Winnipeg Herald, Manitoba, Canada*
June 2, 2006
The flood of American liberals sneaking across the border into Canada has intensified in the past week, sparking calls for increased patrols to stop the illegal immigration. The actions of President Bush are prompting the exodus among left-leaning citizens who fear they'll soon be required to hunt, pray, and agree with Bill O'Reilly.
Canadian border farmers say it's not uncommon to see dozens of sociology professors, animal-rights activists and Unitarians crossing their fields at night. "I went out to milk the cows the other day, and there was a Hollywood producer huddled in the barn," said Manitoba farmer Red Greenfield, whose acreage borders North Dakota. The producer was cold, exhausted and hungry.
"He asked me if I could spare a latte and some free-range chicken. When I said I didn't have any, he left. Didn't even get a chance to show him my screenplay, eh?"
In an effort to stop the illegal aliens, Greenfield erected higher fences, but the liberals scaled them. So he tried installing speakers that blare Rush Limbaugh cross the fields. "Not real effective," he said. "The liberals still got through, and Rush annoyed the cows so much they wouldn't give milk."
Officials are particularly concerned about smugglers who meet liberals near the Canadian border, pack them into Volvo station wagons, drive them across the border and leave them to fend for themselves. "A lot of these people are not prepared for rugged conditions," an Ontario border patrolman said.
"I found one carload without a drop of drinking water. They did have a nice little Napa Valley cabernet, though."
When liberals are caught, they're sent back across the border, often wailing loudly that they fear retribution from conservatives. Rumors have been circulating about the Bush administration establishing re-education camps in which liberals will be forced to drink domestic beer and watch NASCAR races.
In recent days, liberals have turned to sometimes ingenious ways of crossing the border. Some have taken to posing as senior citizens on bus trips to buy cheap Canadian prescription drugs. After catching a half-dozen young vegans disguised in powdered wigs, Canadian immigration authorities began stopping buses and quizzing the supposed senior-citizen passengers on Perry Como and Rosemary Clooney hits to prove they were alive in the 50s.
"If they can't identify the accordion player on 'The Lawrence Welk Show,' we get suspicious about their age," an official said.
Canadian citizens have complained that the illegal immigrants are creating an organic-broccoli shortage and renting all the good Susan Sarandon movies.
"I feel sorry for American liberals, but the Canadian economy just can't support them," an Ottawa resident said. "How many art-history majors does one country need?"
In an effort to ease tensions between the United States and Canada, Vice President Dick Cheney met with the Canadian ambassador and pledged that the administration would take steps to reassure liberals, a source close to Cheney said.
"We're going to have some Peter, Paul & Mary concerts. And we might put some endangered species on postage stamps. The President is determined to reach out," he said.
*Not really sure; My dad forwarded it to me after getting it from a friend.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Just A Few Words
I want to write a few words about the woman I love. Quite honestly, a few words couldn’t possibly fill the bill, but neither would a million. Where my Sihaya is concerned, I often find myself bouncing off the limits of the language.
I took her to the airport last Sunday morning at 4:30 am. She had a flight to Hawaii, where she spent the next ten days with her family, and she will be home tomorrow. Though the trip was planned before Sihaya and I met, her mother invited me along – a wonderful gesture – and if my daughters were with their mother, I would have gone.
On Sunday morning, we sat in the terminal food court, her head nestled on my shoulder, and the conversation was as easy as if we’d known each other for three decades instead of three months. After we parted, she to the security area and I to my car, she lasted five whole minutes before calling to say, without any artifice or agenda, that she missed me.
Seriously, the words that flow so easily on abstract subjects…haven’t left me, it’s just that pulling them out is like pulling hen’s teeth. All the eloquence has left me; her very existence is poetical, and nothing I can say can do justice to her.
I could more easily describe the Mona Lisa, or synopsize the collected works of Shakespeare in twenty-five words or less.
And without warning, a song like KT Tunstall’s “Suddenly I See” comes on, and I’m free to write something nearly worthy of her.
“…you can see she’s a beautiful girl
She’s a beautiful girl
Everything around her is a silver pool of light
People who surround her feel the benefit of it
It makes you calm
She holds you captivated in her palm
Suddenly I see
This is what I want to be…”
I first heard that song before Sihaya and I met, but this is the first time I’ve heard it since, and I think I get it now. It’s the silver pool of light thing.
