...don't give up the day job

Well, it’s been 62 days … that’s the longest I’ve gone without reporting to a job in darn near 50 years.

I’m not used to it yet.

It seems that a day doesn’t pass without somebody asking me, “How’s retirement?” – usually with a distinct tinge of envy if they’re among those still drawing a regular paycheck.

If I was to answer that with a high degree of honesty – which I confess I often do not since entering into a fairly involved philosophical discussion with grocery carts double parked in the produce aisle is generally inappropriate – my likely response would be “odd,” and if the outstanding activity of the day had been listening to the dog snore, with the addendum, “don’t give up the day job…”

Yeah, for me, this has been an odd couple of months. To, overnight, go from the daily hurly-burly of breaking news, encroaching deadlines and a demanding public to the tranquility of the endless weekend leaves a guy feeling a bit like Wiley Coyote over the cliff and suddenly suspended in mid-air. I keep waiting for “beep-beep” and the inevitable unexpected.

Meanwhile, I’m finding that old habits die hard. The eyes creep open about the same time they’ve grudgingly crept open for the past 30 years. I still use three scoops of coffee and the same amount of water, the same coffee cup and the same spot to peruse the morning papers. The same shampoo is in the shower; I still listen to MPR at lunchtime and the dog nags me to go out and then to bed the same time as always.

But then there are all those intervening hours…

I’d like to claim that having all that unscheduled time has given me the opportunity to accomplish those things that have long been pushed onto the proverbial back burner, but no. There are dishes in the sink, clutter in the fridge, and preheating the oven still sets off the smoke alarms. I remain indifferent to dust bunnies; reject the allegation that my shower can become dirty though contact with the soap and water that preserves my social acceptably; and question the need for floors to be spic and span when I’m just going to walk all over them anyway. Having ample time to tidy up hasn’t instilled a penchant for tidiness … nor has it moved me to head for the gym, attend daily Mass, or become a particularly persistent practitioner of the Corporeal Virtues.

On the other hand, I believe I’ve also restrained my proclivity toward a number of the Deadly Sins. I’m still eating no more than three meals a day – with the occasional late night nosh as per previous practice. I’ve not yielded to the lure of Netflix at noon, nor prowling Facebook into the wee hours.

And on the positive side, I’ve been able to go with Dad to some medical appointments followed by unhurried lunches and hours of talk of the past and of the future. I’ve had time to lend a hand and an ear to friends and pick up a book or two I otherwise hadn’t had time for.

Still, there’s always the temptation to sleep late and drink heavily.

After years of navigating the main channel, I’m suddenly bobbing about in the backwaters, and though the scenery can be lovely and the respite momentarily refreshing, it really doesn’t lead anywhere.

Which is a bit disconcerting … a bit like death’s waiting room. Not a place I care to be.

Which is why I’d describe this experience as “odd.” I’m not missing the strictures of the workday and workweek, nor the obligation to tug the forelock, say “Yessir” and kiss the otherwise unkissable; but, like the song says, “ya don’t know whatcha got ‘till it’s gone…”

One of those books I’ve picked up included an essay by the old Roman Stoic, Seneca. Entitled “On Leisure,” he makes the case that life satisfaction lies in being useful, in doing worthwhile things. Sixty-odd days of leisure have convinced me that observation holds now as much as it did two millennia ago. So the challenge now is to discover usefulness on my own terms; new adventures to replace the security and satisfaction of  “the day job” I’ve left behind.

Gotta be better than listening to the dog snore. Gotta be.

Robert Frost, redux -- Jan. 31, 2018

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth ...

It’s time.
It’s been a good run.
Friday will be my last day as editor of the Winona Daily News.
This will probably come as a surprise to a number of folks. For years I’ve told people — perhaps you’re one of them — what I foresaw in retirement just couldn’t compete with being in the newsroom. After all, while I was working at the newspaper, every now and again Gov. Dayton would drop in to chat and that just didn’t happen in most lines of work. I’d tell folks I just couldn’t think of anything that would be any more fun and interesting than what I’m doing now. I couldn’t imagine a better job, and I didn’t even have to wear a tie. I really enjoyed doing what I do — most of it, anyway…
But life is full of little surprises ... and not such little surprises. And generally the time and nature of those surprises aren’t always of our choosing — otherwise they wouldn’t be surprises.
Well, Mark Dayton’s not going to be governor for long either. Maybe we can get together for coffee sometime.
Who knows?

