Breakfast With No Regrets

I've been eating breakfast at this place for literally decades. The Golden Griddle in North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. It's run by a handful of the nicest women in the world and is only opened for breakfast. Show up here for lunch or dinner and you're out of luck. It's a no fuss sort of place, where they unapologetically offer paper placemats with a map of South Carolina. The decor?...plastic golfer kitsch.

But, then they bring you your food...

When a meal like this is placed in front of you, immediately your health obsessed, calorie counting  alter ego starts barking at you, "This is a mistake! You're gonna regret this all day!" Perhaps. But the other part of you, the real you, the one that hasn't changed his habits since middle school is thrilled. This entire feast is mine for $12.99, every caveman morsel will be eaten.

There's their world famous short stack of buttermilk pancakes. I like the term short stack because it suggests that I exercised restraint by not ordering the tall stack,(much better value). When my waitress, the beautiful and talented Daisy suggested I try the sausage special of the day...spicy kielbasa, I figured I better go with the short stack. Incidentally, any eating establishment that features a daily sausage special wins at life. The special was as advertised...spicy, to the point that I had to ask for a refill on ice water. Daisy did so cheerfully adding a sincere, "bless your heart." As she walked away I noticed her t-shirt...I'm a hot mess.

The three plates are empty. I have left no evidence that any food was ever, in fact, served to me. I feel full...in a dangerous way. The plan now is to pay for my sins with a long run on the beach while I wait for Pam and Kaitlin to get here. I came down yesterday to meet with my two Pawley's Island clients and decided to make a weekend of it. It's 75 and sunny. I may even swing a golf club for the first time in 6 months. But this meal, this place will be one of the highlights.

Robots Writing Poetry?

I sit here on a Tuesday evening waiting for the election results, wondering if the Trump-Train gets derailed, or if we continue our slouch towards Gomorrah. Will Hillary's joyless forced march to the nomination continue, or will the old man steal one in Michigan?

While I wait, I'll share with you all an extrordinarily depressing text conversation I had with my son this afternoon. In the course of an otherwise harmless exchange, he informed me that there now exist robots who have been programmed to write music for the purposes of background music for commercials, movies etc. and apparently, they aren't half bad! Oh, and software exists that can extend the Bot-music for as long as the sequence demands. In other words, human musicians need not apply.

Since nobody on earth could accuse me of keeping up with technology, I was flabbergasted that such a thing was possible. Aghast, I shot back:

"What!? I wonder when we will see our first robot-written novel?? Or poetry???"

To which, without so much as a moment's hesitation, he delivered the news that it's already happened on the poetry side. He then provided me a link where I could go and read a collection of poetry and try and decide whether a poem was written by a human or a robot! I informed him that if I lived to be a hundred years old, I would never visit such a website!! 

Our conversation ended on a happier note, but it stills haunts me. Robots writing novels? Bot-music?? I'm sorry, art simply isn't art unless it proceeds from the imagination of human being. Art can't be produced by soulless things. Otherwise, it's just a commodity, a mass-produced blob of a thing that is spit out of a giant, faceless machine! The very idea that a programmed device is thought  capable of the creative impulse neccesary to conceive and then construct art is...is...I don't know what it is. But I'm pretty sure it's despicable!

All of my life I've been told by all the smart people how the technological revolution was great news for the human race. Indeed, I enjoy it's fruit every single day, and am right this minute, writing this blog on my iPad. But when I see the rise of drones and the rapidly advancing army of robots out there...yes, making our work easier, but also making us easier to do without, I'm starting to fear this brave new world. I'm no Luddite, just a little concerned about just where we human beings fit into the plans of the geniuses in Silicon Valley. Will my as yet unborn grandchildren have enough skill to do anything better and cheaper than the machines that will be coming online 20 years from now? If not, what on earth will they do with themselves?

Goodbye, Downton Abbey

Pam and I watched the very last episode of Downton Abbey last night. The fact that someone like me would have watched even one episode of such a show is astonishing now that I think about it. Generally speaking, I've never been particularly fond of the British, with the notable exceptions of Winston Churchill, William Shakespeare, and The Beatles. When I think of England, I think of General Bernard Montgomery of WWII fame, a pompous gasbag who couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag, but looked splendid in a uniform having his afternoon tea while George Patton was busy kicking Germany's ass. But, I digress.

Despite my misgivings, this show got it's hooks into me from the very start six years ago. I have spent those six years trying to figure out why. Was it the house? Might it have been the great writing? The richly drawn characters? The fascinating interaction of the classes? The grand sweep of the story?

Yes.

