20-pound turkey for the five of us, and about five side dishes and three pies. We had to buy a third seat on the airplane so the two of us could fit in on the flight home. Just kidding, but an empty third seat would have been nice. Fat chance, on a Thanksgiving weekend.
The weather was refreshingly cold, but damp, and the fall leaves hadn't all gone. We hiked a trail a short distance to a covered bridge and back, visited Amish country, saw the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, strolled through the Reading Terminal Market, and of course tried some Philly steak sandwiches (at Rick's - the "works"), and visited Valley Forge.
The last time I saw Valley Forge was during a Boy Scout National Jamboree, too many years ago to even think about it. That's where the American Revolution nearly died. 12,000 soldiers went in, 6,000 came out. 2,000 died, but they've found only one grave. The rest either deserted or their enlistments ran out and they went home. But, in the springtime, the ranks of the American army grew and they were turned into soldiers, not just a ragged band of "embattled farmers." The war slugged on for another three years and you know how the story turned out.
Thansgiving conjures up thoughts of family, food and friends, but I have to admit that this year I was thinking about those barefooted guys who were not summer soldiers or sunshine patriots, and feeling very thankful for their legacy.
If they hadn't succeeded, we'd all be speaking English.
They cooked a 20-pound turkey for the five of us, and about five side dishes and three pies. We had to buy a third seat on the airplane so the two of us could fit in on the flight home. Just kidding, but an empty third seat would have been nice. Fat chance, on a Thanksgiving weekend.
The weather was refreshingly cold, but damp, and the fall leaves hadn't all gone. We hiked a trail a short distance to a covered bridge and back, visited Amish country, saw the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, strolled through the Reading Terminal Market, and of course tried some Philly steak sandwiches (at Rick's - the "works"), and visited Valley Forge.
The last time I saw Valley Forge was during a Boy Scout National Jamboree, too many years ago to even think about it. That's where the American Revolution nearly died. 12,000 soldiers went in, 6,000 came out. 2,000 died, but they've found only one grave. The rest either deserted or their enlistments ran out and they went home. But, in the springtime, the ranks of the American army grew and they were turned into soldiers, not just a ragged band of "embattled farmers." The war slugged on for another three years and you know how the story turned out.
Thansgiving conjures up thoughts of family, food and friends, but I have to admit that this year I was thinking about those barefooted guys who were not summer soldiers or sunshine patriots, and feeling very thankful for their legacy.
If they hadn't succeeded, we'd all be speaking English.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
simplicity
"Simplicity is knowing when less is too little and more is too much. Simplicity = Sanity."
I found that statement in a YouTube movie, which you can see here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGHgu0ZYYZc
I've become a teacher of legal writing, at least to the extent of presenting papers to local government lawyers on the topic of writing land development regulations. A primary objective of legal writers is to make what you write understandable. If something can be misunderstood, it will be, especially if it suits someone's purpose to appear confused. Write clearly. Brevity is the essence of clarity.
I don't know the source of the quotation, above, but I'd like to use it if I revise my paper on legal writing. Knowing when to stop writing and start chopping surplusage from your sentences is an important task for any writer.
For example, knowing when to stop writing this blog entry is important.
Like, right here would be a good time to stop . . . right after I go back and cut out a few unnecessary words . . . OK, I'm done now.
I found that statement in a YouTube movie, which you can see here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGHgu0ZYYZc
I've become a teacher of legal writing, at least to the extent of presenting papers to local government lawyers on the topic of writing land development regulations. A primary objective of legal writers is to make what you write understandable. If something can be misunderstood, it will be, especially if it suits someone's purpose to appear confused. Write clearly. Brevity is the essence of clarity.
I don't know the source of the quotation, above, but I'd like to use it if I revise my paper on legal writing. Knowing when to stop writing and start chopping surplusage from your sentences is an important task for any writer.
For example, knowing when to stop writing this blog entry is important.
Like, right here would be a good time to stop . . . right after I go back and cut out a few unnecessary words . . . OK, I'm done now.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
the "dead cat bounce"
I heard an expression today that I've never heard before, not being an avid follower of the stock market until recently.
It seems that Wall Street made a dramatic jump by nearly 320 points today after four days of falling prices. The expression, "dead cat bounce," is being used as part of a question. The question is, was today only a temporary rise in what is otherwise a falling market? Was today an example of a "dead cat bounce?" ("Even a dead cat will bounce if dropped from high enough.")