Then took the other as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

But it’s been a good run.
I came to the Daily News looking for opportunities and got them aplenty.
Over the years, I’ve worked with great editors and publishers; writers and designers — and still do. Together we’ve done a lot of outstanding journalism — and had a whooping good time along the way. I’ve spent a career with folks who care about what we do — deeply and every day. They’ve taught me a lot, about this craft and about what it means to be a committed, contributing part of a community.
A guy just doesn’t do much better than that.
But there’s no denying that the Daily News is a vastly different organization than it was when I arrived just six weeks shy of 18 years ago. In the past 20 years, the entire communications industry has been turned upside down, inside out and more.
That’s not to lay blame or look for fault. One hundred years ago, buggy builders and harness makers struggled with a new technology — the horseless carriage. Shifting public demand sent thousands of wheelwrights and farriers in search of new careers.
It happens.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black,
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I’m of an age and circumstance where retiring didn’t pose a financial hardship and it made room in the organization for some of the folks I helped recruit. They’re going to do fine.
As for me, I’m still a little bit hazy on what comes next — I guess that’s not too surprising when a guy has to work out a plan for the rest of his life.
But I have a partner who gives me laughter, purpose and pumpkin bread; and when I need it, she reminds me I still put my pants on one leg at a time. I have good, good friends and a family who thinks I’m pretty swell, but don’t need me spending too much time sipping on their good whisky and teaching the grandkid new bad habits.
So I’ll do fine, too.
One thing I do know — and I’m sorry to disappoint you folks who may be hoping otherwise — but you’re not rid of me entirely. Although I’m stepping down as editor – which means no more conference calls with corporate VPs, fussing with budgets and overdue expense accounts — plans are for me to still annoy some folks with a column every week and put my hand to other writing projects as the spirit moves and the new editor sees fit.
Beyond that — who knows? There will be plenty more little surprises to come. That I’m sure of. I have no idea what they’ll be.
If I did, they wouldn’t be surprises, would they?

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
— Robert Frost; The Road Not Taken, 1916

Go away, Tiger. Just go away.

First off, let me admit to a bias here ,,, I couldn't care less about golf. My personal attempts at mastering pasture pool have been pitiable and the experience leaves me perpetually mystifies as to why anyone would choose to ruin a perfectly lovely summer afternoon in pursuit of an uncooperative white ball. And if I care little for golf on a personal level, my interest in golf as a spectator sport is even less. Televised golf is far beyond my comprehension ... alternating shots of sky and lawn accompanied by muffled applause and mumbled commentary ... it's the Home and Garden Network without fertilizer rates.

And if I don't care about professional golf, I certainly don't care about the personal life of professional golfers ... even when they're playing the role of penitent porn star.

There's a momentary ballyhoo this morning about Tiger Woods' latest public coming-out party. After getting caught with his pants down, the former squeaky clean media darling is trying to recoup lost fortunes -- understandable enough. I just don't know why anybody who doesn't know Tiger -- either in the platonic or the biblical sense -- ought to care.

He's just a man who plays with his putter in public --and we'll pay to see that -- anything beyond that I don't want to see, I don't want to hear about, is none of my, yours, our business.

So until it's tee time, Tiger, just go away. Leave us alone.

And how was your Presidents' (or is that President's) Day?

Y'know, in the great scheme of things, I could really do without President's (Presidents'?) Day. It's a pretty lame holiday when the only thing I have to look forward to is not getting any bills in the mail -- because they're not delivering the mail.

Truth is, we don't even know for certain what the day is supposed to commemorate. Is it to honor the presidency (President's)? Or the august individuals who have held the office (Presidents')? If it is the former, shouldn't we also look into commemorating other positions of significance with their own day of postal abstinence (e.g. Supreme Court Justice's Day, Speaker of the House's Day) in good regard to the Constitutional principle of checks and balances -- perhaps tossing in a Governor's Day as a nod to federalism as well.