Since the day she and I met, she has plainly shone with joy. That first date, coffee at Starbucks in Fashion Valley, while we wandered around the mall, talking and gazing into windows, I remember commenting on her laugh. I remember exactly where we were, outside the Bang and Olufsen store, I said simply, “I love that you laugh so much.” She replied that she’d gone a long time without laughing and had only just recently found her capacity to laugh again, and she was making the best of its return.
And then she walked into me, playfully, nudging me with her shoulder.
I thought, Oh, so that’s how you are!
She walked into me quite a few times that day, always playful, as if she was saying, Hey, this could be good, you and me. Let’s have fun!
This is good, her and me.
I make it a point to tell her every day that she is amazing. I never get tired of saying it, and no matter how many times I do, the meaning of the word doesn’t diminish a single jot. It’s about the joy she finds in her dancing, in her friends, in the myriad aspects of her day, and – however inexplicably – in me.
Is it any wonder that she sees joy in my eyes?
Yep. I know. I seem to be using the word “joy” a great deal in this post. I will not apologize.
We exchange e-mails throughout our day, share jokes and frustrations and triumphs. We share each other’s thoughts, exist in each other’s thoughts. When she gets home from dance class or rehearsal, she calls to say good night, and because we know how the day went, we’re free to talk about other things: her cats, the opera, my flight simulator projects, family, cookies, wine, farts, movies, hopes, dreams, history, current events. In short, we can move past our day and on to Important Stuff, Getting To Know Each Other Stuff. This is how we’ve become friends.
It’s no different on those nights when we can be together. The weight of the day has been shared all along, and we can almost always let it all go in the first five minutes of each other’s company. Once in a great while, it takes almost ten.
I must confess that the greatest joy I get from knowing her is the privilege of seeing her open herself to me. This is the part of being in a relationship I had forgotten about, and I am captivated not only by the wonder of it, but also by the fearlessness she seems to have as our intimacy grows and our lives slowly intertwine.
As fearless as she is, she is equally unhurried. There is no stumbling, headlong rush, no breathlessly exaggerated proclamations in her approach to the process of becoming us. It is, we are. The most noticeable outward expression of the deepening commitment we share is the slowly increasing number of pages between where we are on the calendar and where our plans begin to be formed.
From time to time, she shows me a glimpse of the enormity of her soul, the vast depth of her character. One of the challenges I face is in dealing with an inappropriate sense of my own unworthiness…in the face of all evidence to the contrary, I have long lived in fear that an annoying little dog might someday pull back the curtain and show me to the world as I feverishly work the controls of my illusions. The only time I have ever seen Sihaya irritated with me happened when I deflected a compliment she paid me, and I realized that in refusing to accept her amazement and wonder at the discoveries she was and is making in me, I was withholding a part of the respect she deserves. After all, how could it be possible for anyone to be simultaneously wonderful and incapable of experiencing genuine wonder herself? Consciously, I began by simply thanking her for her praise, but as my awareness of her integrity has grown, I’ve also come to accept the basis for her admiration without any question, and feel that I am indeed worthy of such a woman.
And the most wonderful thing of all: she thinks I’m brilliant.
I took her to the airport last Sunday morning at 4:30 am. She had a flight to Hawaii, where she spent the next ten days with her family, and she will be home tomorrow. Though the trip was planned before Sihaya and I met, her mother invited me along – a wonderful gesture – and if my daughters were with their mother, I would have gone.
On Sunday morning, we sat in the terminal food court, her head nestled on my shoulder, and the conversation was as easy as if we’d known each other for three decades instead of three months. After we parted, she to the security area and I to my car, she lasted five whole minutes before calling to say, without any artifice or agenda, that she missed me.
Seriously, the words that flow so easily on abstract subjects…haven’t left me, it’s just that pulling them out is like pulling hen’s teeth. All the eloquence has left me; her very existence is poetical, and nothing I can say can do justice to her.
I could more easily describe the Mona Lisa, or synopsize the collected works of Shakespeare in twenty-five words or less.
And without warning, a song like KT Tunstall’s “Suddenly I See” comes on, and I’m free to write something nearly worthy of her.
“…you can see she’s a beautiful girl
She’s a beautiful girl
Everything around her is a silver pool of light
People who surround her feel the benefit of it
It makes you calm
She holds you captivated in her palm
Suddenly I see
This is what I want to be…”
I first heard that song before Sihaya and I met, but this is the first time I’ve heard it since, and I think I get it now. It’s the silver pool of light thing.
Since the day she and I met, she has plainly shone with joy. That first date, coffee at Starbucks in Fashion Valley, while we wandered around the mall, talking and gazing into windows, I remember commenting on her laugh. I remember exactly where we were, outside the Bang and Olufsen store, I said simply, “I love that you laugh so much.” She replied that she’d gone a long time without laughing and had only just recently found her capacity to laugh again, and she was making the best of its return.