 Although last night's two hour finale wasn't the show's finest hour...everything got wrapped up with too tidy a bow for my taste...it left me sad that it was over. It felt like my one hour a week of civilization has died. Now we can all go back to the sewer of the Presidential election 24/7. Great. But, all good things must come to an end, I'm told. 

So, goodbye to a drama about characters who you cared about. Goodbye to intelligent conversation. Goodbye to that beautiful estate, and that majestic countryside. Goodbye to Carson's prodigious eyebrows, Mrs. Hughes' charming Scottish accent. Goodbye to Daisy's insufferable whining, and Mr. Bates' perpetually tilted head and slumped shoulders. Goodbye to sweet, sweet Anna, the lovably bumbling Mosley, and the constantly harried Mrs. Patmore. But most of all...and I can hardly make myself write it...goodbye to the splendid, unstoppable Dowager Countess, without whom the show would have failed miserably. Watching her for six years on Sunday nights has forced me to add Maggie Smith to my list of most admired Englishmen. What a beauty she was, with her caustic observations, withering one-liners and truly hysterical facial expressions. The woman carried the show, and above all others will be missed, even mourned the most.

Goodbye Downton, and here's hoping that your lasting legacy might prove to be a return to....good manners.

Pat Conroy. Oct. 1945 - Mar. 2016

Pat Conroy died yesterday. He was only 70. He had pancreatic cancer. I wasn't even aware that he was sick. Still, it surprised me that he would have died by means other than suicide. Pat Conroy was and remains my favorite American writer of the 20th century. No one else is even close.

I was introduced to him the year before the birth of my first child, 1986. The book was The Prince of Tides. I was mesmerized by the lushness of his prose, its beauty and power, and the dark, disturbing story. Like all of Conroy's work, Prince was thinly veiled autobiography. To say that he had a rough childhood somehow sounds flippant. His childhood was brutal and horrifying, and the fictionalized version of it made for spellbinding reading. I was hooked. 

From there I began devouring everything else from this modern day Faulkner. First it was The Great Santini, then The River is Wide and The Lords of Discipline. All were set in the low country of South Carolina, with its brooding marshes, succulent shrimp dishes and humid briny breezes. Each novel was a new chapter from the author's tortured life; Santini, the story of his animalistic marine corps father, River, the story of his short, unhappy year as a teacher of poor kids on Daufuskie Island, and Lords, the deeply disturbing account of his four years at South Carolina's Citadel. I would read his work in much the same way as a motorist stares at a four car pile up on the interstate, half expecting to see a severed head rolling along the road. But despite the bleak darkness of his life, there were moments of beauty made more compelling by the darkness. There was a tenderness about his heroes that survived  the evil. Even though you knew there wouldn't be a happy ending, you plowed on because the beauty of his writing was worth it. He had the southerner's gift for story telling, the kind of stories that just couldn't possibly be true. As you read, you were convinced that it was all outlandish fiction right up to the very second when you discovered it wasn't, an artful turn of phrase that betrayed the autobiographers hand. It was then that you would shudder, and recoil a bit. Great writing will do that.

I became something of a Pat Conroy evangelist back in 1986. I gave the book to my sister, raving that I had discovered the greatest southern novelist since Thomas Wolfe. She hated it. Claimed it was too disturbing. She was right, of course. I soon discovered that Conroy wasn't for everyone.

His later novels, Beach Music and South of Broad werent as good as his earlier work, but still very good. In an interview he gave a few years ago he had said that growing up in a dysfunctional family had been the greatest gift any writer could have been given. His brother Tom committed suicide, his sister spent time in a mental hospital, and the author had two nervous breakdowns while writing, or at least two that his publicist will admit to. And now he has succumbed to cancer.

To read a Conroy book is like grieving for something. To become emersed in such a nightmarish life is to appreciate all the more the normality of your own. To imagine the Great Santini striding over his family like a simmering, hulking beast is to nearly cry at the gentle goodness of your own father. When I finished Santini I remember thinking, this is what life could have been like if I had belonged to someone else.

So, today I thank the great writer for making me love my parents even more.

Rest in Peace, Pat Conroy.

The Perfect President

It's a whole lot easier to identify bad Presidential candidates than it is to recognize good ones. In this particular race the truly horrendous ones stand out like sore thumbs...again with the hands!! But the better candidates all have flaws as well. Besides, just being associated with this WWF-style campaign has stained them all. So, what if you could go into a lab somewhere and build the perfect Presidential candidate? What if you could create the perfect candidate out of spare parts from the basement over at the Smithsonian? Of course, the candidate who I would build wouldn't necessarily be perfect for my liberal friends. My conservative friends wouldn't be totally thrilled either, I suspect, but...here goes.

