What a Month!

The long slog of May is over. Birthdays have been celebrated, anniversaries marked, weddings attended, awards collected, and new apartments occupied. Three thousand miles have been added to the odometer of the Pacifica. Eating so much restaurant food has resulted in an addition five pounds to deal with. Now comes June and its looming deadline.

This month will be devoted almost exclusively to work. It will be a grind. I need to finish many things, wrap things up in as tidy a bow as is possible. This is what happens every year the week or so before our summer vacation. But this year will be different. We will be trying something new and possibly life changing. We will be spending the entire month of July in Maine. That will require a new level of getting ready. 

Buying Local Blues

Our first night in Nashville involved a restaurant incident that illustrates perfectly the down side to "buying local." Whenever we are out of town we like to eat at places indigenous to the city we are in, you know...sampling the local talent, so to speak. So last night, Pam gets on some app she has looking for a place close to our hotel where we could meet the kids for dinner. We found the perfect place...Murff's Craft Brews and Burgers. The owner was a decorated Vietnam vet with a local reputation for some sort of secret ingredient that had been celebrated on Nashville television. It's website looked amazing. We made a date.

We pull up into the parking lot and there were cars everywhere, a good sign. The place looked like a greasy spoon, but in a charming kind of way. I was psyched. Then things took a turn...

The front door of Murff's displayed a homemade, hand printed sign taped to the inside of the glass door just above the door handle, impossible to miss. It warned potential customers of the deadly dangers of consuming meat that isn't properly cooked. Needless to say, this isn't exactly the greeting one is looking for when entering a low grade eating establishment with burgers in its name. Then it got worse...much worse. Upon entering Murff's we were simultaneously greeted by two body blows. First, an elderly man( maybe Murff himself?), actually cleaning glasses with a towel from behind the bar greeted us, "Good to see you folks. Sit anywhere you want." Then it hit us...the smell. How to explain? The place reeked of strong, industrial strength disinfectant, like someone had just steam cleaned the place with Lysol ten minutes after they had exterminated the place with one of those lethal foggers. The other patrons seemed oblivious to the smell. None of us could imagine being able to eat anything inside a place that smelled like a DuPont plant might smell after consuming a tractor trailer full of rotten sardines. No, no...Pam laid down the law...no!

The app was once again put to work. This time we found a Firebirds only half a mile away. Pam says, "See, this is why people like chain restaurants. Quality control. You always know what you're going to get. It's comforting..."

Yes. Yes it is. My steak was wonderful. Afterwards it was ice cream at Coldstone Creamery. Today, after church we will try another local BBQ joint. Hopefully we will have better luck.

Is She Hurt, or Is She Scamming Us?

Displaying her instinctive knack for horrible timing, Miss Lucy has come up lame a mere 24 hours before we are to depart for Nashville. She has developed a rather severe limp, her right front paw suddenly hardly touching the floor when she walks. When we inspect her leg she doesn't wince or recoil from our touch. Nothing seems amiss, no swelling of any kind. But she is favoring that leg to an extreme degree.

So, her bed is now in my library and a gate has been placed at the stairs to keep her from using them. Maybe she pulled a muscle in one of her daily frisbee catching workouts. She loves to launch herself into the air and catch the frisbee at its highest possible point, which looks beautifully athletic and graceful, but sometimes she comes back down to earth at awkward angles. Or, maybe she can tell that we are heading out for the long weekend and this is all a stunt to change our minds. This "injury" sure looks serious when she limps around, but it doesn't stop her from her manic gyrations and general goofiness whenever we enter the room. Last night when Ryan and Ron came over, she was in full whirling dervish mode, albeit with a pronounced hitch in her gettiup. 

This morning, after the guy from Gurkin comes to fix the upstairs air conditioner( a story for another time), I will take her to the Vet. 

Poor girl...

The Libertarian Moment?

Stumbled upon this on the interwebs this morning. Fascinating. Although I have several quibbles and a few nits to pick, in general, I find this very useful as a summary of the power of rhetoric. 

