Er...On Second Thought

Yesterday, this space suggested that men needed to bow out of political office for a few years and let women take over. Now, I hear news that makes me rethink that idea. The Congressional Black Caucus has just put forward Sheila Jackson Lee as a candidate to replace Janet Napolitano as Director of Homeland Security. Wait a minute. On second thought…

I will not here catalog the manifold failings of Congressperson Lee. It would take too long and I do have to get to work at some point today, but suffice it to say that the one legislative accomplishment of her interminable tenure in Congress was her Co-Authorship of a Congressional Resolution honoring Michael Jackson. My favorite Jackson Lee quote was the one where she was touring the Mars Pathfinder Control Center at NASA and asked the director if the Pathfinder had taken any pictures of the American flag that Neil Armstrong had placed there in 1969.

According to the fine folks who make up the Congressional Black Caucus, Ms. Lee would bring “valuable and unique insights and perspectives to the job of protecting the homeland”. I’ll say! This got me to thinking about other similar candidates that could emerge for other government jobs if what we were looking for was merely, “valuable and unique insights and perspectives” rather than actual qualifications. What follows is a short list.

1.     Let’s get Bernie Madoff out of prison to run the Federal Reserve when Bernanke steps down. Talk about unique insights? I can’t think of a more qualified candidate to run the Fed than a man who successfully ran a Ponzi scheme without detection for twenty five years!

2.     How about we put Paula Dean in charge of the School Lunch Program? She needs work, and it would have the added benefit of cutting down on the truancy rate.

3.     Sean Penn would certainly bring unique perspectives to the Department of Defense. Once he got finished disarming the country and surrendering to Cuba, we could balance the budget.

4.     Talk about an Agency that could use some unique perspectives, how about we get Warren Buffet to run the IRS? Since he’s so horrified that his secretary pays a higher rate than he does, I’m sure he would figure out how to fix that in no time.

5.     Let’s get Nancy Grace to become the new Attorney General. She used to be a lawyer right? We could use some screaming hysteria at the Justice Department, don’t you think?

6.     Lil Wayne could head up the National Endowment for the Arts. Rap IS art, right?

7.     Tim Tebow would make an excellent Ambassador to the United Nations. Who could resist that smile? I can see it now, right in the middle of a contentious debate, Tebow smiles and says, “Well, our job as the United States is to work hard and try to get better each and every day. God bless.”

8.     Bryce Harper as President Obama’s Press Secretary. “That’s a clown question, bro.”

9.      Sarah Palin could run the Department of the Interior. She’s from freaking Alaska; it doesn’t get any more interior than that.

10.    And finally, Kim Kardashian, a woman who has accomplished nothing her entire life yet is somehow famous, would be the perfect person to run the Commerce Department, an agency of the federal government that has accomplished nothing its entire life and yet still exists.

It's Time For Women

Having two twenty-something kids has many benefits. They do their best to keep me as hip as humanly possible with remarks like, “Dad, you’re not seriously thinking about going anywhere dressed like that, are you?” But as a writer, they also serve as my personal sensitivity coaches. We are from distinctly different generations, and I rely upon them to help me to steer clear of the politically incorrect usage of words. Phrases that I think are merely accurate descriptions, like “Chi-Coms”, they think are rich with derogatory racial undertones. So I will proceed with this blog post as gingerly as possible, because even I can sense the potential sexism inherent in its theme. If so, my kids can be depended on to let me know about it.