Presidential candidate prototype

Physical characteristics:

Female, 5'6" 135 pounds. Blond hair, blue eyes. Not stunningly beautiful, but fairly attractive. No obvious scars or tattoos. No annoying facial tics. 55 years old.

Background:

Born in Kansas. Graduated from Kansas State University with a Bachelor of Arts degree. Obtained her Masters degree in History from the University of Virginia. Met and married her husband after grad school and settled in Charlottesville, Virginia where she began teaching high school history. After having two children and in only her fifth year as an educator, she wins national teacher of the year honors in a ceremony at the White House. It is while touring that great house that she decides she might like to be President one day. To better prepare herself for the job, she decides to retire from teaching and join the military. Consequently, she spends the next eight years serving her country in the United States Navy. Upon completion of her tour of duty, she returns to Charlottesville and wins a seat on the local school board, then as a delegate to the Virginia General Assembly, then two terms as a Congresswoman in Washington, DC.

Religion:

Presbyterian who actually attends church every Sunday, but never, ever talks about her faith in the course of her professional duties. When asked by the media about her faith she always responds, "I am a Christian who attends a Presbyterian church."

Hobbies:

Avid reader. Loves the classics, but also indulges in espionage novels, sci-fi thrillers, and the occasional murder mystery. Enjoys dogs, fishing, golf and brewing her own beer.

Policy Positions:

Wants to figure out a way to preserve Social Security, Medicare and Medicaid for future generations while reversing the actuarial trend lines of those entitlements. Is committed to looking at all options available to get this done, including but not limited to, tax increases, benefit cuts, raising the retirement age, means testing and partial privatization. She sees all of these programs on a path to bankruptcy in the not too distant future and will not under any circumstances continue to do absolutely nothing about it. This is the central plank in her platform and primary motivation for her candidacy.

Is committed to achieving a balanced federal budget within ten years. Is willing to cut spending and raise taxes to get it done. No federal program will be exempt from cuts, including and especially the defense budget. 

Her foreign policy platform is based on a very old school of thought which she traces back to the founding fathers who believed in avoiding all "entangling alliances." She believes that if America doesn't want to get involved in another war in the Middle East, we should get the hell out of the Middle East. As a veteran, she is proud of the capabilities and virtue of the United States military, but is keenly aware of its limitations. It is not a nation building enterprise, it is a force to protect the American people from those who would do us harm, not a plaything of politicians who seem addicted to projecting power all over the world.

On the subject of immigration, she believes that our national borders can and should be secured. Any nation that loses control of its borders loses control of itself. However, building a giant wall to accomplish this is about as dumb an idea that has come along since the creation of the helium reserve. As far as the millions of undocumented aliens currently in the country, she believes that some pathway to becoming citizens would work better than rounding up millions of people for deportation.

She believes in a philosophy of honest government doing the things that it does best and only doing those things which the Constitution has given it the authority to do. Therefore, under her administration, all departments and bureaus of the federal government will be reviewed by a large and distinguished panel of scholars to determine their constitutionality. Then a recommendation will be submitted to Congress to determine the future of the Commerse Department, Department of Education, HUD etc...Any savings that may come from shuttered agencies will be put towards repaying the National debt.

She believes that abortion should only be an option if the life of the mother is at risk. She views the issue as one of protecting the defenseless child. However, she also views the issue as settled law that as President she has no power to change by fiat. Instead, she prefers promoting adoption as a more humane alternative. On the issue of gay marriage, she believes in the definition of marriage that had survived for four thousand years, but doesn't believe that the institution of marriage is something that is very much of the government's business in the first place.

She believes in tort law reform and criminal justice reform, especially in the area of sentencing. She believes that Americans should be discouraged from suing each other at the drop of a hat. She also believes that employers should not be allowed to deny job applicants consideration solely because of a criminal conviction. This needed reform would go a long way towards reversing the unacceptable unemployment rate among minorities.

She believes in tax reform which would feature the elimination of corporate tax loopholes that allow for the off-shoring of profits and the on-shoring of deductions. She prefers a combination of a flat tax with a minimum income requirement which would protect lower income families. She is flexible as to what rate the tax would settle on and is willing to listen to all suggestions. However, the end result must be the abolition of the IRS, and the end of tax accountants making a fortune courtesy of our 700,000 page tax code.

Ok, there you have it...my perfect Presidential candidate. If I left out your pet issue, feel free to complain. Or, even better...build your own candidate. 

Debate Fatigue

Apparently Donald Trump won another debate last night. At least that's what all the unscientific online polls say. Oh, and since Trump tweeted that he clearly won, it must be true. I didn't watch this time. I just couldn't. I'm worn out by it all.