And then she walked into me, playfully, nudging me with her shoulder.
I thought, Oh, so that’s how you are!
She walked into me quite a few times that day, always playful, as if she was saying, Hey, this could be good, you and me. Let’s have fun!
This is good, her and me.
I make it a point to tell her every day that she is amazing. I never get tired of saying it, and no matter how many times I do, the meaning of the word doesn’t diminish a single jot. It’s about the joy she finds in her dancing, in her friends, in the myriad aspects of her day, and – however inexplicably – in me.
Is it any wonder that she sees joy in my eyes?
Yep. I know. I seem to be using the word “joy” a great deal in this post. I will not apologize.
We exchange e-mails throughout our day, share jokes and frustrations and triumphs. We share each other’s thoughts, exist in each other’s thoughts. When she gets home from dance class or rehearsal, she calls to say good night, and because we know how the day went, we’re free to talk about other things: her cats, the opera, my flight simulator projects, family, cookies, wine, farts, movies, hopes, dreams, history, current events. In short, we can move past our day and on to Important Stuff, Getting To Know Each Other Stuff. This is how we’ve become friends.
It’s no different on those nights when we can be together. The weight of the day has been shared all along, and we can almost always let it all go in the first five minutes of each other’s company. Once in a great while, it takes almost ten.
I must confess that the greatest joy I get from knowing her is the privilege of seeing her open herself to me. This is the part of being in a relationship I had forgotten about, and I am captivated not only by the wonder of it, but also by the fearlessness she seems to have as our intimacy grows and our lives slowly intertwine.
As fearless as she is, she is equally unhurried. There is no stumbling, headlong rush, no breathlessly exaggerated proclamations in her approach to the process of becoming us. It is, we are. The most noticeable outward expression of the deepening commitment we share is the slowly increasing number of pages between where we are on the calendar and where our plans begin to be formed.
From time to time, she shows me a glimpse of the enormity of her soul, the vast depth of her character. One of the challenges I face is in dealing with an inappropriate sense of my own unworthiness…in the face of all evidence to the contrary, I have long lived in fear that an annoying little dog might someday pull back the curtain and show me to the world as I feverishly work the controls of my illusions. The only time I have ever seen Sihaya irritated with me happened when I deflected a compliment she paid me, and I realized that in refusing to accept her amazement and wonder at the discoveries she was and is making in me, I was withholding a part of the respect she deserves. After all, how could it be possible for anyone to be simultaneously wonderful and incapable of experiencing genuine wonder herself? Consciously, I began by simply thanking her for her praise, but as my awareness of her integrity has grown, I’ve also come to accept the basis for her admiration without any question, and feel that I am indeed worthy of such a woman.
And the most wonderful thing of all: she thinks I’m brilliant.
Monday, June 26, 2006
A Burning Issue
As early as next week*, the Senate may consider an amendment to the Constitution that would specifically ban the burning of the American Flag. This time, it may pass. Senator Orrin Hatch (R-Utah) says he’s got 66 votes, just one vote shy of the two-thirds majority needed to send the proposed amendment to the states for ratification. The House has already approved the amendment, and if it passes, it will mark the first time in history that both houses of Congress have voted to amend the Constitution to restrict the freedom of expression guaranteed by the First Amendment.
This is not an issue of National Security. There has been no raging national debate on this issue since the early 1970’s. Americans rarely burn the American Flag in protest any more…it simply doesn’t evoke the emotional response it used to, because we’ve matured enough since the Vietnam era to understand that burning one flag might offend a few people, but no harm is really done. (To do any real harm by burning an American Flag, you’d have to burn them all. Go ahead and try; we’re even bigger than that.) Once such an amendment is in place, flag burning might come back into vogue, though – as a gesture of defiance. Perhaps it’s just best to leave well enough alone.
The truth is that in the twenty-five years I’ve been participating in the debate about flag burning, I’ve heard dozens of arguments in support of the kind of ban now in front of the Senate, and every one was based on emotion. I have never seen or heard any rational argument in favor of curtailing freedom of speech.
And that’s what bothers me about this. We’re very nearly willing to give up our freedom to avoid offending anyone’s sensibilities. I’m sorry, burning the flag bothers you? Okay. Sorry. Can I have some of your bottled water to put this out with, please? That twenty-nine foot tall cross on a privately-owned war memorial honoring Korean War veterans offends you because you’re an Atheist and the cross used to be on public lands? Oh, gosh, let’s just tear it down for you at taxpayer expense.