Until recently I could not have cared less about such things. Some of us children of the 50's and 60's grew up thinking that retirement was going to be out of the question because we'd never live so long. Thanks to the Cold War, Khrushchev's threat to bury us, images of the mushroom cloud, the Berlin Wall, Viet Nam, and the prospect of gasoline selling for as much as a dollar a gallon (yes, chillun, it's true . . . I once bought gas for 13.9 cents a gallon in Perry, Florida, where they knew how to run a gas war), the future looked awfully bleak. Doing our duck-and-cover drills at Tarpon Springs Elementary School, we joked that if the Russians fired their ICBM's at MacDill Air Force Base, they'd miss and hit us instead. Har-de-har.
Then it dawned on many of us that we might actually live so long as to become a burden on our children, and we took new interest in 401 plans, defined-benefit plans versus defined-contribution plans, annuities, and the cost of health insurance -- all those old-folks worries. The question of whether today was just a "dead cat bounce" has real meaning . . . not as exciting as Huck Finn's cure for warts, but more meaningful.
It seems that Wall Street made a dramatic jump by nearly 320 points today after four days of falling prices. The expression, "dead cat bounce," is being used as part of a question. The question is, was today only a temporary rise in what is otherwise a falling market? Was today an example of a "dead cat bounce?" ("Even a dead cat will bounce if dropped from high enough.")
Until recently I could not have cared less about such things. Some of us children of the 50's and 60's grew up thinking that retirement was going to be out of the question because we'd never live so long. Thanks to the Cold War, Khrushchev's threat to bury us, images of the mushroom cloud, the Berlin Wall, Viet Nam, and the prospect of gasoline selling for as much as a dollar a gallon (yes, chillun, it's true . . . I once bought gas for 13.9 cents a gallon in Perry, Florida, where they knew how to run a gas war), the future looked awfully bleak. Doing our duck-and-cover drills at Tarpon Springs Elementary School, we joked that if the Russians fired their ICBM's at MacDill Air Force Base, they'd miss and hit us instead. Har-de-har.
Then it dawned on many of us that we might actually live so long as to become a burden on our children, and we took new interest in 401 plans, defined-benefit plans versus defined-contribution plans, annuities, and the cost of health insurance -- all those old-folks worries. The question of whether today was just a "dead cat bounce" has real meaning . . . not as exciting as Huck Finn's cure for warts, but more meaningful.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Kevin Coster, the musician - who woulda thunkit?
The other night I went to the park for the unveiling of the new look for the Tampa Bay Rays (see below).
One of the main features was a performance by Kevin Coster and his band.
Right, I thought. He'll play a few chords, sing along with a band in a monotone, and collect a huge fee for appearing.
Well, guess what? He and his band play a righteous, foot-stompin' brand of rock and roll. With the fancy high-tech stage setup and lighting, it wasn't always easy to figure out who was singing what and who was playing what, but the overall effect was . . . where can I buy one of their CDs? I couldn't find one of their tunes on iTunes. And, I see he is suing a promoter for failing to promote their albums, asking for millions in damages.
Note to my children: If you are looking for a Christmas idea, this is a tip. Here's another tip: I bought one of the good-quality "on-field" TB Rays baseball caps. Now I need a good quality Red Sox cap (hat size 7 5/8). As one of my observant daughters reminded me recently, I bought the cheap version in Boston some years ago, and I can't have my new TB cap looking better than a Red Sox cap.
One of the main features was a performance by Kevin Coster and his band.
Right, I thought. He'll play a few chords, sing along with a band in a monotone, and collect a huge fee for appearing.
Well, guess what? He and his band play a righteous, foot-stompin' brand of rock and roll. With the fancy high-tech stage setup and lighting, it wasn't always easy to figure out who was singing what and who was playing what, but the overall effect was . . . where can I buy one of their CDs? I couldn't find one of their tunes on iTunes. And, I see he is suing a promoter for failing to promote their albums, asking for millions in damages.
Note to my children: If you are looking for a Christmas idea, this is a tip. Here's another tip: I bought one of the good-quality "on-field" TB Rays baseball caps. Now I need a good quality Red Sox cap (hat size 7 5/8). As one of my observant daughters reminded me recently, I bought the cheap version in Boston some years ago, and I can't have my new TB cap looking better than a Red Sox cap.