From everything I've read this morning Mr. Trump outdid himself. Perhaps the all-time low point came when he reassured the American people that the size of his penis was indeed Presidential. That remark falls under the category, JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT IT COULDNT POSSIBLY GET ANY WORSE.

As an American, one who loves his country and feels grateful to live here, it is hard not to give in to despair, watching one of the two major political parties commit suicide. The reemergence of Mitt Romney, a two time loser in presidential politics, dark talk of a brokered convention and a third party challenge either to Trump or by him lead me to the conclusion that the Republican Party is about to go the way of the Whigs. And this from a party which controls both houses of congress and a majority of state houses. How, in the name of all that is holy did this happen?

I hear that Americans are angry. I hear this every day. It is referenced as a way of explaining the filthy thing that this campaign has become, as if anger justifies insanity. Am I angry? Well, yes. There are things about America in 2016 that I'm angry about. I'm angry that neither party seems to care about the 19 trillion dollars of debt we have run up. I'm angry that no one currently running for president has articulated how he or she plans on altering the certain fact that in 17 year's time every single dime that the federal government  spends will go to Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, the Pentagon and the interest on our national debt. Sure, I'm angry about lots of things. But am I angry enough to jettison the Constitution, and elect a strongman? Am I angry enough at terrorism to elect a man who vows to force our military to commit war crimes? Am I angry enough at political correctness to elect a man who has elevated crudeness to presidential status? No. I will never be that angry.

Nothing seems to stop Mr. Trump's rise. No matter how many times he contradicts himself, no matter how many lies he gets caught in, no matter what vile thing flies out of his mouth, his poll numbers stay high. Maybe America is at a place where we want a strongman. Maybe we want someone large and in charge to ride into town and destroy things. Maybe we want to be freed from that straight jacket called the Bill of Rights. Maybe we have lost so much faith in our founding documents and principles that we are ready to have faith in something else, someone else. Maybe we are looking for the man on the strong horse because we have grown weary of weakness. 

But I have run out of explanations for Trump. Nothing I thought about him or his candidacy 8 months ago has turned out to be true, so what do I know? This I do know...no matter what happens from this point going forward, the Republican Party and this nation will never be the same as it was before Trump. I am overcome with the feeling that we are witnessing something gravely important, something about which our grandchildren will ask us to explain, "Pops, where were you and what did you do when Donald Trump took over the country?" I hope that I can claim that I fought hard against him, that I wasn't one of those who took the bait, that I maintained my faith in my country as founded. Hopefully I can point my grandkids to this blog as proof of my allegiance to republican government. 

Find The Trump Voter

"I just got back from my voting precinct.  I walked in beside an elderly couple, observed a mom inviting her teenage daughters to watch her mark her choice on her ballot, and stood in line behind 2 Muslim women and a young Hispanic woman.  My ID was taken by a woman who may have been of Greek descent, and I was given a ballot by an African-American woman.  A retired white man showed me how to submit my paper ballot, and a college-aged guy gave me my I VOTED sticker.  This is how we roll in America!  Whatever the outcome is today, we are in this together."

This is what my wife wrote yesterday after returning from her trip to Short Pump Elementary School where she had just voted. It was a beautiful sentiment. I too had been in that same gym several hours earlier doing the same thing. I too noticed the diversity of the folks in line ahead of me. But, unlike my wife, I was busy playing a more cynical game called, "Find the Trump voter."

There were about 40 people ahead of me in line when I arrived around 8:00 AM. The first person I noticed was a young guy with a man bun, wearing clothes from the 1970's Goodwill Industries collection. I immediately judged him to be a Bernie Sanders voter. Check.

Since I vote in a Short Pump precinct, there were only two African-Americans in line, a petite older woman directly in front of me and a college aged girl in the front of the line. Considering the fact that blacks are the only demographic in America who vote monolithically, there's a roughly 90% chance that these two women were Hillary voters. Check.

Then it got tougher. Here was a middle aged man with a neatly trimmed beard in khakis. Over there was a older man wearing jeans and a Titleist hat. Behind me, a harried younger woman with two toddlers had just walked in. Any of these people could have been Trump voters. Even the man directly behind me was suspect. He was a large man who smelled of banana bread and had started humming the tune to Onward Christian Soldiers. I thought, either Cruz or Trump. Check.

Then it occurred to me, that others in line might be playing the same game. If so, I wondered how they would judge me. I was wearing black dress pants and a casual shirt, with my black Raybans balanced on top of my head. Maybe the dude with the man bun had me pegged as a self-satisfied suburban sell-out who was probably going to vote for Jeb Bush. Check.