Since we’re on the verge of relinquishing our hard-won freedoms to the forces of Political Correctness, I propose the following changes be made to our Bill of Rights (my text is in italics):
I
Congress shall make no law respecting or disrespecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof unless anyone’s delicate sensibilities are offended; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press except when the exercise of such free speech be considered vulgar or thought-provoking; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble without doing or saying anything meaningful, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances at taxpayer expense, no matter how frivolous.
II
A well regulated militia, once being considered necessary to the security of a free state, but not any more, the right of most of the people to keep and bear arms should be considered fair game, such decision being at least initially based upon the design of the arms in question, but the right of Dianne Feinstein to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.
IV
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, except when those papers and effects may be transmitted electronically, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
I could go on, but do you really want me to?
If this passes the Senate, Americans will spend the next seven years embroiled in a debate over whether or not to curtail our First Amendment rights. It will become the hot topic of the 2006 and 2008 elections. At a time when we should be setting the example for struggling new democracies such as the one in Iraq, we’ll be ripping ourselves to shreds re-deciding an issue so central to our national identity that our present enemies cite it as the prime reason that all Americans must die.
The reality is that the people who burn American Flags these days aren’t Americans, and none of our laws can touch them but the one we haven’t changed since 1791: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”
We need to leave that one alone, if for no other reason than it scares the shit out of al Qaeda.
* It happened today, Tuesday, June 27, 2006. The amendment failed, 66-34. Democracy WINS!!
This is not an issue of National Security. There has been no raging national debate on this issue since the early 1970’s. Americans rarely burn the American Flag in protest any more…it simply doesn’t evoke the emotional response it used to, because we’ve matured enough since the Vietnam era to understand that burning one flag might offend a few people, but no harm is really done. (To do any real harm by burning an American Flag, you’d have to burn them all. Go ahead and try; we’re even bigger than that.) Once such an amendment is in place, flag burning might come back into vogue, though – as a gesture of defiance. Perhaps it’s just best to leave well enough alone.
The truth is that in the twenty-five years I’ve been participating in the debate about flag burning, I’ve heard dozens of arguments in support of the kind of ban now in front of the Senate, and every one was based on emotion. I have never seen or heard any rational argument in favor of curtailing freedom of speech.
And that’s what bothers me about this. We’re very nearly willing to give up our freedom to avoid offending anyone’s sensibilities. I’m sorry, burning the flag bothers you? Okay. Sorry. Can I have some of your bottled water to put this out with, please? That twenty-nine foot tall cross on a privately-owned war memorial honoring Korean War veterans offends you because you’re an Atheist and the cross used to be on public lands? Oh, gosh, let’s just tear it down for you at taxpayer expense.
Since we’re on the verge of relinquishing our hard-won freedoms to the forces of Political Correctness, I propose the following changes be made to our Bill of Rights (my text is in italics):
I
Congress shall make no law respecting or disrespecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof unless anyone’s delicate sensibilities are offended; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press except when the exercise of such free speech be considered vulgar or thought-provoking; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble without doing or saying anything meaningful, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances at taxpayer expense, no matter how frivolous.
II
A well regulated militia, once being considered necessary to the security of a free state, but not any more, the right of most of the people to keep and bear arms should be considered fair game, such decision being at least initially based upon the design of the arms in question, but the right of Dianne Feinstein to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.
IV
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, except when those papers and effects may be transmitted electronically, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
I could go on, but do you really want me to?
If this passes the Senate, Americans will spend the next seven years embroiled in a debate over whether or not to curtail our First Amendment rights. It will become the hot topic of the 2006 and 2008 elections. At a time when we should be setting the example for struggling new democracies such as the one in Iraq, we’ll be ripping ourselves to shreds re-deciding an issue so central to our national identity that our present enemies cite it as the prime reason that all Americans must die.
The reality is that the people who burn American Flags these days aren’t Americans, and none of our laws can touch them but the one we haven’t changed since 1791: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”
We need to leave that one alone, if for no other reason than it scares the shit out of al Qaeda.
* It happened today, Tuesday, June 27, 2006. The amendment failed, 66-34. Democracy WINS!!
Thursday, June 22, 2006
World Cup Football Live!
Why do sports fans so often consider themselves free from the constraints of polite society during the time surrounding their sport-of-choice?
Put more succinctly, why are World Cup Soccer/Football fans such assholes?
On what fucking planet is it okay for fifteen fucking guys to get beered up and scream at their overly-loud television at four o’fucking clock in the fucking morning on a fucking Thursday?