With the latest Anthony Weiner sexting controversy, his poll numbers have shown some rather severe shrinkage. Perhaps he will finally go away and the Republic will be free of him, but perhaps not. But as horribly embarrassing as this whole episode has been, imagine how much worse it would be if it had been Janet Napolitano caught sending selfies of her womanly private parts to young men via Twitter? Come to think of it, when was the last time a female politician was caught up in ribald sexual Tomfoolery? I can’t think of one. Sometimes I think that we would be far better governed if we only elected women to political office. At least we wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire of some ideological pissing contest between a bunch of horny Alfa-males. I feel certain that if women ran the country we wouldn’t get involved in so many meaningless wars, and I’m rather certain that we would be spared pictures of politicians’ genitalia splashed all over the internet. It seems to me that testosterone and power aren’t mixing well at the moment, and the country would be well served if the men were placed in time-out for a few years. Think about it, for even the most conservative among us, if the choice for President came down to Hillary Clinton or Elliot Spitzer, who would you prefer? This one might be a bit tougher, but suppose it came down to a contest between Anthony Weiner or Michelle Obama? I can say with confidence that in each case I would prefer the liberal woman over the scumbag man.

It is my sincere hope that the feelings and sensibilities of any woman reading this  were not offended by this post.  

The Bargain

Walking into your office after a week away is one of the most deflating experiences this life has to offer. Yesterday, I decided to do so to prepare for my first day back. My desk was piled with 8 days worth of mail and correspondence, a prodigious mound of worry covering almost its entire working surface. Then I glanced at my phone, saw the blinking red light and the number “22” in the message window. “Welcome back Mr. Dunnevant”

Two hours later, I had plowed through all of it, sorting it all into workable piles on the floor, this pile containing the stuff that must be filed, that pile the stuff that needs some sort of action, and a third pile that I get to throw away. Then I catalogued all of the phone messages. Thankfully, there were no emergencies, no angry clients wondering why on earth I would be taking a vacation on the very day they needed to speak to me. I then set about prioritizing the order in which these 22 calls must be returned. I transferred this information onto my very old school “to do list” on the yellow pad that always sits just to the right of the laptop on my credenza. When I was done, twenty five items required my attention for the week of July 29^th.

This is the bargain we make with ourselves every summer. We plan a vacation with the family someplace far, far away from work and the reality of our lives. We go, and temporarily turn our backs on our responsibilities. It’s glorious, and we love every minute of it, but in the dimly lit recesses of our brain, (right beside old high school memories and to the left of memorized poetry), there lies a poorly suppressed thought, the first day back at work is going to be horrible. But we accept it as a necessary part of being a functioning adult. We can’t have the vacation without the job, unless we are members of Congress where one is indistinguishable from the other.

So, back to work, where I will do my duty and begin plotting the details of my next vacation, which lies somewhere out there at the end of a rainbow.

What's a Vacation Without a 911 Call?

I hate it when you wake up and you’re still in your beach house, but vacation is over. All of a sudden, the place isn’t a fabulous retreat with glorious views of the ocean; it’s a three story house with stuff strewn everywhere that needs to be picked up, vacuumed, and left clean and pure for the next family. The end of vacation stinks.

This has been a great week with nearly perfect weather. There has been amazing food, lots of laughter, and what vacation would be complete without at least one 911 call? Unfortunately, I missed it all since I was down on the beach, but I have it from fairly reliable sources that it involved Christina, Ezra and Bennett taking an ill-advised joy ride in the elevator. Naturally, the thing got stuck, something about a circuit breaker. So, now you had two little boys trapped in an un-air conditioned closet. Ron, our go-to family know it all, was out walking and unavailable, and me, the family blogger wasn’t there to offer any snappy one-liners, so someone made the decision to call the authorities. Soon, Buxton’s finest pull up the driveway, and suddenly the house looks like a set from CSI: Criminal Minds. Two firemen in full regalia, wielding axes and attitude burst through the door ready for anything, then a couple of plain clothes detectives walk in flashing badges and assuring all that there was no need to panic. Too late. Paul freaks out when he sees the firemen, certain that once Ezra is greeted by these uniformed giants, all hell will indeed break loose. Thinking fast, he recalls a passage from one of Ezra’s favorite books and yells up the elevator shaft, “Hey Buddy, guess what? Your two favorite firemen from, “Let’s Put Out The Fire” are here!!”

