Time To Escape

For the next three days, this will be the view from my back yard. I have business which takes me to see clients in South Carolina, providing me with an excellent excuse for a getaway. This condo belongs to a close friend and he generously lets me use it every year when I go to meet with these particular clients. Pam will be with me. My daughter will drive over from Columbia after work on Friday to spend a couple of nights with us. The weather doesn’t look particularly promising...mid sixties with high winds, not exactly beach weather. But, at a place like this and at this season of life...who cares about the weather? It could be blowing a gale with sideways rain and I still would rather be anywhere but here at the moment.

There’s just something about being on the water that calms the spirit. Pam and I prefer the lakes in Maine, but the ocean is a very close second. It’s peaceful and hypnotic. When you take a walk on the beach, the broad horizon reminds you of how vast is the earth and how very small you are. But something else...it also reminds you how small your problems are, and there is great comfort in that reminder.

You sit long enough watching the waves roll up onto such a massive beach, your perspective will change. The ebb and flow of the oceans are ancient and eternal. Who knows where this water has been? What kind of amazing journey has the shell made that presents itself at your feet? If only it could speak. You stare at the thin line to the East which separates gray and blue and imagine what the children of Portugal are thinking as they gaze at the same line in the West. The sounds, the pounding of the surf, the roll of the waves, the seagulls and sand pipers. Before long you can’t even remember who’s President.

I will take my morning coffee on the balcony, even if it requires a winter coat. I will sit in a chair on the beach, even if I have to wear my Boston Red Sox stocking cap. It will require much self discipline to organize my tax documents while I’m there, although it will be a goal of the weekend. No matter how hypnotic the tides, Accountant Carl simple must have my documents by next week. But, if I must  organize and assemble tax documents, I would much rather do so after a meal of low country seafood. Making lists of deductions to the sound of lapping waves seems much less daunting. The salty air makes everything more inviting, doesn’t it?

Mild Irritants

Yesterday, my patience was put to the test by a series of what can only be fairly described as mild irritants. Nobody committed any crimes, no one set out to intentionally foul my temper, in fact, none of the guilty parties were even vaguely aware of my existence. All of these mild irritants happened while I was behind the wheel of my car...

I was running a bit late, and I hate being late. I had been detained on the phone longer than expected, so I was in a small hurry to get to my next appointment. Many irritating things happen to people who find themselves in small hurries.

The first stop light I encounter after leaving my parking lot is usually backed up, but fortunately I was second in line behind what looked to be a female of millennial age who was driving a Honda Civic adorned with a Feel the Bern bumper sticker. When the light turned green, she sat immobile as a stone, head tilted down towards her lap where she was clearly engrossed in an impassioned text conversation with her BFF about the latest outrage being foisted upon her by the patriarchy. A full five seconds passed, which in this situation is akin to three dog years. I resisted deploying my horn. Surely, she would snap out of it any second. Two more seconds...three, her Olympian-level thumbs still raging at the very misogynistic air that we breathe! Finally, I stood on my horn, at precisely the same instant that several cars behind me had reached their limits. The flummoxed feminist was startled out of her texting tirade long enough to accelerate into the intersection, but not before she gave us all the universal sign of love and friendship.

Two stop lights later, I found myself third in the queue behind a motorcyclist and a driver of a green late model pickup truck with an empty gun rack in the window. This guy didn’t look like the cell phone type, so the prospects of a clean getaway from the light were promising. However, this particular guy had both windows open, (odd, since it was drizzling rain) and had that far away look of someone who is listening intently to someone speaking. His mouth was ajar, head tilted skyward focused on nothing. The wind shifted and I heard the distinct voice of Rush Limbaugh. The light flashed green, and pickup guy moved not an inch, transfixed by some eloquent point about Donald Trump’s latest three dimensional chess moves being made by the man with talent on loan from God. Luckily for me, before I even had a chance to reach for the horn, the motorcyclist began waving his hands wildly and screaming something obscene, which did the trick.

I was now finally on the interstate, picking up speed and seeking my customary spot in the center lane of the three that constitute 64 east from Short Pump to Richmond proper. As is sometimes the case, I soon encountered a fellow traveler who was not keeping up with the general flow of traffic...that is to say, he/she was going slower than me. I then did what I always do when I come up against those insufferable people who insist on doing the speed limit— I deftly swung over into the lane farthest to the left, which everyone knows is called, the passing lane, so named because it’s sole purpose in life is to facilitate drivers who want to pass their slower, less aware and less pressed for time Highway-mates. It was at this point in my interminable commute that I came upon the least mild of the aforementioned mild irritants...the slow poke in the passing lane. This particular one drove some sort of Volvo with one of those Coexist bumper stickers. The speed limit on this particular stretch of interstate 64 is 60 mph. However, anyone who actually goes 60 mph on this stretch of road runs an excellent chance of being killed. Even the losers in the far right lane, ( reserved for student drivers and octogenarians), go at least 65 here. Volvo-guy is chilling along at 58, oblivious. At this point, I’m seething, talking aloud to no one in particular...Dude, if you want me to Coexist with you, you can start by dragging your hippy dippy moonbeam self out of the freaking passing lane!!! Meanwhile, the guy who I thought was going too slow for the middle lane eventually pulls up beside me and gives me an arrogant side-eye as if to say, Good luck getting around Woodstock there. You shoulda stayed in your lane bub...

I was eleven minutes late for my appointment, but managed to bottle up all of the potential road rage. It’s stored somewhere in my subconscious, and will make a shocking appearance at some point in my future when I least expect. It’s going to be quite the fireworks display!

Incoming Mortars

Unless you happen to be a member of a royal family, or a tenured politician, everything I am about to say about life will sound familiar to you. It matters not whether you are of the greatest generation, a baby boomer, a millennial or a generation X-er. All of us who have spent any time on this earth as sentient beings will understand and appreciate what follows.

It has been my experience in my nearly 60 years that life is a series of stages not unlike the life of a combat soldier, long periods of boredom interrupted by short bursts of intense mayhem. An infantryman can trudge along on patrols for days in a monotonous vacuum, then suddenly an ambush plunges him into utter chaos and violence. Perhaps this metaphor is getting stretched a bit, but civilian life can feel very similar. One can go days, weeks, even months where life clicks along like a well oiled machine, then suddenly a series of mortars rain down in rapid succession, blowing the well ordered routine to bits. Consider...

A dear friend falls seriously ill, effecting many people who you love dearly.

You are presented with an unexpected $20+K expense that demands your immediate attention.