I know it’s getting warm…yesterday was the first official day of summer (though this is Southern California, and summer actually started in March), so the air at 4 am down here on the coast is a scorching 62 degrees, which obviously means you have to, have to have your doors and windows open at all times, and most especially when you have more than a dozen sweaty, loud-mouthed, drunk-assed frat boys crammed into one small apartment living room to watch the game and cheer loud enough that your team can hear you all the way in Germany.
The respectful thing to do at that hour would be to close the doors and windows so that you don’t wake up the whole neighborhood and keep them awake for the remaining two-and-a-half hours before their alarms complete the job. The resulting buildup of heat in your living room might be a tad uncomfortable, might make it hard to keep the beer cold, but also might create the same conditions the Lakota seek to create in their traditional sweat lodge. You might suddenly achieve a level of awareness beyond yourselves.
While I’m thinking about it, why are there no women there? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just saying, is all.
Okay, I’m going to wrap this up and get to work, but I’d like to finish with two choice words for all you World Cup fanatic assholes out there: TiVo.
Put more succinctly, why are World Cup Soccer/Football fans such assholes?
On what fucking planet is it okay for fifteen fucking guys to get beered up and scream at their overly-loud television at four o’fucking clock in the fucking morning on a fucking Thursday?
I know it’s getting warm…yesterday was the first official day of summer (though this is Southern California, and summer actually started in March), so the air at 4 am down here on the coast is a scorching 62 degrees, which obviously means you have to, have to have your doors and windows open at all times, and most especially when you have more than a dozen sweaty, loud-mouthed, drunk-assed frat boys crammed into one small apartment living room to watch the game and cheer loud enough that your team can hear you all the way in Germany.
The respectful thing to do at that hour would be to close the doors and windows so that you don’t wake up the whole neighborhood and keep them awake for the remaining two-and-a-half hours before their alarms complete the job. The resulting buildup of heat in your living room might be a tad uncomfortable, might make it hard to keep the beer cold, but also might create the same conditions the Lakota seek to create in their traditional sweat lodge. You might suddenly achieve a level of awareness beyond yourselves.
While I’m thinking about it, why are there no women there? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just saying, is all.
Okay, I’m going to wrap this up and get to work, but I’d like to finish with two choice words for all you World Cup fanatic assholes out there: TiVo.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Good Night and Good Riddence
I think it was Jeff Foxworthy who said, “If you can’t think of anything nice to say, you’re probably talking about Hillary Clinton.” My thoughts have been turning to the political lately, which is one of the reasons I haven’t been writing as much as I once did. I don’t want my blog to become anything like a screed.
One topic that has occupied me of late is the growing concern over the conduct of our soldiers and Marines in Iraq. My opinions remain largely unformed on the subject, and that’s all I’ve got to say about that.
There is a tradition that seems prevalent in some of the blogs I read is the Commentary On Dumbass Celebrities, and though I myself have not taken part in this tradition (largely focused on TomKat and BrAngelina), an event took place today which compels me, and in that vein, I’d like to share a few thoughts with you.
It is my sad duty to report to you that Dan Rather has left CBS in a huff. Dan described a “protracted struggle” with network executives who had “not lived up to their obligation to allow me to do substantive work.”
Time for a quick review: Without expecting him to do any real work, CBS has been continuing to pay Dan Rather his very hefty salary, after sidelining him in the wake of a national scandal he created by airing a report which was at best poorly reported and unsubstantiated, and was eventually discredited – his report on the president’s military service during the Vietnam War. Sure, Rather stepped down voluntarily from his position as anchor, but at that level, people never get fired, they’re simply offered the opportunity to leave of their own accord.
It’s a tradition, you see, to allow people who have attained a certain rank and degree of notoriety to salvage a bit of dignity at the end they themselves brought about. Just like the captain of a warship that rammed another vessel, he was told, “Dude, you’re a fuckin’ psycho, and we’d feel more comfortable if you’d just leave.”
Only he wouldn’t leave. He just hung around.
For their part, CBS executives have been pretty cool about the whole thing. CBS News and Sports President Sean McManus complimented Rather by invoking Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite. He also said, “I had one of our interns put shortcut icons for Solitaire and Minesweeper on Dan’s Windows desktop, but the guy just can’t take a hint,” though this remark has not been widely reported.
Dan, I have a couple things for you to think about:
First, journalism is, on the surface at least, all about image. As we used to say on USS COWPENS, “An ounce of image is worth a pound of performance.” All you had to do, all you had to do, was appear to be telling us the truth, and we’d have cried over your retirement as we did 25 years ago when Cronkite chose his sailboat over the anchor’s desk.