It is clear to me why I lean Libertarian on so many of today's issues. First of all, Libertairans always win the battle of language. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the three parties words of choice on the economy...Democrats-regulated markets, Republicans-American capitalism, and Libertarians-free markets. Or, take the role of the military...Democrats-policing, Republicans-Expansion of democracy, Libertarians-defense. The differences could not possibly be clearer.

However, winning the language in politics is never enough, and has never been enough. You also need to win the theatre of politics...the optics. Libertarians always lose the optics. The guy in a debate who prattles on about natural law, responsibility, and individual initiative will always lose. Which brings me to the root of Libertarian failure in the modern political era....nobody wants to buy what they are selling. The core of Libertarian philosophy is the notion that we are all free agents and as such are ultimately responsible for ourselves. We look to government to provide only the things that individuals cannot efficiently provide for themselves, the common defense, a system of justice and the administration of that justice, and common infrastructure. This humble expectation of government involvement in daily life seems quite charming in a time when government has become so intertwined in every arena of life that they have taken to the administration of bathroom facilities! 

The fact is that Americans have looked at the world around them and discovered that it can be a hard and scary place. They have also discovered that this whole individual initiative business can be tough sledding. Life is hard, man! Liberty and freedom are fine, but what we really want is free health care, unlimited unemployment and an activist government to guarantee a whole host of comforts that our forefathers believed were the responsibility of each of us.( see item number 2 above )

So, while I admire this handy chart and agree with much of it, it reads like some ancient text. The Libertarian moment in America was 1776. It has long passed, and I doubt it will reappear again.

About the election.....

Have you noticed how I haven't written much about the Presidential contest lately? There was a time when the subject dominated this space. Now it gets largely ignored. There's a reason for that...I simply don't know what to say anymore. Hillary is still Hillary. Trump is still Trump, and Bernie is still a thing.

This election is like a dark menacing cloud off in the distance when you're enjoying a picnic. It's like the first intestinal cramp you feel after buckling your seatbelt on a cross country flight, or that sinking feeling you get once you realize that you should have gone to the bathroom before leaving the house but now you're buckled in with your maniacal conquer the trip husband whose determined to make it to Nashville with only one stop. 

Hillary can't put Bernie away. He's got no chance to win and he knows it, but he doesn't care. He's in it until the convention and intends to make Hillary sweat it out...because he A. Can and B. He can't stand the sight of her. There are, after all, advantages to being an older man in politics. Bernie isn't interested in waiting four or eight years to make another run. I mean, just look at the guy 

He might not even be alive eight years from now. No, he's all in for 2016, and if Hillary and the Democratic Party brass don't like it, they can all go to hell and get off his lawn!!!

So Hillary is left thrashing around for a campaign theme, trying desperately to fake authenticity. Remember a few weeks ago when her campaign printed up a million Women Cards? 

Yeah, well...Hillary hopes you forget. This brilliant idea polled about as well as Ted Cruz in New York City! Then she trotted out the loose cannon bit to describe Trump. This was apparently some field tested, poll-approved phrase that the Clinton campaign thought would resonate with the American people. Only, it bombed. Note to Clinton campaign: when testing phrases on the "American People" try using Americans who live somewhere outside of Manhattan.

Then, there's this guy. 

There's a reason he's smiling. He's now leading Hillary in several polls, more each week it seems. He doesn't have to hire consultants, doesn't have to employ campaign gurus, doesn't even have a pollster. Heck, he doesn't even have to be right about anything. All he has to do is be himself. All the wise men, not to mention idiots like me, keep predicting his demise....but he keeps on winning. 

So yeah...I haven't had much to say about this race of late because what is there to say? Nothing I say will be as outrageous as everything Trump says, and I couldn't be as boring as Hillary if my life depended on it, so I'm just going to sit back for awhile and let the candidates speak for themselves.

Meanwhile...how 'bout the weather we've been having, eh?

Yes.....it's raining.

It's the 23rd of May. It's raining. It's been raining all night, all weekend. As a matter of fact, it's rained for 17 days and nights during May. That means that the citizens of Short Pump have enjoyed exactly 6 sunny days this month. This, despite the fact that a famous nursery rhyme promises us that April showers bring May flowers. Of course, another one promises us that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. Lies. All lies.