The Official Site of the Tampa Bay Rays
The Rays (no longer the Devil Rays) have a new look. Check it out:
The Official Site of the Tampa Bay Rays: News
The Official Site of the Tampa Bay Rays: News
Thursday, November 08, 2007
just hobbling around
Last week I went to a conference in Nashville. One of the entertainment events was a softball game, so I signed up in advance and took my old glove.
How dangerous can slow-pitch softball be, played by a bunch of middle-aged lawyers?
Heh. It seems that these guys play softball frequently and seriously. One of them has played every week for 35 years with seven other members of his high school baseball team.
So I'm standing on first base, feeling good about hitting into short center field and driving in two runs. Short center is where the ball has always gone for me, man and boy, my whole life. I can't pull it into left field and I've never hit it over the fence but I can usually get a good single.
The batter after me was the once-a-week player I described above. He hit into deep right field . . . an inside the park homer except I'm in front of him. He's a faster runner but he was too smart to pass me. I thought he was going to carry me in. I felt like the road runner, wheels spinning, but no traction on the ground. As I'm approaching third base I felt the unmistakable twinge of a pulled hamstring, also known as a torn hamstring, and I hobbled home with the batter right behind me.
That was a week ago. I've been hobbling around with an Ace bandage from hip to knee and a fairly dramatic bruise on the back of my thigh.
I've been saying to myself all summer that I need to start walking/ jogging/ running but the weather was too danged hot. Now that the weather is cooling off, I definitely need to start walking/ jogging/ running but I'm going to have to wait another 5-6 weeks while my hamstring gets back to normal, and then it will be slow going.
Getting old isn't hell. Being soft and out of shape definitely is.
How dangerous can slow-pitch softball be, played by a bunch of middle-aged lawyers?
Heh. It seems that these guys play softball frequently and seriously. One of them has played every week for 35 years with seven other members of his high school baseball team.
So I'm standing on first base, feeling good about hitting into short center field and driving in two runs. Short center is where the ball has always gone for me, man and boy, my whole life. I can't pull it into left field and I've never hit it over the fence but I can usually get a good single.
The batter after me was the once-a-week player I described above. He hit into deep right field . . . an inside the park homer except I'm in front of him. He's a faster runner but he was too smart to pass me. I thought he was going to carry me in. I felt like the road runner, wheels spinning, but no traction on the ground. As I'm approaching third base I felt the unmistakable twinge of a pulled hamstring, also known as a torn hamstring, and I hobbled home with the batter right behind me.
That was a week ago. I've been hobbling around with an Ace bandage from hip to knee and a fairly dramatic bruise on the back of my thigh.
I've been saying to myself all summer that I need to start walking/ jogging/ running but the weather was too danged hot. Now that the weather is cooling off, I definitely need to start walking/ jogging/ running but I'm going to have to wait another 5-6 weeks while my hamstring gets back to normal, and then it will be slow going.
Getting old isn't hell. Being soft and out of shape definitely is.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
post-election blues, city style
My fair city (the one I work for) had an election yesterday. At stake were four of the eight city councilmember seats.
We've had this grumbling of the citizens, a taxpayer revolt, building up for months now. With half of the city council seats at stake, you'd think we would have had a high voter turn-out.
Not so. Would you believe only 9 percent of the 156,146 registered voters . . . a record low . . . bothered to take the few minutes required to go vote? The margin of victory was only 257 votes in one race and 611 votes in another race. The final outcome in one of the races hung in the balance until nearly midnight.
As it turned out, two "outsiders" who are critical of the mayor's fiscal policies got elected. That may be good news to disgruntled voters but the 91 percent who stayed away from the polls can claim no credit for the results. If any of them are not happy with the results they can share the blame.
One solution to the problems of our government at all levels - federal, state, and local - is to vote the rascals out. We don't do that. (In our case, the two "outsiders" who got elected were not running against incumbents.) Maybe we deserve what we get.
Ridiculous.
We've had this grumbling of the citizens, a taxpayer revolt, building up for months now. With half of the city council seats at stake, you'd think we would have had a high voter turn-out.
Not so. Would you believe only 9 percent of the 156,146 registered voters . . . a record low . . . bothered to take the few minutes required to go vote? The margin of victory was only 257 votes in one race and 611 votes in another race. The final outcome in one of the races hung in the balance until nearly midnight.