The results from last night were disappointing for me. Rubio came so close to pulling it out here in Virginia, but failed. Cruz won his home state and a couple of neighboring ones to remain relevant. If Rubio doesn't win his home state in a couple of weeks he will be gone. The big winner of the night, again, was Donald Trump. I just can't even.....

But, on the bright side, in my home state, 65% of those who cast ballots in the Republican primary cast them for someone other than Donald Trump. In addition, nowhere last night did he receive a majority of the votes, which I take to believe means that not everyone has taken leave of their senses. Still, unless voters can coalesce around a single alternative, the Republican nomination is Trump's for the taking. For the Democrats, it was never going to be anyone but Hillary Clinton. Note to Sanders supporters: you don't win elections by posting crap on Facebook, you win by actually showing up to vote!

So, now we wait for the next round of contests and look forward to weeks and weeks of political ads. As I walked back to my car after voting, a chilling thought came to mind . . . If America can make it through this election without somebody getting shot it will be a miracle.

Voting For Rubio

I'll be voting for Marco Rubio today. I'll walk past the volunteers making last minute pitches for their guy. I'll stand in line to prove to the nice old lady at the folding table that I am who I say I am. She will smile and place a mark by my name in her book, then kindly hand me off to another nice gentlemen who will walk me to the first available booth. Then I will mark my ballot for Mr. Rubio, the young senator from Florida.

He is not my first choice. I had preferred Rand Paul, but he dropped out weeks ago. Rubio is not without his share of shortcomings. His resume is a bit thin. His aggressive foreign policy stances make me nervous. But in a field which features a brain surgeon, a bloviating bore, and a bomb-throwing back bencher, he has gotten my vote by default.

I vote for Rubio primarily because I believe him to have the best chance, albeit a rapidly vanishing one, to derail the Trump nightmare. The second factor in my decision is the issue of temperament. Ted Cruz is very smart, knows the constitution as well as anyone to come along in politics in my lifetime. But he seems to revel in the fact that his colleagues despise him, lacking the self awareness that this fact might disqualify his ability to get anything done once elected. If everyone hates you there's two ways you can respond. You can step back and ask some hard questions of yourself like, "Geez, how come everybody hates me? Maybe I should stop acting like a jerk." Or, you can double down on your asshattery by convincing yourself that they all hate you because you're smarter than them. Mr. Cruz seems to have settled on the latter. While some may view this as principled, others may judge this as a character flaw which would make his Presidency problematic , making the building of coalitions difficult if not impossible.

So, I vote for Rubio. Then I get my sticker and place it on my shirt. I will watch the returns tonight to see if voters around the country, having stared into the abyss of Donald Trump, have suddenly recoiled in horror and snapped out of it, or if Super Tuesday goes down as the day the Republican Party slipped into the oblivion of history. 

If it's Trump after tonight, the Republican Party will have chosen a man who can't even disavow David Duke, and who's most famous bit of life advice was, "You know, it doesn't really matter what the media says about you as long as you have a young, beautiful piece of ass."

Let that sink in for a minute, then go and do your civic duty.

Is Donald Really a "Strong Christian?"

 Every day now we seem to discover some new wrinkle in the grand tapestry that is Donald Trump. Just yesterday, for instance, we learned that he has been audited every single year since 2003! Moreover, Mr. Trump offered an opinion on just why it is that he has been so targeted by the IRS..."Because I'm a strong Christian."

Well, far be it from me to question anyone's sincere religious convictions, but, when searching for descriptive adjectives to describe Donald J. Trump, I'm pretty sure that strong Christian would be maybe 116th on my list...just before humble and right after thoughtful. But, thanks to Google, it's possible to delve into anyone's past to find evidence of strong Christian character. I did so this morning, and must confess that in this case, Trump is right...he IS a strong Christian!

Here is a picture of Donald with his accountability group after their weekly bible study at Trump Tower.

Here's Donald with three college girls lucky enough to have had him finance their mission trip to El Salvadore.

Here's Donald posing for a picture at the Taj Mahal casino just before attending a chapel service in the conference room behind the nickel slots.

Here's Donald congratulating two recent converts after their baptism.

Donald's personal pastor.

Donald preparing to say grace before the National Prayer Breakfast..."Before I deliver my amazing prayer...pull my finger!!"

Debate Notes

Notes from last night's debate. This picture tells the story!

Trump doesn't even try to be a clever liar. It's like he's thinking, "What the hell? Lying has always worked for the Clinton's!"

For Trump, what he believes is always the next thing he says.