Your upstairs air conditioning unit fails and the repairman speaks ominously of coil repairs.

Your washing machine presents evidence of a leak, forcing an unplanned $700 purchase.

One of the ripple effects of your friends illness washes a boarder onto your shores for at least a month.

Your wife is involved in one baby and one wedding shower in a two week period that also includes three members of her family going into three different hospitals for three different operations.

All of this is introduced into your life inside the space of 5 Days.

None of this is unique to me. Many of you reading this have been so buffeted by life’s unexpected slings and arrows. It could certainly be worse. It could just have easily been my wife who fell ill. If so, everything else on my list would be meaningless. As frustrating as all of these things are, none of them represent unbearable burdens. They are simply...stuff that happens. The fact that stuff like this always seems to happen at once, is a profound mystery. But even this might actually be a blessing. Just when you start to feel as if life has begun to bore you...a whirlwind of challenges rain down, clarifying the mind, exhilarating the spirit, arousing the competitive juices. To continue the metaphor, perhaps it’s a bit like Churchill’s famous observation, Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result.

So, I will buckle down. I will plot and scheme and gameplan my way out of this. I will brace myself for other curveballs to come. Through it all I will remain grateful that I am surrounded by people who are worth my best efforts.

Conceding Defeat

In the wake of the most recent school shooting in Florida, an intense national debate over gun control has exploded all over social media. I have been a participant and an observer. I read the arguments, some reasoned and articulate, some wild and unhinged. I find myself agreeing with something one minute and then having doubts the next. It is all confounding and maddeningly complex. A perfect example of the complexity can be found in people’s reaction to the revelation that no less than four cops were on the scene of the shooting but refused to enter the fray summarized as follows:

Advocate of gun control: So, four good guys with a gun were not able to stop the bad guy. I think this should put an end to this arm the teachers bulls**t.

Anti-gun control guy: So, four cops were unwilling to come to citizens’ rescue and stop a mass murderer. I think this should put an end to this you don’t need a firearm because the cops will save you bulls**t.

One of the many ideas being tossed around is the notion of arming teachers. The plausible idea is that if each school had its share of randomly, secretly armed teachers, each properly trained and vetted, the kids would have a fighting chance in the event of an active shooter on the premises. Less plausibly, it is suggested that the mere possibility of armed teachers would in itself serve as a deterrent for a psychopath. But instead of getting into the weeds of the effectiveness of such a scheme, I would rather discuss the deeper meaning involved in the idea itself and that is this:

Anyone who is on board with the idea of arming teachers has officially conceded defeat. Your support of armed teachers is an admission that this nation has dramatically failed and is dysfunctional beyond repair.

Think about it for a minute. Try to imagine floating the notion of an army of concealed carry teachers in American schools fifty years ago. Heck, imagine doing so ten years ago. It would have been laughably unserious. (In what universe are employees thought responsible for their own safety while at work rather than their employers??) But now, large numbers of reasonable people are blithely suggesting that it would be a good idea for school teachers to enter the school house fully armed with deadly force. Why? Because everything else has clearly failed. 

First of all, we can’t count on the security guards we hire to actually do their jobs and engage a shooter. We can’t count on the school boards to budget and employ enough security at our schools. We can’t count on the FBI to follow up clear and unequivocal warnings from people who are screaming their evil intentions for everyone to see and hear all over social media. We can’t count on our police or judges to enforce the laws we already have on the books which make it more difficult for psychopaths to obtain weapons. We can’t count on our politicians to even consider crafting any new restrictions on the sale of semi automatic weapons. We can’t even get them to agree on tougher background checks for such purchases. We can’t count of Hollywood to stop glorifying gratuitous violence. Nothing seems to satisfy our insatiable appetite for bloodier and more sadistic video games. At each and every step along the rocky path that has led us to this point in our history, the systems that we citizens count on for protection...have failed. So now we think...Ok, let’s arm the teachers.

Here’s what arming teachers means to me. It marks the end of American Exceptionalism. It calls into question my full throated embrace of the concept of individual liberty. It makes me question whether of not our constitution has become a suicide pact. When a civilization gets to the point where the physical safety of its school children is in such great peril yet no remedy can be agreed upon because it might infringe on some wackos ability to purchase a military style rifle, then something has gone terribly wrong. But, there can be no liberty without responsibility. Self government doesn’t work without self discipline. If we as a people cannot come together to craft a compromise on guns, we will deserve the violence that will continue all around us. When the next massacre of innocents happens, all of us who failed at this moment will have blood on our hands.

I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t know what specific law or combination of laws are the right ones to enact. Some might do more harm than good. But, here’s what I do know. The status quo is killing us.

My Kingdom for a Hyphen

Each morning since January the 1st, I have begun each day by opening the 90 day bible reading app on my iPad and pulling up the day’s reading assignment. Today was no different. But what I found made me laugh. My daughter, the English teacher and grammar scold will surely find this real world example of the vital importance of proper punctuation enlightening and entertaining.

So, when I open the app, the first thing that pops up is this screen...

You find today’s date and click on it, and up pops the assigned passage. For example, for today, Friday, February the 23, I discover that I am to read from Isaiah 66:1 to Jeremiah 8:22. But, when I click on it, here’s what I find...

I find only Isaiah 66:1 and Jeremiah 8:22. Confused, I go back to the first screen and discover the error. Instead of using a hyphen between the two passages, they used a colon. 

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why we should have paid better attention during English class! The entire day’s assignment laid waste for lack of a proper hyphen. Details matter...

A Touch of Grace

Yesterday was a long, torturous day of alternating waves of hope and despair. My friend still fights. 

To many people, the world seems driven by the forces of luck, chance and coincidence. Indeed, our very existence is explained as a random collision of molecules. Whenever we experience some serendipitous encounter we think, what are the odds?...or, how random was that? Sometimes, people of faith overhype every such encounter as divine intervention...Hey everybody,  Jesus appeared in my toast this morning! But, every now and then, I believe that what the world describes as coincidence bears a striking resemblance to the hand of God. You are perfectly free to disagree with me on this point. We can still be friends.

This morning was one of those times. Yesterday, after watching an amazing family grapple with the specter of death, after reading snippets of news throughout the day about the passing of Billy Graham, after witnessing the power of faith to sustain people in the darkest hours, I open my Read the Bible in 90 Days app an hour ago and what should pop up but the 53rd chapter of Isaiah. Of all the places to be in scripture, the one Old Testament passage that describes Jesus Christ in such beautiful and stirring detail. Impeccable timing. Billy Graham devoted his life to preaching his message, my friend’s life has been devoted to his service, and the family has bet their money and their lives on the truth of his Gospel. And this morning, of all the places I could have been in such a vast and often confounding book, I land on this spot, this powerful, stirring spot...

