Landslide?

Election week is here and if my news sources this morning are correct, we are about to throw a bunch of Democrats out of office. Practically every story I have read has used words like “historic” and “landslide” to describe what is about to befall the party of government in these midterms. Now that we are within 24 hours of the big vote the crazies have come out. Over the weekend, desperate Dems dragged out their heavy artillery, lobbing racial bombs throughout the fruited plain. In fliers distributed throughout predominantly black neighborhoods, voters were warned that a vote for a Republican would mean that land would be donated to the KKK! Charlie Rangel, the esteemed Congressman from Harlem proclaimed that some Republicans don’t know that slavery isn’t legal anymore. Mary Landrieu, a Democrat who has managed to be elected twice in Louisiana, suddenly has discovered that her state is full of a bunch of racist, sexist slobs…now that she has fallen behind in the polls.

But the best 11^th hour haymaker thrown by a desperate Democrat has to go to retiring Iowa Senator Tom Harkin, who warned voters not to be taken in by Republican Joni Ernst just because she was “pretty” and “seems so nice.” I eagerly await a press release from the National Organization of Woman slamming the Senator for his demeaning, sexist, misogynistic comments.

I will vote tomorrow but will not make the same mistake I made last time. A year ago, I wrote a blog post entitled, “Voting NO” about my failed attempt to pull the lever for anyone. That decision was met with a chorus of condemnation. Let’s just say that this year, I will keep my voting behavior to myself.

That’s not to say that I don’t have an opinion on the proceedings. When almost every poll suggests a nationwide trend away from one party like this year, it’s always kind of a big deal. I have a theory about politics in America. Demographics are destiny. Generally speaking, I believe that a majority of people want the policies of the Democrats, ie…most people want their Social Security; most people want the government to be there when they lose their job, or become disabled and yes, I do believe that most people would prefer that the government provide them with health insurance. So, how to explain a national repudiation of the Democratic Party in an election? Competence.

The only time the Democrats get beat in an election is when the majority of voters are convinced that they don’t know what the hell they are doing. Regardless of your politics, it’s hard to make the case for competence with the current administration and the likes of Harry Reid. So, according to my theory, the Republicans are about to get their shot at running both houses of Congress. Good luck to them.

But they will be on a short leash. The American people will only reward them in the next election if they keep the entitlements flowing. They start fooling around with means-testing Social Security, or eliminating infinite unemployment benefits, or even scrapping the 20,000 page tax code, well they will be tossed to the curb before you can say “national debt.”

My Two Recovering Girls

Miss Lucy made it through her spaying and Pam made it through her procedure relatively unscathed. Lucy was still under the influence of the anesthesia for most of the evening, and Pam was also numbed up, so last night passed without incident.  This morning was another matter.

Aside from the overwhelming humiliation that comes with wearing such a monstrous device strapped around her head, this morning, with a clear head, has brought irritation and annoyance. She paws at the thing, growls and whines her frustration, then stalks off in a huff careening off of furniture and walls, trying to make a dramatic exit, which only makes us laugh at her, the ultimate humiliation!

Pam, of course, is much more circumspect. There has been no whining, very little growling, and so far she hasn’t knocked anything over.

I have been greatly aided in my caretaking duties by one of my sainted sisters, Paula, who brought over the following homemade meal last night:

·        Pork tenderloin

·        Green beans with baby tomatoes

·        Macaroni and cheese

·        Some sort of steamed apple concoction that tasted like heaven

·        A pan of homemade rolls which looked like muffins and tasted like heaven’s twin sister

·        Pumpkin spice pudding

Somehow, I managed to make it through the night! Tonight will be the big test. Halloween, with its hordes of prepubescent urchins rustling around outside and Pam and I inside a dark house trying to calm Lucy down. Her famous skittishness combined with the satellite dish around her head should combine to produce some highlight reel-quality moments.

I’ll have the camera ready.

Poor Lucy

Poor Lucy. Poor innocent, unsuspecting, anxiety-free Lucy, chasing her tail on the family room floor, nary a discouraging thought in her little puppy head. In less that two hours some Vet will be robbing her of her womanly parts, altering her life forever. Then they will strap the cone of shame on her adorable head, making it impossible to do the one thing that brings her endless delight…licking herself. And who exactly is responsible for this outrage? Us, her trusted and adored owners, that’s who.