Second, when someone is paying your salary, they get to define the expectation of satisfactory performance. You were allowed to fuck up on a grand scale, in public, and leave with your salary and your corner office intact. In Japan, you’d have been banished to the subway with a thousand ribbons pinned to your suit instructing passersby to scream at you about your foolish arrogance. If you were in any way related to us mere mortals here in the US, the only way you could have prevented your ass from being escorted to the door by CBS Security would have been to pull a Tyler Durden-est-ce-que self-ass-kicking before they got to McManus’ office.
Nope, you got to keep your multi-million dollar salary with no expectation beyond you taking the spanking.
So let’s get this straight: You. Fucked. Up. You did. And you know you did, because your fallacious report impugned an unpopular president, which rules out politics as the reason you had to leave. You were, were, powerful enough, respected enough, that Bush wouldn’t have had the political capital to have you fired if there’d been even the tiniest shred of truth to that report. No, you had to leave because you had compromised your own integrity, and your continued presence would have compromised the integrity of the entire CBS news organization.
And yet you storm out four months before the end of your contract, as petulant and demanding as an ill-disciplined child. Why did any of us ever respect you?
* * *
When I read that news story, the Reuters piece that quoted Rather’s bitter departure, I came to a pair of unpleasant realizations: first, that this was the reason I never liked Dan Rather in the first place and that the feeling I always had was finally vindicated and second, that people like Rather are everywhere in positions of power and prestige here in America. That leaders who live by maxims like, “The buck stops here,” and, “A good plan executed now is better than a perfect plan next week,” and, “Ask not what your country can do for you…” are conspicuous only by their absence. That Dan Rather actually is what’s wrong with this country.
Our national motto officially remains, “E pluribus unum”, once proclaimed with strength and pride by all who lived here, and with envy by many who didn’t. Now, at least in practice, our motto seems to be, “You must respect me!” in a voice like Droopy the Dog’s. Hell, even people here illegally demand our respect, as if it’s a guarantee that comes with placing the bottoms of one’s feet on American soil.
Edward R. Murrow, indeed. If Murrow’s life teaches us anything, it’s that respect must be earned, and integrity is a precious commodity that must never be left unguarded.
One topic that has occupied me of late is the growing concern over the conduct of our soldiers and Marines in Iraq. My opinions remain largely unformed on the subject, and that’s all I’ve got to say about that.
There is a tradition that seems prevalent in some of the blogs I read is the Commentary On Dumbass Celebrities, and though I myself have not taken part in this tradition (largely focused on TomKat and BrAngelina), an event took place today which compels me, and in that vein, I’d like to share a few thoughts with you.
It is my sad duty to report to you that Dan Rather has left CBS in a huff. Dan described a “protracted struggle” with network executives who had “not lived up to their obligation to allow me to do substantive work.”
Time for a quick review: Without expecting him to do any real work, CBS has been continuing to pay Dan Rather his very hefty salary, after sidelining him in the wake of a national scandal he created by airing a report which was at best poorly reported and unsubstantiated, and was eventually discredited – his report on the president’s military service during the Vietnam War. Sure, Rather stepped down voluntarily from his position as anchor, but at that level, people never get fired, they’re simply offered the opportunity to leave of their own accord.
It’s a tradition, you see, to allow people who have attained a certain rank and degree of notoriety to salvage a bit of dignity at the end they themselves brought about. Just like the captain of a warship that rammed another vessel, he was told, “Dude, you’re a fuckin’ psycho, and we’d feel more comfortable if you’d just leave.”
Only he wouldn’t leave. He just hung around.
For their part, CBS executives have been pretty cool about the whole thing. CBS News and Sports President Sean McManus complimented Rather by invoking Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite. He also said, “I had one of our interns put shortcut icons for Solitaire and Minesweeper on Dan’s Windows desktop, but the guy just can’t take a hint,” though this remark has not been widely reported.
Dan, I have a couple things for you to think about:
First, journalism is, on the surface at least, all about image. As we used to say on USS COWPENS, “An ounce of image is worth a pound of performance.” All you had to do, all you had to do, was appear to be telling us the truth, and we’d have cried over your retirement as we did 25 years ago when Cronkite chose his sailboat over the anchor’s desk.