53:1 Who has believed what he has heard from us?

And to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?

2 For he grew up before him like a young plant,

and like a root out of dry ground;

he had no form or majesty that we should look at him,

and no beauty that we should desire him.

3 He was despised and rejected by men;

a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;

and as one from whom men hide their faces

he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

4 Surely he has borne our griefs

and carried our sorrows;

yet we esteemed him stricken,

smitten by God, and afflicted.

5 But he was wounded for our transgressions;

he was crushed for our iniquities;

upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,

and with his stripes we are healed.

6 All we like sheep have gone astray;

we have turned—every one—to his own way;

and the Lord has laid on him

the iniquity of us all.

7 He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,

yet he opened not his mouth;

like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,

and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,

so he opened not his mouth.

8 By oppression and judgment he was taken away;

and as for his generation, who considered

that he was cut off out of the land of the living,

stricken for the transgression of my people?

9 And they made his grave with the wicked

and with a rich man in his death,

although he had done no violence,

and there was no deceit in his mouth.

If you prefer to assign this coincidence to chance or the quirks of fate, that’s fine. But for me, it feels like...grace.

News That Staggers

There is news that staggers you, not news of politics, business, or some celebrity, but word of a dear friend taken suddenly, grievously ill. A certain disorientation falls over you upon hearing it, as if it can’t possibly be true. Didn’t we just have lunch last week? They seemed so happy, appeared so healthy. You are taken aback by the dramatic arrival of calamity. The mind gets rocked with questions. Why this should happen to one so virtuous? Why do the worst, most despicable people in our world seem to skate through their unremarkable lives without this sort of trauma? You know that it’s not really true, but it seems that way when something bad happens to those you love.

Wasn’t it just yesterday when our 90 day bible reading project landed us in Isaiah? Hadn’t we just read these humbling words...

 Scarcely are they planted, scarcely sown,

scarcely has their stem taken root in the earth,

when he blows on them, and they wither,

and the tempest carries them off like stubble.

So, we are staggered by the news. But, the good doctors work hard. It is left to the friends, we helpless friends, to pray and provide what comfort we can summon for the family. In our prayers we are aided by the fine character of our friend. We have much to brag about where our friend is concerned. God couldn’t possibly find a better, more deserving person to heal. 

And then, there’s this. Despite how small and insignificant we feel when confronted with verses like the one quoted above, there is always a glimmer of hope, and when we find it we are overcome...

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars which you have set in place; What is man, that you should care for him? You have made him a little lower than the angels and crowned him with honor and glory.

Jesus in America?

Over the weekend, a gun control debate broke out on my Facebook wall. It was mostly my fault, since I was the one who brought up the subject. As is often the case in such social media debates, it was a rambling affair, with many chased rabbits and its fair share of non sequiturs. But, at one point a friend of mine offered this observation:

Let me ask this hypothetical question to everyone on this thread as it appears most of which profess to be Christians...if Jesus were alive today living in America, do you think he would be a gun toting, NRA member, and AR-15 owner? The Jesus I read about doesn’t seem like the type.

Of course, my immediate response was deflecting and pithy...Maybe not, but he might be pretty handy with a sling shot.

However, the more I think about my friend’s hypothetical, the stranger it seems. Jesus Christ, alive today, living in America. Imagine.

First of all, he would have to get here, and being a swarthy middle eastern man, that might prove a challenge what with no fly lists. But assuming he could manage that, then he would have lots of other challenges. An itinerant carpenter with no fixed address, no possessions, and a band of 12 equally transient followers sound like the textbook definition of a sleeper cell to me! Add to this mix his tendency to practice medicine without a license, the manufacture of alcoholic beverages without a license, and his disturbing habit of associating with the underclass, and I’m thinking the FBI’s dossier would get thick in a hurry.

To my friend’s point, no, I can’t imagine Jesus being an NRA member or owning a firearm. But I can’t even imagine Jesus living in America either. But, the point of his question is flawed because it attempts to enlist him as a prop in a political debate. We all assume that we are on the side of the Angels, and what better proof than shoehorning Jesus into your political theories? In his three year ministry on this earth he had multiple opportunities to rail against the corrupt, brutal occupation of the Roman Empire, but he failed to do so. But that hasn’t stopped both sides of the American political spectrum from claiming Jesus as their champion. From the left we hear that Jesus was an avowed social progressive, his admonition to take care of widows, orphans and the poor a clear endorsement of the modern welfare state. From the right, Jesus is proclaimed the original pro-lifer, and author of our devotion to God rather than the state. But then I see that grotesque painting of our Lord and Savior, ghost-like, his vaporous form hovering behind Donald Trump, guiding the pen in his hand as he signs some bill in the Oval Office...and I shudder at the horror of such a thing.

The truth is, attempts to co-opt Jesus Christ into political service is a fool’s errand. Politics is the business of coercion, the building of coalitions, the cobbling together of imperfect compromises, a grubby exercise of temporal power plays designed to exploit every human emotion into a political movement best expressed by that most vacuous phrase...the personal is political. The gospel, by contrast, doesn’t much concern itself with the corporate, but rather tells of Jesus standing at the door knocking, of leaving the 99 to pursue the 1 who is lost, of being stirred by one troubled soul touching his garment amidst a throng of people crushing against him. While his teachings can and should inform our beliefs about politics, the savior himself isn’t a political spokesman, and attempts to make him one are doomed to failure.

Rocks vs. Guns. Let’s Have This Debate!

I have run across the following photograph more times than I can count since the Florida school shooting...

It is always accompanied with the caption: Cain killed Abel with a rock. It’s a heart problem, not a gun problem. Then comes the scripture reference of Jeremiah 17:9...

The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?

Ok. Listen up people...I am not a gun zealot by any stretch, either way. But, this argument is specious and a classic example of trying to be too clever by half. Let’s deconstruct this reasoning, shall we?

Human beings have been killing each other for all of human history. The Prophet Jeremiah was onto something, the heart is indeed wicked. However, are the people who post this sort of thing trying to suggest that guns don’t matter? 