Rubio has been awesome tonight. Combative, relentless, sarcastic, finally aggressively going after Trump. I guess he figures, "...what have I got to lose?" 

Great exchange:

Rubio: If Trump builds the wall the same way he built Trump Towers, he'll do it with illegal workers.

Trump: You don't know anything about business.

Rubio: You're right, I don't know anything about bankrupting companies.

Every time this debate starts to kick some serious butt, Wolf Blitzer throws a question to John Kasich...the human time-out.

Carson: Will somebody attack me, please? Beyond pathetic.

Oh, ok. Now that Rubio is finally insisting that the quarterback actually show us his homework, people are upset at the nastiness and name calling. So, what do you want? This isn't Aristotle v. Plato people! The only thing I'm mad about right now is that it took Rubio this freaking long to go after this fool.

Great exchange:

Rubio: You lied about the Polish workers.

Trump: yeah, yeah, yeah. 38 years ago!

Rubio: Oh, 38 years ago? I guess there's a statute of limitations on lies.

I see this morning that his Trumpness has won all of the online polls asking, Who won last night's debate?

Well, I suppose that settles it...we are doomed.

Poll Results and Commentary

                                                                      

                                                                      VS.

A presidential campaign between these two would be the stuff from which nightmares are made. Nevertheless, with each passing day of this interminable race, it appears more and more inevitable. For this reason, I commissioned the first ever Tempest Poll this morning in order to take the pulse of my readers on the subject. Now that 100% of all precincts have reported, I can share the results.

First of all, let me say that today set an all time record for traffic. Several hundred different people read about the poll on my blog. However, just like in America at large... A very small percentage of readers actually voted, only 13% in fact. Despite the low voter participation rate, the exchange of views on my Facebook page was civil and courteous, which I appreciate more than I can say. So, here are the results:

Trump.....39%

Clinton....22%

No vote...39%

Some of you hated the choices. Others, wished for a third party option and some more actually wrote in candidates. While I sympathize with each of you, it's my poll, and I can ask the question any way I wish. The burning question on your minds is probably, "Ok, hotshot. How did you vote??"

I voted for Hillary.

Now, I'm sure there are some of you who may have just spit sweet tea across the kitchen. Others may be ready to block me from all of your social media accounts, still others may even now be on your knees in fervent prayer for my wayward soul. But, before you have a cow, hear me out.

I am under no illusions about the Hildebeast. She is a corrupt, lying, career feather-bedder, who on her worst day would make Claire Underwood look like Mother Theresa. I feel certain that she will make a horrid President largely because of her arrogance and hilariously exalted view of her own greatness. On the subject of exalted self regard, Hillary Clinton is outdone by only one person in America today...Donald Trump!

As a Libertarian-leaning, small government fiscal conservative, voting for Hillary Clinton will no doubt make me feel very dirty. As soon as I get back home, it will be straight in the shower for me! I see eye to eye with her on practically nothing. And yes, if she becomes President, she will get the chance to appoint judges to the Supreme Court which could allow her Statist views of government to carry the day for years to come. But, this is where people like me say a prayer of thanks for our founding fathers and the brilliance of their gift to us of three branches of government. Checks and balances are very cool. And perhaps I should remind all of you conservatives out there that it was George W. Bush who gave us that stout originalist, John Roberts as Cheif Justice. How has that worked out??

So, despite the many flaws of Ms. Clinton, what really will force me to choke back the rising vomit in the back of my throat and actually vote for the woman is this sobering thought...Donald J. Trump as Commander-in-Chief. Can any of you imagine this guy in charge of the mightiest, most deadly killing force in the world? 

"Mr. President, we have a situation in Yemen. A group of armed terrorists have kidnapped our entire diplomatic team and is holding them in an unknown location, and..."

Trump: Wait, did you say Yemen? You can't be serious? Have you ever been to Yemen? I've been to Yemen. I was going to build a golf course there once so I flew over and I can tell you, it's a hell hole. Bunch of f**king losers! Send in the heavy bombers and flatten the go****n place!

"But, Mr. President, what about our diplomatic team??"

Trump: What about 'em? They can't be but so good, right? If they were real winners, what the hell are they doing in freaking Yemen!!??

Then, there's the question of experience. Now, I know that right now the mood of the country isn't interested in experience, matter of fact, it's viewed as a liability. After all, it's been the best and the brightest who haven't been able to figure out how to secure our borders. But experience in the Oval Office is sort of a good thing. Knowing a little something about how Congress works, how a bill becomes a law...that sort of thing...I think is needed. One gets the impression with Trump that he hasn't the foggiest notion how he intends to actually get anything done. When he says, "I'm gonna put the very best people on that and we are going to do the greatest deals ever," that's essentially code for, "I don't know what the hell Im talking about."