If it's meant to honor the occupants of the office -- then I fear the basis for the holiday becomes a bit more dicey. How much honor do we really want to heap onto James Buchanan, John Tyler, Warren Harding and, everyones favorite, Dick Nixon? With that rogue's gallery as a reference -- I'm really not certain just what it is we're celebrating.

I doubt if the situation would have arisen if George Washington and Abe Lincoln had had the foresight to be born in separate months. Taking a day off for both of their birthdays was a bit much in a month that's short on days to start with -- so Congress, back in the day when compromise wasn't a dirty word -- split the difference and made two holidays into one. A good thing for colleciton agencies and junk mailers, but no real plus for the rest of us.

So once again, I failed to put up my President's' Day tree, send out my President's' Day cards, rent a President's' Day costume and go to midnight President's' Day Mass. I didn't have a big President's' Day dinner or set off President's' Day fireworks.

I just looked into my empty mailbox and said, "Oh yeah...President's' Day..."

Anyway, I hope your's was a happy one.

A modest proposal

It's good to see folks can learn from experience ... even if they are members of the Minnesota Legislature.

A couple of DFLers -- Rep. Lyndon Carlson and Sen. Richard Cohen are introducing a bill that will keep future governors -- Republican, Democrat or just plain crazy -- from repeating T-Paw's unallotment performance from last session.

According to a piece in this morning's Strib the proposal would "limit the governor's unallotment power in three ways:

"Governors could unallot only from the part of a projected budget deficit that was not known at the completion of the last legislative session.

"Payment to programs affected by unallotment would have to be reduced proportionately, and formulas or eligibility standards could not be changed.

"The governor could not unallot mor than 2 percent of the general fund budget and could not unallot more than 10 percent of a single general fund appropriation."

In other words, no future governor would be able to take a meat axe to a budget the legislature passed and he signed to satisfy the political whim of the moment while preserving executive flexibility to deal with unanticipated fluctuations in the state economy.

Of course, T-Paw -- continuing to play his favored role as Dr. No -- has promised to veto any bill limiting his authority.

Bad for business?

No matter what T-Paw and the T-Party boys say, it looks like paying taxes isn't the only thing that's bad for business in Minnesota ... and it's not a bunch of lefty DFLer types saying it either. Here's the pertinent snippet from Tuesday's Strib:

"Moody's Investors Service lowered its ratings outlook on Minnesota to negative from stable, citing the state's ongoing financial and economic weakness.

The ratings agency also noted the state government's depletion of reserves and a heavy reliance on one-time resources to balance its budget."

It seems like Wall Street likes honest books and an adequate steady income -- and that doesn't come by playing politics with the balance sheet.

Here we go again

Well, the Minnesota legislature called itself to disorder right on schedule and we're all set for a show that should rival an all-star Three Stooges revival -- featuring Larry, Maggie and Tim.

I just draw no great confidence from observing that we have a governor who wants to be president, a Speaker of the House who wants to be governor and a Senate Majority Leader who is certain he ought to be governor. I'd feel a lot better if the whole of the state's political leadership didn't go into the session with their resume's out.

Meanwhile there's the small matter of the state budget coming up $1.5 billiion short with another $5 billion worth of red ink on the next go-round ... but who wants to bet they'll spend more time on a new stadium for the Vikings?

And so it goes...