Suppose that Nikolas Cruz had entered Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School armed with a bag of rocks as opposed to an AR-15? Does anyone seriously believe that we would be dealing with 17 dead teenagers? Tools matter. If I were tasked with cutting down a tree in my back yard and was offered a choice between a paring knife or a chainsaw, my choice would be an easy one. And while it is true that the paring knife turned against another human being could become a deadly weapon, the job of killing another human being is made manifestly, inarguably easier with the right tool for the job...a gun. Further, if the goal is to kill as many humans as possible, as efficiently as possible, that task is made still easier with the right gun...an AR-15. Yes. Cain did kill his brother with a rock. If I were mad enough, I could kill someone with a coat hanger. The issue with semi automatic rifles like the AR-15 is the sheer killing power they present to the unhinged mind. If every deranged psychopath had to content himself with a bag of rocks to act out his murderous fantasies,   we would not lead the universe in dead school children. Besides, despite the potential for death that exists by being hit upside the head with a rock, school children aren’t kept awake at night by visions of rock throwing deviants in their midst. 

I have serious misgivings about the effectiveness of the various “gun laws” that get proposed after each of these horrific shootings. In my opinion, anything short of confiscation would only be marginally effective, if effective at all, and confiscation could only be accomplished by amending the constitution, if we still consider ourselves a nation of laws. Nevertheless, to dismiss any attempt to fix this epidemic of gun violence with such a logically flawed argument like this rock vs. gun photo is rediculous. To add insult to injury, enlisting a bible verse as an ally in such a moronic effort just makes it infinitely worse.

If Nothing Else, I Can Serve as a Bad Example

Have you ever done something really, really stupid? I mean like something transcendently dumb, so epically careless as to defy comprehension, a blunder of incandescent incompetence? Well, pull up a chair and listen to my latest...

Ok, so I am a signatory of three checking accounts at two different banks. One is a business account from which I pay all of the expenses associated with running an office which I own with my partner. Once a month, I make a deposit into this account from rent bills I send out to everyone in our building. Once deposited, my assistant then pays the monthly bills associated with Richmond Financial. Simple enough.

Well, yesterday I wrote my own check for my share of January’s expenses from my personal checking account. The amount of the check that I wrote I took from the billing statement that my assistant had left for me, since she was away on a well earned vacation this week. The problem arose when I wrote a check based on December’s billing statement. Just before I was going to leave to make the deposit, I noticed the error. So, I wrote another check, this time for the correct amount...then rushed off to deposit the checks before the bank closed. Unfortunately, I neglected to rip up the first incorrect check, which remained hidden in the stack of checks. So instead of depositing the right check, I deposited both checks.

This morning, at 6:05 am, I was greeted with a disturbing ping from my iPad informing me that my personal checking account was overdrawn by an alarming amount. (It ain’t cheap operating Richmond Financial). Imagine how surprised you would be if your automatic mortgage payment that comes out of your account on the 15th of every month suddenly doubled up on you? Then imagine how angry you would be when you discovered that it wasn’t because of a bank error, rather, it was a human error...that human being YOU!!

My weekend is off to a rousing start!

My Long, Strange Day On Twitter

I’ve been on Twitter since 2012. I don’t have many followers, and I don’t follow that many people. Although I publish all of my blogposts on Twitter, I don’t often post much of anything else. I use it mostly for keeping up with people or things I find interesting. I follow people like Jake Tapper and Jonah Goldberg...and, of course, Andrew Freiden, ( everyone follows Andrew, right??)I also follow The Far Side, so I get a new cartoon every morning. It’s relatively entertaining, actually, since it features some of the most unhinged people you could ever hope to meet, if you go in for that sort of thing. But today something really bizarre happened that I still am having a hard time wrapping my head around...

Ok, early this morning during my routine news roundup,  all I read about was the horrific mass shooting in Florida. I began thinking of how many times over the past ten years or so we have read similar stories. It’s heart breaking, infuriating, and depressing. Once again I felt the familiar frustrtion that nothing would change, that despite wall to wall coverage for a day or two, we Americans would eventually move on to some new outrage and the status quo would remain intact. Then I logged on to Facebook and summarzied my thoughts this way:

Quick quiz: Do any of you remember Stephen Paddock? No? He was the guy who killed 58 people in Las Vegas just 4 months ago, already forgotten. So too will Nikolas Cruz be forgotten 4 months from now. Such is the state of the American attention span and the casual routine of mass shootings in our country.

Then, almost on a whim, I decided to post this thought on Twitter. I cut and pasted, only to discover that the Twitter format would not accept the entire paragraph...so I cut off...and the casual routine of mass shootings in our country. I hit send and then stepped into the shower. By the time I got out of the shower, my phone was pinging off the hook, one notification after another in rapid fire succession. I picked up the phone and thought, what the heck is all this?

To make a long story short, at this hour, that simple, innocuous observation has been viewed over 260,000 times. It has been “liked” 3,400 times, and retweeted 1500 times. At this point nearly 90 people have felt moved to comment and their nearly unanimous verdict is that I am an: idiot, ignorant, moron, dickhead, dipshit, and turd...the first three indictments possibly true, the last three up for debate. The objections to my Tweet fall into several categories. The first one is a legitimate point of contention, ie.. that we shouldn’t remember the killers in these mass shootings, only the victims. This is a fair and valid point. The fact that I used the Las Vegas shooter’s name merely as a proxy for mass shootings in general seems to have gotten lost in translation. Then there were those who vehemently denied having forgotten a thing about Las Vegas, and me pointing out America’s short attention span was beyond the pale. Here, I feel to be on more solid ground. We have endured so many of these killings, it would be almost impossible not  for them all to become muddled in our heads at this point. Then there were those who felt compelled to refer to me with scatological descriptors...which I kinda enjoyed. I had particular fun pointing out to one of my detractors that , in point of fact, “dickhead” was one word, not two!

In my almost 60 years of life I have written many things. I’ve written far better sentences. I’ve said things far dumber, far smarter and certainly more controversial than this in my life, but nothing has ever provoked so much reaction. Nothing else has even come close to this. I suppose it’s true what they say...there’s no accounting for taste.

I stand by my Tweet. Maybe it’s intent would have been clearer if the last few words from the Facebook version had been included. Or maybe not, since subtlety isn’t a concept that mixes well with a platform like Twitter. But, just in case anyone out there is still confused...I am horrified by each and every mass shooting in this country, but I’m not overly optimistic that anything substantial will be done to stop any of them anytime soon... no matter how temporarily outraged we all are at the moment. 