But the great thing about dogs is that she will forgive us. Actually, she won’t even blame us. She will never make the connection that it was our fault. She won’t hold a grudge like a cat would. Heck, for all I know, Lucy will think that we were the ones who saved her from the horrible Vet and forget that we were the ones who took her there in the first place.

Dogs are never shocked when we do nice things for them, because everything we do for them is the most spectacularly fantabulous thing ever! Especially when I take her to Petsmart at 7 am, apparently. She was overjoyed upon first entering this doggy Xanadu. What’s not to love about a gigantic warehouse full of aisle upon aisle of dog toys, the smell of dog food hanging heavily in the air and lots of other dogs!! Lucy’s head was on a swivel, taking it all in with delight. Wait, are those BIRDS???!!”

Upon arrival at the pet waiting room, she was thrilled to find two older, exceedingly more forlorn dogs, who both seemed totally disgusted with Lucy’s gleeful personality. These two dogs looked like grizzled veterans of the Veterinarian game and could barely conceal their unanimous disgust with this obnoxious puppy. “Idiot” they both seemed to conclude.

Unfazed, Lucy wiggled excitedly on, oblivious to the social cues practically raining down upon her to rein it in a bit. When the nurse came to take her back to the “pre-op” area, she bounded through the door as if a ten pound ham hock awaited her, not even glancing back at me. She seemed to be having the time of her life.

We’ll see how delighted she is this afternoon at 5:30. Pictures to follow.

Why We Love Sports.

Game seven. It’s what every baseball fan dreams about. After a 162 game marathon season, and a nearly month long postseason, it all comes down to this one all-hands-on-deck game. We’ve watched the ebb and flow of this series play out before us, two evenly matched teams neither of which has managed to win consecutive games. Game seven will take care of that.

In my opinion, the Royals have played better baseball, but the Giants have had Madison Bumgarner. The 6’5” 235 pound left handed pitcher from the sticks of North Carolina has been a magician on the mound in his two starts, and the Royals have looked outclassed against him. Luckily, he won’t be starting tonight’s game, but if Tim Hudson falters early, I expect to see that big, goofy kid lope in from the bullpen. So, if the Royals plan on winning the game, they better score early before that happens!

Although I would love to see the Royals win, at this point even that doesn’t matter. Either team would be a deserving champion. I just love the immediacy of it, the all or nothing, now or never strategy that will be forced on the naturally risk averse managers. At the end of this night the matter will be decided.

Don’t you wish this was how all of life worked? While it is true that we confer far too much glory and adulation, not to mention money, on sports in this country, one of the reasons we do is game seven of the World Series. In this increasingly complex, interconnected world where one thing always leads to another, where no great issues are ever decided once and for all, where ultimate victory is so seldom achieved, sports provides moments of clarity. Just try to imagine what a ticker-tape victory parade would look like the day that we win the War on Terror, a V-T Day, if you will. You can’t, because it will never happen. That conflict will crawl along for generations. Or, how about the interminable cat fight between Democrats and Republicans, the left vs. right? When will someone finally prevail in that 200 year tug of war? Not going to happen. And what about this epic good vs. evil thing that human beings have been a part of since Eden? This side of eternity, that battle is an endless stream of inconclusive skirmishes.

But tonight, there will be an answer. The matter will be resolved. There will be a winner and a loser and it will be recorded in the record books. One team will be vindicated and the other vanquished. Unlike in the sterilized world we have tried to create, the real world produces winners and losers. Not everyone gets a trophy, only one team takes the champagne bath, and they do so with callous disregard for the potential hurt feelings of the guys in the other clubhouse. Instead of endlessly frustrating gridlock, the great contest will explode in a fireball of spectacle.

And this is why Americans love sports.

The Cone of Shame

Lucy is about to go under the knife, just in time for Halloween. Yes, our girl is scheduled to be spayed on Thursday. She has no idea what is about to happen. Actually, neither do I, since Pam and I have very little recollection of this procedure with Molly. Although, we are both reasonably sure that it did NOT involve having to wear the cone of shame for two weeks! That’s what the folks at Petsmart have advised. Two weeks? I get the fact that you must protect the stiches and whatnot, but two weeks of this?

The worst part is that the very next day is Halloween. Our Lucy remains the most skittish thing ever so we can’t imagine how she will react to 100 kids traipsing through the yard ringing the doorbell demanding candy, all the while wearing such a bizarre and terrifying contraption. Leave it to my wife (with an assist from my son-in-law) to convert lemons into lemonade with this idea...

Lucy the martini!

I Hate it When My Wife is Right.