Pa'in with interest

I suspect we're soon in for another dose of Minnesota Smug ... y'know, that insufferable Keilloresqe condescension that comes over us whenever anybody, anywhere does something more spectacularly bone-headed than we have just managed. Well, here we are ... having just royally screwed up our state budget, along comes the news that California's budget is so totally hashed that they are now sending out IOUs as payment for state debts. Yeah, there ya go -- T-Paw hasn't resorted to that maneuver. Good on you, Timmy. See ya in the White House ...
Weeeeelllll...not so fast. How these things look depend a lot on where you sit. Yeah, California is sending out IOU's, but get one of these IOUs and you can take it to the bank ... give it to the teller and the teller gives you good old American folding green, legal tender, on the spot. Or -- if you're doing fine and feeling flush, hang on to that IOU and the State of California will pay interest -- 3 percent -- on what they owe. In short, the state is paying what it owes ... plus ... holding up its end of the bargain even if Arnold and the Legislature can't get it together.
Compare that to the mess T-Paw and Maggie the K have left us with. Don't kid yourself -- the state's sending out IOUs -- $1.7 billion worth of them -- they're just going to school districts. Instead of paying what it owes our local schools on time, they're pushing it into another budget cycle so it doesn't show up on this year's books -- make believe budgeting on the grand scale. Bernie Madoff should have gone into politics.
Anyway, the upshot is, our schools don't get an IOU, they just don't get paid. Trouble is, they have bills to pay, payroll to make, but don't have the option of saying, just hold on a few months while our books finish cooking. No, the public schools have to go to the bank, take out a loan to pay what they owe ... and with that loan comes interest -- paid by the school district with money that would otherwise have been spent on teachers, books or a trip to the state tournament for a championship football team. Now, thanks to our illustrious leaders, it's doubtful they can afford the football team.
Remember, in California, the state pays interest on its IOUs. In Minnesota, our hard pressed school districts pick up the tab
California dreamin'? We'd best not get too smug, not smug at all.

Republicans' faulty Bible belt buckles

How come righteous Republicans seem to have so much trouble keeping their pants up?
Here we go again -- another crusader against vice and evil caught with his britches around his knees with a wife (his wife, at least) nowhere near to be found. This time we were treated to South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford's little romp on the Pampas with some little Argentine firecracker. It would appear that uncovering a little illicit activity under the covers is going to send another GOP public servant back to the private sector they're supposedly so fond of.
It was just a few days ago Sen. John Ensign of Nevada 'fessed up to getting a little on the side, and who can forget Larry Craig of Minneapolis airport restroom ill-fame. The list of the publicly righteous laid low keeps going on and on.
I guess they don't make those Bible belt buckles like they used to...

Gun nuts worthy of the name

And you thought it was just the bleeding-heart lefty civil libertarians that worried about respecting the constitutional rights of bloody minded terror suspects -- but turns out you're wrong on that one too, buppa. It seems that darling of the weaponized right, the NRA, has come out expressing deep concern that your government and mine might be do something to prevent folks who are out to kill us from getting all the guns their evil little hearts desire.
No, folks, I can't make this up. The NRA is on record with it's concern that federal legislation may infringe on the "second amendment rights" of individuals placed on the government's terrorist watch list -- created as a security measure following 9/11. "We're concerned about the quality and integrity of the list," according to the heavy-weight gun lobby -- who raised nary a peep of protest until Sen. Frank Laughtenberg proposed legislation that would bar weapons sales to people on the terror list.
As it stands, a person determined to pose a terror threat is barred from air travel, won't be issued a visa and faces other restrictions -- not among them a prohibition on purchasing, owning, transporting or using firearms. According to the Government Accounting Office, over the last five years, people on the list have attempted to purchase firearms over 1,000 times, with 9 out of 10 purchases approved -- including one for over 50 pounds of explosives.
So, we don't let them on our airplanes, we don't let them in our country, we keep a close eye on them so they don't get a chance to kill us ... with the guns the NRA is so eager for them to buy.
A-yuh -- I guess they're not called gun nuts for nothing.

Don't let the door hit ya...

So we learn T-Paw will be moving out of the Governor's Mansion in 18 months. Well, I guess we won't have to count the silverware like we did when Jesse "The Mind" moved on -- I believe they hocked the silver to pay the light bill last month.
That will be his legacy -- the state broker, sicker, poorer than when he took office. It will be hard to miss a guy who accomplished all that.
I first encountered Pawlenty when he was House Minority Leader. He struck me as an affable guy, with a politician's inability to give a straight answer to a direct question.
That was well borne out the day after he announced his candidacy in 2003 -- complete with "No new taxes" pledge. It just happened to be the same day the state revenue department announced the budget was likely to come up over $4.5 billion short. Tim dropped by for a press conference and his response to questions on the looming deficit left me certain that this was a man who cared more for his career than for the people of this state -- and over the years, by and large, he did not disappoint.
I'll make exception regarding his response to the 2007 floods, where he acted with vigor to mobilize aid for thousands of people washed out of their homes. But that compassion seemed to dry up with the floodwaters and this spring, rather than raise taxes a hundred bucks a year on his rich suburban buddies, he's willing to take health care benefits away from 30,000 of our poorest, sickest citizens.
Ahhhh, Timmy, if you're thinkin' of leavin' early, just call -- I'll help ya pack.