Life Without Labels

Words and ideas, like fashion, fall out of favor over time. Bell bottom jeans used to be a thing. Now, jeans are mostly skinny. Having a gay old time might carry a different meaning today than it did when it was a lyric to the Flintstone’s theme song. The term fiscal conservative used to carry real meaning. Over time the meaning of words can change, turning once innocuous expressions into loaded, fighting words. But, just because the public perception of a word, phrase or idea may change, that doesn’t mean I have to like it. There are times that I want to reclaim the English language, to rescue it from its bastardized torment. However, this is a job which is much bigger than I am. So for now I can only wish that certain words didn’t carry around such baggage...

I want to enjoy the benefits of wealth without being thought of as wealthy.

I want to live out my Christian faith without being considered religious.

I would like to advocate for a less intrusive and oppressive government without being labeled a conservative Republican.

I would like to support a more humane and compassionate immigration policy without being branded a liberal Democrat.

I would like to enjoy golf without it being assumed that I must be a member of a country club.

I wish to continue reading tons of books every year without being thought a book nerd.

I would like to be more careful about what I eat without becoming a food Nazi.

I want to continue to work out and take care of my body without succumbing to vanity.

I want to experience the wisdom that comes with age without getting old.

I want to develope greater empathy for others without turning myself into an easy mark.

I want to demand professionalism and accountability from law enforcement without being accused of being anti-police.

I want to be able to condemn lawlessness, violence and thuggery wherever it exists without being called a racist.

I want to continue to be an unrepentant baseball fan without being dismissed as old school.

I believe that wanting American troops brought home from their foolish deployments isn’t the same thing as isolationism.

I want to cultivate more generosity in my life without becoming a spendthrift.

I want to strive for consistency without it turning into stubbornness.

Desiring to keep more of my hard earned money instead of having it confiscated by the government does not mean I’m greedy.

The Search Begins

Yes baseball fans, it’s that time of year again, time to get past the last remaining hurdle before the full throated beginning of spring training...Valentines Day. Long time readers of this blog will recall my checkered past with respect to this particular day. I have shared with you many times my epic romantic failures down through the years, including but not limited to...my many card shopping difficulties:

https://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-card.html

And...

https://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2017/02/me-and-george.html

This year will be no different. Although I have already purchased her gifts, I have been putting off card shopping, delaying the inevitable as long as humanly possible. Even though I figure that my chances of buying her the exact same card as she buys me again are infinitesimal, that does not mean that I’m not capable of some other ghastly choice. I must remain vigilant against complacency. If I let my guard down for even a second, I might come home with one of those seven page pop up cartoon cards and all will be lost!

Of course, this Valentines Day is more fraught with peril than most because it happens to coincide with Yoga Night, and you know what that means. Yes, I’m in charge of dinner. I think it safe to say that jambalaya will not be on the menu. I will take special care in seeing to it that dinner consists of something besides starches. No rice and rice combinations, no bean soup with a side of baked beans. I’ve learned that lesson.

Here’s the thing...as hard as Valentines Day is to pull off, my wife is so worth my best effort. Even after 33 years, she’s still the most enchanting, unfathomable woman in the world to me. I still feel compelled to try my best to impress her lest she wake up with a start and realize she has made a horrible mistake! So, over the next couple of days I will rummage through the poetic offerings at Hallmark looking for some combination of Shakespearean sonnet and Lord Byron love verse suitable for such a woman. 

Wish me luck!

Should We Have a Military Parade?

Our President has made it known that he wants to have a military parade in the nation’s capital. When he recently visited France, he was greatly impressed by their Bastille Day parade. It has been suggested that he wants one in Washington to demonstrate his commitment and admiration for the military. His opponents claim baser motives, suggesting that the parade idea is just another manifestation of his authoritarian instincts. What to make of all this?

It has been true in my lifetime that the countries with the grandest military parades have been authoritarian regimes...the Soviet Union, China and North Korea. But it is also true that several democratic countries have military parades, France and Great Britain. It is equally true that we have had a few of these parades over the years. Harry Truman threw one after the end of WWII, John Kennedy during the Cold War, and most recently, George H. W. Bush back in 1991 to celebrate the end of a war we are still fighting. But in America, military parades have been the exception rather than the rule.

Some of the criticism that the parade is getting is hypocritical horse s**t. Democrats and some Republicans complaining about the cost of such a parade make me want to throw up. Seriously? A bunch of people who just voted for trillion dollar deficits for all of eternity have the nerve to complain about how much something, anything costs??? I’m sorry, but anyone on board with this ghastly two year budget deal has lost all credibility on matters of public finance. Also, those who claim that having a military parade in America would put us on the same moral plane as the North Koreans are silly idiots. Having an occasional parade as an expression of gratitude for our nation’s military is not an abandonment of democracy for God’s sake. Chill out, people.

Having said all of this, I would prefer that we not have a parade for a variety of reasons. First, Senator John Kennedy from Louisiana (no relation) said it well, Strength is silent, Insecurities are loud. But, my instincts on this subject were best articulated by the former Navy Seal, Robert O’Neil...the guy who killed Osama bin Laden...A military parade is third world bulls**t. We prepare, we deter, we fight. Stop this conversation.

This is the crux of the matter for me. When our President sat with French President Macron and watched the French military marching by he saw grand uniforms with ostentatious displays of feathers and flourishes, colorful plumes and thousand dollar swords. In other words, he was watching soldiers who are best known for killer uniforms, not...actual killing. Even the dress uniforms of the American soldier can’t come close to the finery on display in Paris. That’s because our military is an actual working military. We rightly honor our military on Veteran’s Day with countless small town parades. We remember those who gave the ultimate sacrifice on Memorial Day, as we should. Do we need a bunch of military hardware up and down Pennsylvania Avenue? I don’t think so.

This is not an issue which I am inclined to lose a lot of sleep over. If the parade happens, that’s fine. It just strikes me as unnecessary and a bit out of character for a country with the most powerful military on the planet. The very reason we do not need a parade is the fact that we have the military we have. 

Silence is strength.

Doug Makes Dinner

As many of you know, Wednesday night here at The Dunnevant house has always been a night fraught with culinary risk. This is the night where I am tasked with preparing dinner. My wife has a Yoga class that doesn’t let out until 7:30, so it’s my job on this one night to have dinner on the table when she gets home. Generally it works this way...Pam picks out something for me to make, does most of the groundwork in advance, stages everything on the counter with easy, often moronically simple written instructions, then leaves me to it. Well, yesterday I was feeling oddly adventurous, and when she asked me if there was anything in particular that I wanted to make, I replied..How about you let me do dinner by myself? I’ll plan a menu, go the grocery store and then make everything myself without any of your help! There was a pregnant pause...then she answered...Oooooo-K? The questioning intonation in her voice being no accident.