Listen, either one of these two becomes President, the next four or eight years is going to be a white knuckle ride on the lunatic express, but at least with Hillary, we will have some semblance of predictability, and because of her husband, at least some institutional memory from which to draw. And something tells me that Hillary will be less likely to get us into a war with somebody because she was caught flirting with the First Lady of Burma.

And finally, there's the issue of what kind of man Donald Trump happens to be. For the life of me I can't understand news stories I read about how much of the evangelical vote Trump is getting. Does anyone actually believe that if a liberal Democrat male like say, Martin O'Malley was ahead in the polls and went around bragging about how many women he had slept with in his life...does anybody not believe that conservative Christians would be howling about his immorality? Yet, Trump can do just that, and while he's at it, say creepy things about his hot daughter, and throw in profanity on the stump, with nary a peep of protests by the evangelical community. No, either morality matters or it doesn't. I think it does matter. It's not the only thing that matters, but it counts for something.

So, there you have it. Maybe it won't come down to this Hobson's choice. Maybe Hillary will get indicted for having that illegal server. Maybe It will be discovered that Trump is actually an alien and as such was not born on this planet, therefore is not a natural born earthling. Good Lord, I hope so. Because, if I have to actually go through with this voting for Hillary thing, I'm note sure I'll ever recover.

I'm Taking a Poll

After last night's Nevada primary, which proved to be Donald Trump's most dominating victory yet, it is now clear to me that he will be the Republican nominee, barring some unforeseen divine intervention. It is equally clear to me that without said intervention (or indictment) Hillary Clinton will be the Democratic nominee. This unhappy fact means that the American people will have to decide between the lesser of two considerable evils in November.

The purpose of this blog is to get a feel for what all of you think about this choice. Call it an unscientific poll, if you like, but I want you to do me a favor. I will now pose a question for your consideration. I want you to provide your answer either at the bottom of this blog in the comments section, or as a reply on Facebook. Here's the question:

If the election were held today and you had to decide between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton, how would you vote?

A. Donald Trump

B. Hillary Clinton

C. I would not vote

I don't need any explanation of your answer, just A,B, or C. If you wish to remain anonymous, you can do so in the comments section below. If you would prefer not broadcasting your answer on social media, you can private message me on Facebook.

Once I have tabulated the votes in my little private poll, I will inform you of the results and add my commentary. 

Thank you for participating in advance.

George Washington...time traveler.

                                                              -- Part Two--

About halfway through Washington's farewell address it starts to get spooky. It's as if you have stumbled onto something written by a time traveler. It's like old George somehow was teleported from Mount Vernon into  21st century America, took a look around, then teleported back to 1796 and started wearing out about five quills, furiously scribbling out this amazing speech. How else to explain the timeliness of his warnings?

After warning his future countrymen against enemies of the Union and the pernicious influence of factions, he then ventures into the issue of the bureaucratic state:

" It is important, likewise, that the habits of thinking in a free country should inspire caution in those entrusted with its administration to confine themselves within their respective constitutional spheres, avoiding in the exercise of the powers of one department to encroach upon another. The spirit of encroachment tends to consolidate the powers of all the departments in one and thus to create a real despotism."

Yeah, no kidding!!

Concerning the place of religion and morality among a free nation Washington offers this nugget:

" Let it be simply asked, where is the security for property, for reputation, for life, if the sense of religious obligation desert the oaths which are the instruments of investigation in courts of Justice? And let us with caution indulge the supposition that morality can be maintained without religion...reason and experience both forbid us to expect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of religious principles."

Then, our founding father begins to sound exactly like a regular old father when speaking about the subject of finances:

" As a very important source of strength and security, cherish public credit. One method of preserving it is to use it as sparingly as possible...avoiding the accumulation of debt, not only by shunning occasions of expense, but by vigorous exertions in time of peace to discharge the debts which unavoidable wars have occasioned."

Something tells me that the time traveling Washington never caught a glimpse of our debt clock, because surely the sum of 18 trillion would have literally killed him.

When he finally turns his attention to foreign policy, he begins to get quite worked up:

" Against the insidious wiles of foreign influence( I conjure you to believe me,fellow-citizens), the jealously of a free people ought to be constantly awake.

Whoa, settle down George! But, he wasn't finished. He proceeds to plead with us to avoid entangling alliances...especially with the Europeans:

" Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have none or a very remote relation. Hence she must be engaged in frequent controversies. Hence therefore it must be unwise in us to implicate ourselves, by artificial ties, in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics."