However, my weather app assures me that it's almost over. The next five days feature a bright sun with no clouds and temperatures in the 90's. Wait, WHAT? 

I'm told that the fine people of the Pacific Northwest live like this all year long. Rain, either in the form of showers, steady soaking rain or fine mist is the standard forecast for large stretches of the year. If this is true, then to the good people of Seattle I can only say, bless your hearts. If this is what your life is like all year, then no wonder you birthed punk rock. No stinking wonder you elected Patty Murray!! No wonder you're the home of Starbucks...caffeine by the truckload does lift the spirits...and no wonder you guys built the space needle, all the better to impale yourself. Oh, and all of that 12th man nonsense with your Seahawks? That's not enthusiasm, that's pent up rage! Oh, and don't think I haven't noticed that the most popular boy name in Seattle is Noah.

A Prayer For Miss Lucy...

It's Saturday morning after a long and strenuous week. It is pouring down rain, and I do mean pouring. This is no intermittent shower, no soft mist. This is a deluge of rain, the type of Noah-esk event that sends the delicate imaginations of my dog Lucy into full derangement. She has spent most of the morning hunkered down in our small, dark walk-in closet imagining all of the worst case scenarios possible for the mind of a golden retriever. Maybe she thinks that the rushing sound that rain makes on our roof is the precursor of some sort of violent home invasion. Perhaps she fears that the rain is about to burst through the front door and steal her food. Whatever it is, she is taking no chances...shivering in a ball in the protective confines of our closet.

Of late, Lucy seems to have taken several steps back in her ongoing battle for mental health. Just about the time when she makes us think that she is becoming a normal, well-adjusted dog, inexplicably, she skips meals and slinks around the house like a shell-shocked infantryman on Omaha Beach

Lucy: Whoa!, wait..what's that sound??!!

Pam: Sorry Lucy! Mommy just dropped a piece of celery on the floor...it's ok! 

Lucy: Geeze Louise!! Would it kill you to give a dog a warning??!!

The weirdest part about Lucy's daily display of neurosis is her bizarre meal time behavior. Every dog I have ever had has always had the same meal time M.O. As you stand at the counter mixing up the kibble, the dog nervously pants, hardly able to restrain him/herself. Then you place the bowl on the floor and the dog attacks the thing like you haven't fed him/her in weeks! The whole thing is over in two minutes! Not Miss Lucy.

Me: You want some dinner Lucy? Daddy's got some dinner for that sweet puppy!

Lucy: ...completely disinterested, she sits in the next room staring at me, giving off the air of someone who couldn't possibly care less, weirdly cat-like.

Pam: Come eat your dinner Lucy. See? Mommy will sit perfectly still in this chair, and Daddy will go in the other room and be quiet so you can eat.

Then, and only then, will she slowly hurumph herself into the kitchen to inspect tonight's fare. She will slowly and carefully begin to eat her dinner, always keeping a sharp eye out for the appearance of some demonic beast who might suddenly swoop down from the ceiling fan to kill us all! Yes, the ceiling fan has been the source of intense fear and loathing ever since that fateful morning over a year ago when Lucy was laying on our bed minding her own business, when Pam accidentally flipped the switch for the ceiling fan instead of the light. Up until that point, Lucy had never seen the ceiling fan engaged in fan-like activity. Seeing it suddenly come to life above her was apparently the most terrifying thing ever. She bolted off the bed and out of the room faster than you could say,"Our dog is insane." Ever since that day, Lucy has been highly aware of the several ceiling fans in our house. Although we have taken special care never to turn them on ever again, she isn't convinced. Every so often, she will cast a wary eye upwards just to make sure that the fans aren't trying to pull a fast one, her hatred of them palpable. Oh, and don't even think about asking her to go for a walk in the Center Ridge culdesac since she saw a trash truck there six months ago!!

I could make a realty television show about Lucy's upcoming month long adventure to a lake house in Maine. The trip up alone would be a smash hit! 

Pray for us!