It was only later when I got to the office that the folly of my actions became apparent to me. Who was I kidding? I don’t know the first thing about planning a menu. Look, I’m great at ordering takeout. I have no peer when it comes to heating up soup. But when it comes to making a dinner, my past record did not offer much in the way of confidence. Panicked, I asked my assistant for help:

Me: Kristin, I promised Pam that I would make dinner tonight myself with no help from her. What do I do??

Kristin: What were you thinking??

Me: That’s not important now...what do I do??

Kristin: Why don’t you go to the grocery store and get one of those Zatarain’s dinners? It will list everything you need right on the box.

Me: That’s genius!

So the next thing you know, there I am at Publix standing at the Zatarain’s display, when I spot this:

Score! I love jambalaya! Ever since I was a kid and lived in New Orleans for three years, I have had a fondness for anything Creole. The back of the package suggested that I add either shrimp, or sausage. I decided on both. Pam was going to be so proud of me!! Then I happened to spot this on the same aisle:

What luck! Two of my favorite foods in one meal. This was gonna be great!

When it came time to prepare the meal, I laid everything out just like my wife does, everything handy and in its spot. Then I read the first line of the instructions...pour 2 and a half cups of water into a 3 quart saucepan. Oh crap, what’s a 3 quart saucepan look like? We must have ten pans in our kitchen...which one is 3 quarts?? Quickly, I fired off a text with this picture to Kristin,(since she had been the one who had gotten me into this)...

Me: Is this a 3 quart saucepan???

Kristin: I think so...

An inauspicious beginning. But, I rallied and soon the house was filled with the aroma of Cajun spices. The best part was that I timed everything out perfectly, the rolls coming out of the oven the very second that Pam walked through the door. Something smells good, she observed correctly! 

Ok...the jambalaya was very good, although a bit sticky. The red beans and rice were passable. The rolls were tasty. I was very pleased with myself. I did, however, notice that Pam wasn’t exactly devouring the feast set before her. Don’t you like it? I asked.

Then a very familiar expression came over my wife’s face. I know it well. It starts with a smile that is trying not to look dismissive. This is the look she gets when she’s about to correct me or point out some dumb thing that I have done. The smile is a disarming defense mechanism and basically means nothing. Then she says...No honey, it was very good, and it was really sweet of you to do this...

The word BUT had just taken out a full page advertisement in the Dunnevant Dispatch newspaper and was about to enter the conversation...

Pam:....but....there were no vegetables...just, like, two rice dishes and...bread....no vegetables.

Then, she broadened the smile and tilted her head to one side, and I knew that one of those bless your heart moments had arrived:

Pam: What in this world would you do without me?

So, there you have it. I had prepared the perfect meal for a third grade boy. But, on the bright side, we’ve taken care of our starch requirements for the rest of the month!

Is Winning Everything?

I watched a clip on one of the cable news shows yesterday. Actually, I found the thing while browsing through Twitter. Congressman Trey Gowdy was being interviewed about his surprising decision to leave politics and return to his former occupation as a prosecutor. Of course, the cynic in me always wonders whenever anyone decides to leave Washington, if the real reason is because A. They fear a pending defeat in the next election or B. They are being blackmailed by private scandal. Such is my low opinion of elected officials. 

In Congressman Gowdy’s case, I confess that I don’t know much about him except for his work on the House Benghazi investigation, and his odd hair style. He’s a Republican from the south so I can safely assume he is conservative. I don’t know where he stands with respect to the President. I qualify all of this because I don’t want anyone to say, Yeah but, he’s a            . So, here’s the quote that caught my ear:

...We live in a culture that values winning...but I don’t think that winning is the ultimate objective, the ultimate objective is to lead an honorable life.

No wonder he’s quitting politics!

The rest of this clip I will paraphrase. Mr. Gowdy began by giving several examples of great men from our past who lost...repeatedly, and a few who were actually killed for their unpopular, losing ways. Then he opines that process matters, and how we conduct ourselves in that process matters. With respect to our justice system he even offers the view that even a guilty person can and should go free if we violate that process. But then he compares the justice system to politics and politics comes out on the short end because in a political race it matters not whether an accusation he might make against his opponent is true, only that it works, and that it results in a win.

The late Al Davis, owner of the Oakland Raiders famously said, Just win, baby!  Vince Lombardi made famous the words, Winning isn’t everything...it’s the only thing. One of the most dreaded put downs in modern American life is the epithet, Loser. Ask any passionate sports fan and they will tell you that there is no such thing as a moral victory. I read some guy on Twitter after his team lost that losing is ...a grotesque irritant. I get it. I hate losing, always have. The question becomes, is winning so important that rules that make it harder to win should be cast aside? Some crew chief in NASCAR once made the observation that, If you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying!

I cannot see into the heart of Congressman Gowdy to determine his true motivations. But...if his decision to retire from politics comes from his refusal any longer to participate in a process that elevates and rewards lawlessness and lying, then good for him. If, in his future work as a prosecutor he abides by the principle that process matters and that living an honorable life is the ultimate objective, then...double good for him. 

Widows, Orphans, and Strangers

Thirty-seven days in to reading the Bible in 90 days. Some days it’s been encouraging, other days...not so much. Some days what I read feels like wise instruction, other days like a stern rebuke. Some days I can’t even recognize the characters, they seem otherworldly and remote. But then I see someone who seems just like me, immediately familiar and identifiable. It’s very much a mixed bag.

There is one theme which has been consistently communicated from Genesis to Job. Actually, I’m sure there have been several such consistent themes, I’ve just been too obtuse to find them. But, at least I’ve caught on to one of them and that is this...God expects us to take care of the poor, provide for widows and orphans, and be kind to strangers. This message is literally all over the place, in practically every single book I’ve read so far. God takes a very dim view of people who ignore these powerless groups of people. The sins of pride and selfishness seem to be extremely high on the list of things that infuriate God Almighty.

So, we can have long, boring arguments on what care for the poor, widows and orphans should look like. We can debate the proper roll of governments in this endeavor. We can argue about whether or not the taxes we pay to fund the 21st century welfare state constitute obedience to this command, or serve to make the problems worse. Are there no poor houses?

But, setting aside the comparative virtue of Socialism vs Capitalism as the most effective poverty fighting tool, it seems to me that the one thing I am certain of is that...regardless of my political views, I find no escape from the personal responsibility I have as a child of God to care for the poor, widows and orphans, and to be kind to strangers. Period. There is no dispensation that I see from living in a country with a social safety net. Whatever collective actions governments may take in these areas, do not absolve me from my own responsibility. To whom much is given, much will be required seems the overriding theme.