This blog is for all you husbands out there with annoyingly smart wives. You know who you are. We are the men who must endure an endless procession of that dreaded four word incantation that is sometimes spoken but more often merely smugly implied…I told you so.

Take this weekend for example. Twelve days ago I got a rare cold. I struggled with the runny nose, sneezing and congestion the entire time I was in Pigeon Forge with my kids. Then I fought against coughing and sluggishness all of last week when I returned. Saturday night was a long sleep deprived night of coughing. Sunday morning, Pam looks at me with a combination of compassion and irritation and calmly says, “If you still have cold symptoms after ten days, it has obviously turned into bronchitis. You need an antibiotic and some cough medicine to take at night. Common sense should tell you that if you are not getting better after so long, you need to go see a doctor…now.”

Patient First is right down the road, so there I was walking through the door reading the huge poster in the lobby warning me of Ebola symptoms. Nice! After signing in, I sat with all of the other sick people in the aptly named “waiting room” for twenty minutes. Finally a perky nurse-ette bounded into the room. “Mr. Doonivant?” Close enough.

Blood pressure slightly elevated, temperature normal, weight unchanged since last visit. “Doctor so-and-so will be in to see you in a few minutes,” she explained as she walked me to my cubicle. I glanced at my cell phone. It was 12:17.

I was actually looking forward to seeing my usual crazy Patient First Indian doctor with the horrible bedside manner, brutal accent and charming sense of humor…

Doctor: Why are you here?

Me: It hurts when I do this.

Doctor: Well, how about you stop doing that??”

It would be 1:05 by the time my disappointingly boring American doctor drew back the curtain to my prison cell and spent all of 5 minutes examining me. I challenge you to spend 45 minutes in an 8x8 room with no pictures and no magazines and spotty cell phone coverage, on a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon. I had been reduced to reading up on the early signs of carpal tunnel and am now pretty much an expert on the differences between the common cold and fall allergies, not to mention fully up to speed on the dangers of smoking and childhood obesity.

Dr. Whitebread finally reappears to tell me his diagnosis:

“Generally speaking, any cold that doesn’t go away after ten days or so will most likely turn into bronchitis. Your lungs are sort of a mess so I’m placing you on an antibiotic, some prednisone and also some cough medicine to take an hour before you go to bed.”

Are you kidding me? I just paid this guy God knows how much to quote my wife back to me??

So, I return home to essentially admit that my wife is smarter than me. Her plan to go to the doctor was better than my plan to do nothing and wait until it went away on its own.

Grrrrrrr….

Fall Classic

Both Pam and I have been fighting a cold, so when I suggested that we go out to see The Fury tonight she pointed out that we would be that annoying sick couple that coughs through the movie…the ones who I always shoot the killer eyes of death to when they happen to be sitting behind me. I hate it when Pam always suggests that we do the right thing!

 It’s just as well since I have been thoroughly enjoying this World Series and game four is tonight. Yes, I’m aware that the ratings have been horrible. Yes, I know that Kansas City and San Francisco are among the smallest markets in baseball which has contributed to the low numbers, and yes, I’m aware that America likes runs and scoring and this series has been light on both. But, these teams are playing terrific baseball. They are playing great defense, the pitching has been amazing and as far as the Royal bullpen goes, historic.

I can practically hear my sister Paula now, “It’s just pitching!! I want some home runs! If I wanted to watch defense I’d switch over to the Military channel!” She has a point. Guys don’t get paid 20 million a year because they can lay down a sacrifice bunt. But after the steroid era turned baseball into a home run derby, I think it’s refreshing to see two teams who know how to play fundamentally sound baseball.

In what has become something of a tradition, the World Series means texting back and forth with my son. We haven’t been in the same city during the Fall classic in probably 7 years now, but we both watch and share our instant analysis. In 2013, Patrick came up with a couple of hilarious puns at the expense of Red Sox closer Koji Uehara. So far this year, nothing particularly uproarious has been exchanged but…it’s early.

Even my new puppy gets into the games, particularly when that Budweiser commercial comes on where the twenty-something kid goes off to drink with his friends and leaves his poor dog at home alone all night. As soon as the dog starts to whine Lucy stops dead in her tracks and stares forlornly at the TV, cocking her head to the side. I personally think that the spot should be 10 seconds longer and show the pile of poop laying in the middle of the living room rug and the pool of pee that the guy slips on while walking down the hall to his bedroom. Then the camera could cut back to the dog, smiling smugly with the caption, “Gothca!”