Thankfully, the circuit breaker problem was solved, and all ended well. When Bennett emerged from the ordeal he took full advantage of the crisis to demand, “I’m gonna have a pop-sicle right now!”, thus cementing his title of “Most Valuable Vacationer” of 2013.

So, this morning we will stuff everything into the back of the car and cheat the hangman by spending the day in Manteo while waiting for the traffic to die down, wrenching every drop of fun we can out of this week before surrendering to Richmond, Virginia.

Can’t wait for 2015.

A Magical Night

It was a little after 7:30 in the evening when we all gathered down on the beach. Jon and Ron were busy digging a hole in the sand near where the waves were washing gently up the steep inclines so common on the Outer Banks. Three other families, several football fields up the beach had the same idea. Soon, the flames were making crackling sounds as they wrapped around the bone dry wood I had bought earlier in the day from the one armed man at the Shell station who let me name my own price since he couldn’t help me load it in the back of my car. I gave him a five dollar bill. “If you’re happy, I’m happy”, he said.

Soon the little ones came down to see the fire, their eyes wide with expectation. By the time we started roasting marshmallows for the s’mores the fire was a blaze, sending strange shadows across the sand. It was getting dark and now the fire was lighting up faces all around. There was a Kryptonite sighting and all the attendant squealing fun as Bennett screamed out his warning.

I sat quiet and still taking in the moment, the chocolate and marshmallow smeared faces of the children, the tanned face of my daughter as she stared at her fiancé, my son sitting next to his mother deep in some conversation. I watched my two sisters and their husbands, my nieces smiling at their children with Matt hovering with his camera taking thoughtful pictures that we will point to years later as we ask, “Do you remember that night?”

On this most perfect of nights, I miss my Mom. This was the sort of thing that she lived for, family all together having fun. She would have loved it. I also thought of my Dad who couldn’t make this trip with us. He would have loved it too.

As the fire died down, we walked down to the water’s edge and stomped around in the wet sand, and like magic, tiny specks of light appeared around our feet. Noctiluca, it’s called, a terrible name for something so romantic. It was nice to feel something like wonder at age 55. It was at this moment, watching my family dancing on the beach, pawing at the sand and pointing at what looked like a miracle that it occurred to me that I will be doing this for the rest of my life. I will be making a trip to the beach with my wildly boisterous family every two years until the day that I, like Dad can’t make the trip…because this is what families do. I will watch the little ones grow to become teenagers, replaced by little ones of my own someday. Someday, my grandchildren will be old enough to carry my chair and cooler down to the beach for me. The family will grow and get younger, louder and more difficult to cram into one house, but we will always do it, because to miss out on the magic of a fire on the beach isn’t worth the risk.

Entrepreneurs For Christ !!

Times are tough all over. Even churches are feeling the heat, as high unemployment and uncertain prospects have resulted in budgets being cut. Just the other day, I was talking with a friend of mine who is an administrator at the First Baptist Church of Freloadia, Tennessee.

Me: So, Steve, how are things at the church?

Steve: Not good, in fact, things are pretty awful. Attendance is up, but giving is way down, so we have had to make some tough decisions.

Me: Like what? You didn’t get let go did you??

Steve: No, no, nothing like that. But as the Administrative Pastor, they all expect me to come up with new and improved procedures to increase efficiency. And, I’ve done just that, but so far, we’ve gotten some rather angry feedback.

ME: Oh dear. What did you do?

Steve: Well, it’s mostly little things, the same sort of things that any business would do in lean years. You know, stuff like charging for weddings, and funerals.

Me: Wait…you charge for funerals? Isn’t that sorta insensitive, you know, adding insult to injury?

Steve: Not at all, it’s a service we provide. Money doesn’t grow on trees around here, Doug.

Me: Ok, what else?

Steve: Ok, we have started to charge people for taking communion. Those little crackers have gone through the roof lately, and I don’t need to tell you how expensive grape juice has gotten. We charge one dollar for the blood of Christ and 50 cents for his body. But you can get a special family rate that brings the cost down significantly for a family of four. We call it the “4-Pack”.