When I examine my own record in this regard the results are mixed. I feel like I’ve always given generously to charities. The percentage of my income that winds up in the hands of my church and other philanthropic organizations far exceeds the national average. But, somehow I think that this is the wrong measuring device. For one thing, who ever wants to be merely average? For another, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I can do more, I can be more generous, more helpful to the less fortunate...and so can you. Examining myself with regards to how I am treating the least of these has been, so far, my number one takeaway from this Bible reading exercise.

An American Tradition

I’m a baseball guy. But I’m also an American, which means that I am a full participant in its many cultural traditions. One of the most enduring of those traditions is the Super Bowl. So, there I was last night, in front of my television, taking it all in. A few observations...

My wife isn’t a sports fan. She does enjoy the Olympics but that’s only because of the heart warming biographical vignettes that the television producers come up with about the athletes. She’s also a huge fan of the Opening Ceremonies since they are essentially fashion shows. However, despite having zero interest in the contests, she does an amazing job of preparing the game time feasts. Last night, for example, she whipped this up:

   

That’s pigs-in-a-blanket, some sort of amazing Mexican guacamole dip, and my personal favorite, baked Parmesan Pepperoni Pizza crisps. 

Pink performed the national anthem and made a hash of it. Woman was a mess. I learned later that the poor thing had the flu, so hats off to her for making the effort.

Then, a group of Medal of Honor winners were brought out to midfield for the coin toss. Very cool, but seemed a thinly veiled attempt by the NFL to make up for all the kneeling. But, whatever.

Then, the game. Having no rooting interest makes for a dull experience. So, I just relaxed and tried to enjoy watching terrific athletes doing their thing on such an enormous stage. Nick Foles, the career backup, slugging it out against the G.O.A.T. The first half featured neither defense making a single play. On 4th and goal from the two yard line, with time running out, the Eagles ran a trick play for the ages for a touchdown. Coolest play and gutsiest call ever.

Then the halftime show. Here, I must be careful. My wife is constantly criticizing me for the fact that my musical tastes haven’t  evolved since my college days, in fact, she would argue that they have regressed. (She considers the fact that I remain devoted to the Beatles, and Frank Sinatra, a personal failing). Anyway, all week, the advertisements for the halftime show assured me that Justin Timberlake was a global superstar. As I watched him prancing around on the field I asked my much hipper wife whether he was a singer, a dancer, or a rapper...to which she answered, Yes. My review? He was energetic, enthusiastic, handsome...and I’m sure there was a song in there somewhere.

One of the great charms of the Super Bowl has always been the commercials. For some, they are more enjoyable than the game itself. In past years there have been some classics. I watched this year’s offerings in a state of befuddlement. Half the time I couldn’t figure out what they were trying to sell, the other half left me with the distinct impression that the American advertisement industry has run out of ideas. The best ones were the ones that told stories of the great courage of ordinary people in times of crisis, but then at the end when you would see, say, the Verizon logo, you would recoil and think, eww...when was the last time Verizon did anything heroic?? Until you guys can figure out how to show up for a service call on time, get off your moral high horse!

Back to the game. Everything was set up for yet another bedtime story for Tom Brady’s future grandkids. The Patriots get the ball with two minutes to play, down by six. Tom drives them down the field and throws the winning touchdown pass with no time left on the clock. Cue shot of Gisele crying tears of joy in her luxury box. But then a defensive player finally made a play, stripping Brady of the ball and sealing the upset victory for the Eagles. Good for them.

For me, the very best thing about the Super Bowl is the fact that it’s conclusion marks the official beginning of....baseball. Pitchers and catchers report for spring training in ten days!

An Astounding Number

Late yesterday afternoon, an announcement was made by the chairman of Apple. CEO Tim Cook gave the stunning news during a conference call while discussing the computer company’s fourth quarter/2017 results. While all the news wasn’t great for Apple, (there was some underachievement in certain areas), this one particular report staggered me. Are you ready for it? Ok...in the fourth quarter of last year, Apple raked in the largest profit for any company in the history of enterprise, a whopping 20 Billion Dollars.

Let that number sink in for a minute...

Trust me...you still can’t possibly comprehend such a number.

Put another way, during the 90 days of the fourth quarter of 2017, Apple earned $222,222,222....every single day. With each passing hour, a fresh 9 million dollars jingled into Apple’s vaults. 

I hear lots of people complaining about how large Apple’s cash stash is, 295 billion and growing. The people complaining the loudest always seem to be the kind of people who couldn’t sell hacksaws in a prison, people for whom large companies are the sworn enemies of all humankind...an opinion they will proclaim 24/7 to anyone who will listen...from their iPads!! Wherever there exists insanely profitable companies, there will also exist people who will complain about how those companies chose to spend their money. But seriously, if you were an enterprise that was churning up 222 million dollars every freaking day, you’d wind up with a huge cash stash too. Even if you wanted to reinvest all that money, it would take you a while to figure out...where and how! 

And to think that this money making juggernaut was started by a brooding genius with an idea that all the smart people were convinced was foolish. Computer pioneer, Ken Olson’s famously dismissive quote...There is no reason for anyone to have a computer in their home...was what once served as conventional wisdom. There is a huge life lesson lurking in that quote.

Here’s the deal...I’m not one of those guys who worships business. I’m fully aware of the corrupting influence of large sums of money and the reckless pursuit of same. I understand the tendency towards monopoly and the insidious cancer of crony capitalism. But I also know this, one of the things that differentiates people from one another is the question of attitude. This world is divided into two groups, those who create and those who criticize. There are doers and there are talkers. There are those who blaze trails and those who bitch about how rocky it is. There are people who either by force of will, great intellect, or superior vision launch world changing businesses and movements, and there are people who stand on the sidelines taking potshots, filled with the conceit that they could have done it better if only...

So whether you’re an Apple guy or a fan of Samsung, whether you use an iPad or a PC, take a minute today to marvel at the number 20 billion. Pause a minute this morning to consider how infinitely easier and more efficient your life has been made by the existence of this company and others like it. 

The Saga Continues...

It occurs to me that I have failed to inform all of you about the final outcome of the great hole in the wall saga. In past dispatches I have shown you the damage...

I’ve also shown you the first pathetic attempt at a remedy, courtesy of the alleged workers from the Helen Keller Drywall Repair Company...

After an interminable delay, a new attempt was made to fix the hole which was only marginally better, forcing Pam to try her hand at spackling. Unfortunately, the finished product wasn’t even close to being acceptable. My library wall looks like it’s in it’s first trimester...