As it turned out, two "outsiders" who are critical of the mayor's fiscal policies got elected. That may be good news to disgruntled voters but the 91 percent who stayed away from the polls can claim no credit for the results. If any of them are not happy with the results they can share the blame.
One solution to the problems of our government at all levels - federal, state, and local - is to vote the rascals out. We don't do that. (In our case, the two "outsiders" who got elected were not running against incumbents.) Maybe we deserve what we get.
Ridiculous.
Monday, November 05, 2007
63 weeks
If you are reading this on Monday, November 5, count ahead 441 days. That will bring you to January 20, 2009, which will be George W. Bush's last day in office.
441 days = 63 weeks.
That sounds like a long time, and it is. You can't hold your breath that long, and 63 more weeks with Dubya in office is 63 weeks too long. But time flies whether you are having fun or not. Sixty-three weeks will glide slowly by like clockwork, or in this case maybe like a plateful of stuffed jalapenas passing through every inch of your digestive system, but both the time and the jalapenas will pass. Dubya will enjoy two more Christmases in the White House but only one more Halloween. For the rest of us, that may seem like 441 more Halloweens until he packs up and moves to Texas or wherever, but the time will come.
441 days = 63 weeks.
That sounds like a long time, and it is. You can't hold your breath that long, and 63 more weeks with Dubya in office is 63 weeks too long. But time flies whether you are having fun or not. Sixty-three weeks will glide slowly by like clockwork, or in this case maybe like a plateful of stuffed jalapenas passing through every inch of your digestive system, but both the time and the jalapenas will pass. Dubya will enjoy two more Christmases in the White House but only one more Halloween. For the rest of us, that may seem like 441 more Halloweens until he packs up and moves to Texas or wherever, but the time will come.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Happy Halloween!
This is the first time in maybe 30 years I haven't carved a pumpkin for Halloween, the consequence of being out of town until late today. I'm happy the ghosts and goblins didn't soap the windows or tip the outhouse over, or do they do that anymore? Here, a relic of an earlier year:
Thursday, October 25, 2007
writing in Bob Graham for President
For weeks now, I've been fuming about the Democratic National Committee's threat not to seat the delegates from Florida because Florida will have the effrontery, the unmitigated gall, to hold a primary in January. The Democratic candidates took a pledge not to campaign in Florida (thereby sparing us from many hours of inane commercials, thank you) but that hasn't stopped them from coming here to collect big bucks from people fool enough to contribute to their campaigns.
I've threatened to become a Republican, but I fear my parents would come back to haunt me.
I've threatened to become an Independent, but it would be easier just to stay home on primary election day. . .same effect.
Instead, I am going to write in Bob Graham's name for President and I encourage all Florida Democrats to do the same. Bob is undoubtedly among the most intelligent and most ethical of all elected officials in the past 40 years, and he's had experience as an executive, serving as Governor of Florida before being elected to the Senate.
A big write-in for Bob Graham would send several messages to the DNC and to all the Democratic candidates who consider Florida as little more than a cash cow to be milked. The least articulate message would be, you stink. A better message would be that the people of Florida, surveying the field of candidates, find them all lacking but we know Bob Graham, who set the standard, and we would be glad to send him to the White House. Yet another message would be that we find Bob Graham a better choice than Al Gore although Gore seems to be a media darling nowadays.
Writing in Bob Graham will also be better than pretending I'm a Republican or staying away from the polls on primary election day.
Some decisons make you feel better just for having made them, and this is one of them.
I've threatened to become a Republican, but I fear my parents would come back to haunt me.
I've threatened to become an Independent, but it would be easier just to stay home on primary election day. . .same effect.
Instead, I am going to write in Bob Graham's name for President and I encourage all Florida Democrats to do the same. Bob is undoubtedly among the most intelligent and most ethical of all elected officials in the past 40 years, and he's had experience as an executive, serving as Governor of Florida before being elected to the Senate.
A big write-in for Bob Graham would send several messages to the DNC and to all the Democratic candidates who consider Florida as little more than a cash cow to be milked. The least articulate message would be, you stink. A better message would be that the people of Florida, surveying the field of candidates, find them all lacking but we know Bob Graham, who set the standard, and we would be glad to send him to the White House. Yet another message would be that we find Bob Graham a better choice than Al Gore although Gore seems to be a media darling nowadays.
Writing in Bob Graham will also be better than pretending I'm a Republican or staying away from the polls on primary election day.
Some decisons make you feel better just for having made them, and this is one of them.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