Me: Wow…that’s certainly innovative.

Steve: And of course, we’re charging a dollar to park in the church parking lot, which is a twofer since it encourages our people to park off site so there’s more room for visitors, plus, it’s become quite a cash cow, you might even call it a “sacred cow”! Haha!

Me: Steve, I don’t know about this, it just doesn’t sound right.

Steve: Look Doug. This is Twenty First Century thinking. The days of free church membership are over. Besides, people who truly love Jesus won’t mind pay toilets and coin operated water fountains.

Me: Are you freaking kidding me? You guys installed pay toilets?

Steve: Sure! Of course we only charge 25 cents if you’re handicapped. But, the one that everybody has pitched the biggest fit about is our plan to sell tickets for the children’s choir concert. Even though we created a roped off “platinum member” section for the parents of the kids, you would have thought we had killed somebody the way the grandparents yelled and screamed over that one. But Doug, we are serious about these new austerity plans. Matter of fact, from now on, if you want the best seats for any church service, you have to be a tither.

Me: But, how do you know if someone tithes?

Steve: oh, we know. There are ways, we have, er..methods. The chairman of our finance committee used to work for the NSA. We even came up with a new slogan, “At First Baptist, You have to Pay to Pray.”

Me: And the people aren’t happy with these changes, I take it?

Steve: You know how people are Doug. Everybody hates change. But eventually, they’ll get used to it. It’s actually making people think twice before demanding services from the church. I’ll tell you one thing, that prayer list that the Pastor always reads on Wednesday night sure has gotten shorter since we started charging a prayer request prioritizing fee. All of a sudden old Mrs. Fitzgerald’s bunions have miraculously been healed since she had to fork over 5 bucks to get on the list.

Me: I don’t know what to say Steve. What you’re describing doesn’t sound much like a church. It sounds more like a…”

Steve:…a Silicon Valley start up? Exactly! I’m not a Pastor anymore Doug, I’m an entrepreneur for Christ.  

Vacation Life

 For the past two days, I’ve been laying around on the beach, eating too much food, and engaging in spirited conversations about everything from the financial woes of Detroit to the killing power of Kryptonite. So, today, on Day Three of #Dunnevant Beach13, I will be driving my car onto a ferry, making the trip to Ocracoke Island so I can…lay around on the beach eating too much food, variety being the spice of life, or so I’m told.

It must be reported at this point that seven of us went to play putt-putt last night. The winning score of 44 was posted by your humble blogger, naturally, while the high score of 68 was tallied by my wife who simply could not master the contours of the dimly lit greens while simultaneously looking fabulous. Ryan’s front nine score of 38 set some sort of course record for futility that caused buzzers to go off, sirens to wail and several paramedics to appear to make sure he was ok.

All was not lighthearted fun however; as I discovered that my future son in law is not above cooking the books to embellish the standing of his girlfriend. After one particularly problematic hole in which Kaitlin managed to hit her ball onto the back of a nearby pickup truck, then into a water hazard, I saw Jon write down her score on the scorecard, smile adoringly at her with the words, “Nice 3 honey!”

We got back to the house just in time to hear Linda tell the story of the day when the hurricane came through Richmond and knocked out power to the hospital. The generator was deployed to maintain critical life saving equipment, so each patient room was reduced to one light. This was unacceptable to one expectant grandmother who marched down the hall wanting to know what in the $#@&? was the matter with the television?! The head nurse explained that the hurricane had knocked out the power. “I don’t give a flying rat’s #$@!? about no %$#@&* hurricane. Rick is about to come out of he coma and stop that lying Camille from stealing he inheritance from that thievin’ Brooke who claim she had the amnesia but everybody know that’s a $#%@* lie. Now you people need to power up this here TV are I’m gonna have to open up a can of whup-ass up in here.”

More popcorn, Bill.