Unwarranteed attention

It seems that Chuck Schumer is about to sic the whole United States Congress on the dweebs who've been trying to warranty my Metro.
Several times a month for the last several months I've been getting called by a machine with an urgent tone in it's voice cautioning me that my car's factory warranty is about to expire. Now let me assure you, I've been mighty pleased with the reliable performance of my 12-year-old Metro, but it did come as a surprise to me that GM was still backing a vehicle with well over 100,000 miles on it.
So, when the machine calls, I like to stay on the line. I'm sure to thank the caller profusely for their concern. I tell them all about how happy I am with my car and what good mileage it gets and how little it cost and so on and on and on and then I start asking them about their cars and how long they've had them and ... well I've never had a conversation go beyond finding out about their personal rides. Somehow we get disconnected ... but I always try to engage the next friendly young fellow in a cordial auto related discussion. It's the least I can do, considering how concerned they are about the soon-to-lapse warranty. If Schumer's bill passes I might almost miss those conversations ... who else is going to care about my poor old Metro

A taxing situation

Right now I feel pretty good about myself. I paid my taxes today and I'm not even up for a job with the Obama administration. For most of us, settling up with Uncle Sam is about as much of a patriotic sacrifice as we're called on to make - so much as I'd rather not sign that check, it does make me feel a bit Yankee Doodley to do it.
Which makes me wonder about the folks heading out to the latter-day tea parties today. I've been getting notices and invites to these affairs for weeks -- usually done up in star-spangled red, white and blue with an eagle or two tossed in for good measure. But all these folks are intending to do is gripe that their government -- and let me say that once again, their government -- has figured to be their fair share of the operating cost for their country. So, they want to hark back to the Boston Tea Party and throw a public fit.
Well, there's a difference between the folks mailing bags of Lipton to their Congresspeople and the guys who tossed British tea into Boston Harbor in the dark of the night. Two hundred thirty six years ago, those fellows didn't have Congresspeople to send tea to -- it was the lack of representation in levying it, not the tea tax per se, that they took radical issue with, and ultimately what the Spirit of '76, Valley Forge and Yorktown were meant to set aright.
It's fine with me if folks don't like paying taxes, fine with me if they make a fuss and complain, but it's not fine to bastardize history in the process.

The plot to wipe out Mr. Whipple?

All right, I'm as fond of Mother Earth as any of her children, but the Greener-Than-Thou crowd has finally gone where no one ought dare to go. Go ahead, tell me my choice of light bulb is none too bright; than only a fat-headed lard arse would hold up the Whopper as the apex of ground beef cuisine -- that only a fat-headed lard arse would entertain "ground beef" and "cuisine" in the same thought. I can take it ... I can take a lot ... I'm a pretty doggone thick skinned fellow -- save in one place -- so any man, woman or trans-gender who gets between me and my Charmin Ultra Soft will have gone where no one ought dare to go.
But what's the latest target of environmental outrage? American toilet paper. The same folks who advocate kale flakes and wheat grass juice for breakfast are pushing for folks to tidy up after their morning duty with a recycled Whole Earth Catalog. All in the name of saving a tree.
Y'see, the toilet paper that's made American johns the envy of the inhabited universe is made mostly of virgin fiber -- fiber straight from the tree that grew it rather than recycling the newspaper that soaked up your spilled breakfast coffee. In order to make TP that's 'squeezably soft' they need long, fluffy fibers that puff up thick and strong -- making TP that's strong enough, thick enough to stand up to whatever the American diet throws at it. To tidy up what needs tidying without abrading the most sensitive section of the human sitter.
Now I'll join with anyone demanding that parking tickets and the like be made of recycled fiber, we can recycle newsprint and pasteboard boxes -- but as for the paper that really starts my day -- if it takes a new tree, that's a good investment.
I'm sure Mr. Whipple would agree.