Second, when someone is paying your salary, they get to define the expectation of satisfactory performance. You were allowed to fuck up on a grand scale, in public, and leave with your salary and your corner office intact. In Japan, you’d have been banished to the subway with a thousand ribbons pinned to your suit instructing passersby to scream at you about your foolish arrogance. If you were in any way related to us mere mortals here in the US, the only way you could have prevented your ass from being escorted to the door by CBS Security would have been to pull a Tyler Durden-est-ce-que self-ass-kicking before they got to McManus’ office.
Nope, you got to keep your multi-million dollar salary with no expectation beyond you taking the spanking.
So let’s get this straight: You. Fucked. Up. You did. And you know you did, because your fallacious report impugned an unpopular president, which rules out politics as the reason you had to leave. You were, were, powerful enough, respected enough, that Bush wouldn’t have had the political capital to have you fired if there’d been even the tiniest shred of truth to that report. No, you had to leave because you had compromised your own integrity, and your continued presence would have compromised the integrity of the entire CBS news organization.
And yet you storm out four months before the end of your contract, as petulant and demanding as an ill-disciplined child. Why did any of us ever respect you?
* * *
When I read that news story, the Reuters piece that quoted Rather’s bitter departure, I came to a pair of unpleasant realizations: first, that this was the reason I never liked Dan Rather in the first place and that the feeling I always had was finally vindicated and second, that people like Rather are everywhere in positions of power and prestige here in America. That leaders who live by maxims like, “The buck stops here,” and, “A good plan executed now is better than a perfect plan next week,” and, “Ask not what your country can do for you…” are conspicuous only by their absence. That Dan Rather actually is what’s wrong with this country.
Our national motto officially remains, “E pluribus unum”, once proclaimed with strength and pride by all who lived here, and with envy by many who didn’t. Now, at least in practice, our motto seems to be, “You must respect me!” in a voice like Droopy the Dog’s. Hell, even people here illegally demand our respect, as if it’s a guarantee that comes with placing the bottoms of one’s feet on American soil.
Edward R. Murrow, indeed. If Murrow’s life teaches us anything, it’s that respect must be earned, and integrity is a precious commodity that must never be left unguarded.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Past President
I am, as the saying goes, a little verklempt. More than a little, actually.
Tonight was my last PTSA meeting as president.
I held the position for two years, having been reelected for the second year because no one else stepped up to fill the position, which is more or less how I became the maitre d’ for my eighth-grade French class’ French Restaurant project: I fit the tux.
I wrote about some of the events that filled the end of last school year, and no, I am not linking to those posts because the events themselves deserve to be left in the past. If you have a few minutes to dig, feel free to go back and read about them, but I – along with the faculty and staff, students and parents of Point Loma High School – have moved past them.
Of course, we may have moved past those difficult days, but there’s no denying that they’ve colored most of the days this school year. I can’t imagine how it’s been for those who work every day on campus; for my part, I’ve felt a little gun shy all year.
Over the last few days, I’ve felt a growing sense of relief, that my days of decision-making were nearing an end. It wasn’t until this evening, on my way to the meeting, that I began to feel a little sad. Another phase of my life is done, a part of my daughter’s life is nearing an end, and we’re both gearing up for what’s next.
I am a little sad. Sure, the last few weeks of school were tough last year, but overall, I’ve had fun.
So, tonight, I ran as loose a meeting as I ever have. I always felt that Roberts’ Rules of Order were a bit too stentorian for a polite group of twenty-five parents who love their kids and give each other credit for having at least that in common.
We settled the money issues, talked about some ideas for next year, and all of it with a sort of easy camaraderie. I’ve been a part of this group for just short of three years; many of these people have known each other their entire lives. That’s reason enough to consider it a great honor to be asked to serve as their president.
It is astonishing how many of the people in the PTSA give the full measure of their devotion to our kids. All our kids. Not just the twenty-five or thirty kids directly represented in the room, but all of the more than two thousand kids here.
I am humbled by their hard work, and I can say with all honesty that I never felt quite adequate to the task they asked of me.
At the end of the meeting this evening, I stood up and admitted that I felt honored to be asked, two years ago, and that I had no idea at the time what that honor really meant. Now, I said, now I know. To have had the opportunity to work with such selfless people, to share a little in the satisfaction of their hard work, that has turned out to be the real honor. The honor doesn’t come from anything I might have done to deserve the post, but from the extraordinary people I’ve worked with.
By way of thanks, I presented each of the members of my executive board with a bottle of Pinot Noir. Nothing extravagant, just a good little wine that they could share with their spouses, all of whom have worked just as hard, but without any recognition at all.
I am so very grateful.
Tonight was my last PTSA meeting as president.