So now we find ourselves in the unenviable position of having to report our displeasure to the powers that be. The reason this is so difficult is because the two workers responsible for such pathetic work happened to be two of the nicest guys you would ever want to meet. The piano mover responsible for the hole to begin with could not possibly have been any nicer or more contrite. His buddy, who he recruited to do the actual drywall repair was also kind and earnest almost to a fault. Making matters worse, each evening when they showed up to work, the piano mover would bring along his two year old son, who he had just picked up from daycare, one of the most adorable little boys ever. So, what we have here are two hard working guys doing the best they can, and being extraordinarily kind in the process. Oh, and they were both African-American. That shouldn’t have anything to do with this, but it does. Why? It’s complicated. 

Here’s the thing. I don’t go in for all this collective white guilt claptrap. I am not responsible for the evils of slavery any more than Mexicans are responsible for the human sacrifice of the Aztecs. Past generations have done some horrible things throughout history, but we evolve and move on, hopefully getting better with each generation. But I do feel an obligation as a white American to go the extra mile when it comes to doing business with African Americans. Some of you are probably rolling your eyes at this point out of either frustration at my misplaced paternalism or my willingness to tolerate shoddy work because of someone’s race. That’s fair. I’m confused by it myself. I guess at the end of the day, you don’t do anyone any favors by letting them get by with poor workmanship. On the other hand, I hate to be the one who lowers the boom. It would have helped if they were both jerks.

So, now a full two weeks after the piano accident, we still have no resolution. Our contractor will have to now intercede and redo the work, delaying further that happy day when we will be free of workers traipsing through our house.

My Case Against The SOTU Show

Yesterday, in the lead up to the State of the Union Show, my sister was saddened to read all of the ridicule of the thing on her Facebook wall. She responded by essentially telling all of those who claimed that they would not be watching that they should be ashamed of themselves. A fresh debate arose from that suggestion. 

First, I feel obliged to defend my sister’s position, even though I disagree with it, on the grounds that I know from where her sentiments come. My sister is a patriot. She loves her country and has always been enthralled with it’s pagentry and the many totems that fill our capital city. (She has never lost a love of the British monarchy either!) No matter who occupies the White House, she can be depended upon to be glued to her television set to watch the State of the Union speech. She feels it is her patriotic duty, and holds a dim view of those who boycott. Fair enough. But here’s where we part company...

George Washington started this spectacle of a yearly address to Congress when he showed up to give his first speech. But, leave it to another great Virginian, Thomas Jefferson, to put an end to this silly monarchical pretense. Instead, Jefferson, ever vigilant against anything that smacked of the imperial yoke that we had fought a war to throw off, opted to send his address in writing to be read aloud in the chamber. It was thus so for over a hundred years, despite a civil war and several financial panics, the yearly Presidential address was read to Congress. Then, Woodrow Wilson (sadly another Virginian) perhaps the president with the most authoritarian instincts ever, decided to bring back the pomp and ceremony of the live appearance of the President in the house chamber. It was in keeping with Wilson’s exalted view of the Presidency and his desire to lift that office above the two other branches in both influence and power. Thus saw the birth of the modern imperial presidency. 

Now, a hundred years in to this debacle, the American people get treated to the most partisan spectacle that a Republican form of government could possibly produce...the president striding into the house like a modern day king to the uproarious adulation of his partisans, the opposition party, their arms folded petulantly across their chests like school children, ridiculously tedious standing ovations for even the most pedestrian proclamations, stone-faced disgust from the opposition in cut away shots to even the most positive news. If the United States government were to intentionally hatch a plot to make itself appear impotent and unserious, it couldn’t possibly come up with a better plan than this televised embarrassment. 

I’m not against a televised address by the President in the House Chamber, but I think that they should be reserved for truly momentous occasions, like a declaration of war, or the announcement of the end of such wars. But, this annual festival of partisanship needs to stop. How about this? How about somebody run for President who promises to end The Speech, and go back to the Jeffersonian example of the yearly letter? Maybe if we weren’t reminded every stinking January of how childish and silly our political leaders are, perhaps we would start holding them in higher regard.

Getting Ready for the Taylor Awards!!

I read an article this morning about the Grammy awards show and it’s abysmal ratings. It’s the latest in a long line of cratering ratings for awards shows in general. Everything from the CMA’s to the Oscars have seen a drop in viewership in recent years. The article didn’t offer an explanation for the across the board decline in interest...so I will attempt one.

Of course, the easiest explanation would be to blame it all on the politicization of the entertainment business. The vast majority of American entertainers are people of the left, and can never quite resist an opportunity to remind us. Every political movement of the day gets wall to wall air time during the awards show season, from Black Lives Matter to #MeToo, the American people can count on our most glamorous members to lecture us about all of our multiple failings, dressed in $20,000 gowns. On top of that, the glitterati themselves seem constantly out of sorts...with themselves, with #OscarsSoWhite and #GrammysSoMale offering plenty of self loathing.

But, I don’t think politics is the primary reason for the decline in ratings. I think that we’re just not using their products like we used to. In general, people aren’t going to the movies, or watching TV or buying music like they used to. In this regard, I can only speak for myself, so you’ll have to take my anecdotal evidence with a grain of salt. But, when I was younger, going to the movies was at the top of my entertainment hierarchy. I would comb through the green section of the News Leader every Friday morning to see what was playing and make my decisions for the upcoming weekend. Now, I check out what’s playing at Cinebistro every once in a while since if on the outside chance there’s a movie I want to see, I wouldn’t be caught dead in a regular movie theatre, what with the sticky floors and rude patrons. Television? With the exception of Andrew Frieden’s weather forecast, baseball games and an occasional network show like Parenthood or This Is Us, I’ve turned into a Netflix guy. And...I literally can’t remember the last time I purchased music. Why, when everything I want to hear is available for free on Pandora or Spotify? Sure, the commercials are annoying, but it’s hard to argue with...free. Now, I don’t know for sure if my story is being widely repeated out there in flyover country, but I also don’t think of myself as an outlier either. In 2018 America, we have about 10,000 more entertainment options available to us than we did back when these awards shows were in their monopolistic heyday. So, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that fewer people are watching.

People will always watch this guy. But we’re never going back to the days when Hollywood was king. Oh and by the way...expect this Oscar statue to get a remake soon...featuring a more androgynous physique. And the name Oscar will have to go, replaced with a more gender neutral name like...Taylor or Morgan.