Barkley for Senate, redux

As the political bladder-emptying contest grinds on in the courts with no dignified or satisfactory resolution in sight, perhaps it's time to take another tack.
There's no doubt now that be it Al or be it Norm who is blessed by the three-judge panel, this judicial troika's ruling will be challenged by the candidate less favored ad infinitum or at least to the U.S. Supreme Court. An expensive and tedious exercise which bodes no redeeming result.
With this dismal outcome in sight, might I suggest a reasoned and decent way out of this sorry electoral dilemma.
We were blessed with at three-way race in November and clearly the Coleman and Franken partisans have little love for their opposite number. However, it is probably fair and accurate to say that for the vast majority who cast their ballot -- disputed or undisputed -- their second choice for U.S. Senate from Minnesota was Independence Party Candidate, former Senator Dean Barkley. Barkley, appointed by Gov. Ventura to fill out the last days of Paul Wellstone's term following his death, served with brief distinction and emerged with honor and little animosity. Let me suggest that the most satisfactory outcome of the current unseemly electoral deadlock would be for both Coleman and Franken to concede, withdraw and endorse the certification of Dean Barkley -- everyone's second choice for senator -- to fill the seat for the next six years. We'd be done with it and have a senator that most Minnesotans no only don't despise, but are pretty much indifferent to. After the current debacle, that would be a good thing.

A day with no television?

Unemployment hit a 16 year high. The shooting goes on in Gaza. The governor of Illinois is impeached for putting a U.S. Senate seat on his private version of E-Bay and now the greatest crisis of all ... some folks might miss an episode of The Biggest Loser if Congress doesn't act and act quickly.
The economy be hanged ... it seems a bunch of folks haven't gotten with the program -- the digital TV program, that is -- and on February 17 their old sets are going to have more snow than a North Dakota blizzard, and not much else. It seems that, despite a law passed in 2005 (that's going on four years ago folks) and well over a year of really tedious talk about getting the $40 off coupon for a digital converter an uncomfortable lot of people remain analog and unconverted and because they haven't yet seen fit to haul their hinders to Best Buy or the neighborhood Wal-Mart store we need an act of Congress to put the whole she-bang on hold so nobody misses an installment of Days of our Lives...
Phooey.
We're talking about TV, people -- nobody ever died from Wheel of Fortune deprivation. How is it Congress is more concerned about kids not seeing Sponge Bob Square Pants than about kids not seeing a doctor? It's more important to ensure access to the Food Channel than to adequate food?
I suppose there's no real harm in letting the old analog broadcasts continue past the announced drop-dead date ... house plants won't wither and die nor will small, cute children mutate into toads ... but that's not the point. If, as a nation, we can't deal with procuring and attaching a fairly simple widget between the rabbit ears and the TV set with over a year's lead time to accomplish the same ... how can we hope to avoid becoming a wholly-owned subsidiary of Beijing, Inc.?
Best start learning Mandarin.

Time to exit gracefully, Norm

I'm not sure Minnesota voters have really spoken in the race for the U.S. Senate, but they have managed a faint, hoarse whisper and that -- especially at this late date -- ought to be enough.
For two months the vote-counters have been counting and when they finally got to the bottom of the pile -- the pile as defined by the laws of the state of Minnesota as interpreted by the Minnesota Supreme Court -- Al Franken has come out 225 ahead. That, according to the rules, makes him the winner and a member of the U.S. Senate.
Congratulations Al.
And congratulations, Norm, on a hard fought campaign and thank you for your service.
That, should be that.
But it may not be. There are strong rumblings and grumblings that Coleman will take the whole thing to court -- prolonging the uncertainty until both sides either run out of money or avenues of appeal.
Please, don't do it, Norm.
Quite frankly, at this point, I really don't care which man claims the seat in Washington, but when the new Congress gets down to business, I want one of their butts sitting in it. Minnesota's interests deserve to be represented by two votes in the U.S. Senate -- not just one. The counters counted more votes for Franken -- it's time for Coleman to gracefully step aside, get on with his life and in six years, perhaps give those 225 voters the chance to reconsider.
It would be the classy thing to do.