I held the position for two years, having been reelected for the second year because no one else stepped up to fill the position, which is more or less how I became the maitre d’ for my eighth-grade French class’ French Restaurant project: I fit the tux.
I wrote about some of the events that filled the end of last school year, and no, I am not linking to those posts because the events themselves deserve to be left in the past. If you have a few minutes to dig, feel free to go back and read about them, but I – along with the faculty and staff, students and parents of Point Loma High School – have moved past them.
Of course, we may have moved past those difficult days, but there’s no denying that they’ve colored most of the days this school year. I can’t imagine how it’s been for those who work every day on campus; for my part, I’ve felt a little gun shy all year.
Over the last few days, I’ve felt a growing sense of relief, that my days of decision-making were nearing an end. It wasn’t until this evening, on my way to the meeting, that I began to feel a little sad. Another phase of my life is done, a part of my daughter’s life is nearing an end, and we’re both gearing up for what’s next.
I am a little sad. Sure, the last few weeks of school were tough last year, but overall, I’ve had fun.
So, tonight, I ran as loose a meeting as I ever have. I always felt that Roberts’ Rules of Order were a bit too stentorian for a polite group of twenty-five parents who love their kids and give each other credit for having at least that in common.
We settled the money issues, talked about some ideas for next year, and all of it with a sort of easy camaraderie. I’ve been a part of this group for just short of three years; many of these people have known each other their entire lives. That’s reason enough to consider it a great honor to be asked to serve as their president.
It is astonishing how many of the people in the PTSA give the full measure of their devotion to our kids. All our kids. Not just the twenty-five or thirty kids directly represented in the room, but all of the more than two thousand kids here.
I am humbled by their hard work, and I can say with all honesty that I never felt quite adequate to the task they asked of me.
At the end of the meeting this evening, I stood up and admitted that I felt honored to be asked, two years ago, and that I had no idea at the time what that honor really meant. Now, I said, now I know. To have had the opportunity to work with such selfless people, to share a little in the satisfaction of their hard work, that has turned out to be the real honor. The honor doesn’t come from anything I might have done to deserve the post, but from the extraordinary people I’ve worked with.
By way of thanks, I presented each of the members of my executive board with a bottle of Pinot Noir. Nothing extravagant, just a good little wine that they could share with their spouses, all of whom have worked just as hard, but without any recognition at all.
I am so very grateful.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Let's Not Forget
Through all the talk about 6/6/06, try to remember that 62 years ago today, the Allies invaded Normandy and took the fight back to the Nazis. 10,000 Allied soldiers died on the beaches that day.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Doing My Irony
I wished I’d had a digital camera: this particular bumper sticker was of homemade quality, but there were several on the car’s tail expressing contempt for the Bush Administration. The one I’m compelled to write about in this instance read: “Overthrow the Facist Bush Regime!”
The sticker was on a sensible, environmentally-friendly, economy car, and though I’m sure that this is not fair, the image that popped into my head was of a passionately self-righteous, organic-cotton-muumuu-wearing woman in her early fifties who, on seeing video clips of Mr. Bush uncorking a particularly folksy malapropism, shrieks, “See? See?!?!?!? WE ELECTED AN IDIOT WHO CAN’T EVEN SPEAK THE LANGUAGE!”
As I said, I’m sure it’s not fair, but I’m a writer and I do enjoy my irony.
A footnote: When it occurred to me to look on the Internet for an image of a similar bumper sticker, I turned to Yahoo! and applied the following search phrase:
“facist regime” Bush
I discovered (to my delight) that there are no less than ten freaking pages of links, and no way to share this with you, my reader, without coming across like a sanctimonious prick.
(Of course, now my blog will be one of those links.)
The sticker was on a sensible, environmentally-friendly, economy car, and though I’m sure that this is not fair, the image that popped into my head was of a passionately self-righteous, organic-cotton-muumuu-wearing woman in her early fifties who, on seeing video clips of Mr. Bush uncorking a particularly folksy malapropism, shrieks, “See? See?!?!?!? WE ELECTED AN IDIOT WHO CAN’T EVEN SPEAK THE LANGUAGE!”
As I said, I’m sure it’s not fair, but I’m a writer and I do enjoy my irony.
A footnote: When it occurred to me to look on the Internet for an image of a similar bumper sticker, I turned to Yahoo! and applied the following search phrase:
“facist regime” Bush
I discovered (to my delight) that there are no less than ten freaking pages of links, and no way to share this with you, my reader, without coming across like a sanctimonious prick.
(Of course, now my blog will be one of those links.)
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