Sweet Caroline

So Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg (funny how she's recently dropped the 'Schlossberg') ants to be the next U.S. Senator from New York. It seems a bit odd in this day and age to have someone lay claim to public office on the basis of hereditary right -- I thought that sort of thing went out of fashion when the Hapsburgs quit laying claim to every vacant throne in Europe.
Now I'll grant that Caroline was a cut kid -- sitting on her pony 'Macaroni' while it dropped road apples in the Rose Garden -- and her father's death is an American tragedy, but at 51 her life's most extraordinary feature is being rich and privileged -- something she has in common with a goodly number of Senators, but probably not what the Founders had in mind when they established the office. Somehow, it strikes me that somewhere in all of New York there dwells an individual with greater breadth of experience, depth of insight and profundity of understanding than a wealthy woman who wouldn't merit a moment's consideration if her last name were simply Schlossberg.
And if New York is really that hard pressed for Senate candidates -- might I suggest they appoint whichever New Yorker comes up short in the Minnesota recount. I'm sure that Norm from Brooklyn or Al from Manhattan will serve the Empire State quite as well as Ed Schlossberg's wife.

Hey, that's OUR president you're thowing shoes at!

Poor ol' George -- he just get's no respect.
Good heavens, the man went to all the trouble and expense it took to liberate Iraq and give those poor benighted folks a free press and all, and how does he get repaid -- one of the press guys he went to all the trouble to free goes and throws his shoes at him.
No respect.
And it doesn't help a bit that from reports coming out of Mesopotamia and the adjacent region that Muntadhar al-Zeidi, the 28-year-old Iraqi shoe chucker, has become an instant hero to many of the folks living there.
No respect at all.
As for George, well, after 8 years of shaping foreign policy and dealing with people who don't live around here and speak English with a funny accent (New Yorkers don't count), past experience helped the increasingly lame duck president understand the situation. "I saw his sole," he told reporters.

The slick, the gullible and the just plain dumb

There was another one in my in-box this morning -- this one from a Mr. Gary Kreep (I couldn't make that up)-- one more in a seemingly endless parade of email insisting that Barack Obama has been a liar since before the day he was born and, by the way, if I send Mr. Kreep some money he promises to do something about it.
This whole Obama-doesn't-have-a-birth-certificate BS is really getting old. I suppose the Kreeps of the world will keep milking the mouth-breathers for Godly and patriotic donation until the well runs dry -- it's what we ought to expect from that breed of political bottom feeder. What gets to me is that we have folks out there who are entrusted with jobs, credit cards and drivers licenses who actually believe there was a prenatal conspiracy to make a Kenya-born Obama the first Muslim president, thereby bringing down the wrath of an affronted almighty down upon this erstwhile Christian nation.
Lemme tell ya, if there's anything to this tale those conspirators have to be the most uncannily brilliant folks since the Learned Elders of Zion -- to be able to flawlessly predict in 1961, when miscegenation was a crime in 22 states, that the mixed race baby of an impulsive, ill-educated 18-year-old mother and a Kenyan daddy was destined to become president of a country that made it awfully hard for non-white folks to vote would have taken a mind of prescient power unparalleled since the Masons took clandestine control of Western Civilization.
These folks really demonstrated their demonic brilliance when they slipped that birth announcement in the Honolulu Advertiser on Aug. 13, 1961, for a son to Mr. and Mrs. Barack H. Obama nine days earlier. Getting that kind of documentation for a kid born in Kenya took Romulan deviousness, Klingon ruthlessness and the amorality of a Ferengi.
Yeah, for 47 years, powerful forces have been at work ... Nostradamus predicted it, you know.
Either that, or it's all made up bunk -- more fodder for the yahoos from the Black Helicopter crowd.
After all, there is the inconvenient fact that Mr. Obama's birth certificate is very much in existence and has been examined by quite a number of reputable folks - and it is all ordinary and legitimate, standard documentation for a child born in Hawaii in 1961. Attested to by Snopes, FactCheck and most importantly, good ol' common sense.
Common sense. Has it ever been in such short supply?