Vicissitudes, indeed Mr. President! Substitute Israel or any other Middle Eastern nation for "Europe" in the above paragraph and you've essential got Rand Paul's foreign policy!

George Washington was no saint. He was a slave owner, and as President sometimes failed to follow his own advice. But, he was a great man. One of the things that made him great was that rarest of traits in great public figures...genuine humility. When listening to the various candidates for president speak on the campaign trail, I long to hear from anyone of them something approaching this:

" In reviewing the incidents of my administration, I am unconscious of intentional error, I am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors. Whatever they may be, I fervently beseech the Almighty to avert or mitigate the evils to which they may tend. I shall also carry with me the hope that my country will never cease to view them with indulgence and that, after forty-five years of my life dedicated to its service with upright zeal, the faults of incompetent abilities will be consigned to oblivion, as myself must soon be to the mansions of rest."

A true Patriot will find it difficult to read that paragraph without a lump in the throat. God bless you, Mr. President. May we be worthy of the nation born of your tireless efforts. And may those who aspire to lead us in this day learn from the matchless example of your character.

Donald Trump, call your office.

 Pam gave me this book for Valentines Day. And yes, leather bound, gold leaf classic books are very sexy. This one is a collection of every important speech given by anyone in this country's history, which is why it's so thick. It starts with John Hancock's On the Boston Massacre, and ends with Barack Obama's first innaugural address. For a history geek such as myself, this thing is like finding the Holy Grail, it's like a 12 year old boy stumbling across an issue of Playboy, it's like Megan Kelly...beautiful and informative!

Anyway, I've been making my way through this thing slowly, savoring every detail. There's the combative stem winder from Patrick Henry, Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death, and believe me...the dude meant it! There's Samuel Adams' bomb throwing classic, American Independence. You read enough of these founding father Patriots and you'll be ready to gather up all your Downton Abbey DVDs and feed them through a shredder!

Then I ran into the brick wall of George Washington's Farewell Address to the People of the United States. I feel like I had read this once before back in college when I was too ignorant to appreciate it, too clever to understand. Every word is a treasure. Every warning contained in it has proved prescient, each observation wise beyond comprehension. 

The great man starts by voluntarily relinquishing power, something unheard of in the age of kings. After demonstating for us the cornerstone of republican governance, he sets about saying good-bye to the nation he loves and has faithfully served for 45 years of his life. To read his words is to be humbled that such a man as this ever existed, to read his words is to be reminded of how far we have fallen. 

After a couple of pages of genuine humility where he begs the indulgence of his listeners for his many flaws, he sets out with warnings of what he sees as potential pitfalls for the American experiment in self government. First, he warns against anyone or anything that might come against the union. Regional and sectarian interests should be sacrificed for the greater good of unity. Then he rails against the danger of parties, that despicable notion of federalist and republicans, Whigs, and whatever other factions within government that had arisen in his time. Then, out of nowhere I read this:

"This spirit, unfortunately, is inseparable from our nature, having its root in the strongest passions of the human mind. The alternate domination of one faction over another, sharpened by the spirit of revenge natural to party dissension, which in different ages and countries has perpetuated the most horrid enormities, is itself a frightful despotism. The disorders and miseries which result gradually incline the minds of men to seek security and repose in the absolute power of an individual; and sooner or later the chief of some prevailing faction, more able or more fortunate than his competitors, turns this disposition to the purposes of his own elevation on the ruins of public Liberty."

Donald Trump, call your office.

                                            --to be continued--

A New Look

Yesterday I received a complaint from a faithful reader of this blog. "You know that I read your blog every day...but," she began. This introduction is usually followed by a criticism of my many flaws as a writer, including but by no means limited to...my language, conservative politics, liberal politics, too much politics, baseball obsession, too many Lucy references, not enough Lucy references, etc.. But this time the complaint was about optics. "I can hardly read your blog anymore, the words aren't dark enough, the background is too gray or something, it gives me a headache."

My first thought was that perhaps my sister should consider getting her eyes checked. But then it occurred to me that she might not be the only one having this problem since the average age of my readers probably has climbed north of 50. After all, along with the other cruelties of aging comes diminished eyesight. Lucky for all of you, I am married to Pam, who delights in any computer task that requires patience, creativity and...patience. Just before settling down for my Sunday afternoon nap, I gave her my username and password and asked her to "fix it."

What you now see is the results of her labor. I think it looks pretty cool. The parchment paper background is a nice touch, and the type does seem easier to read. She thought to add the liner notes to the book I wrote about my parents, and for reasons unknown to me, attached an unflattering picture of me which takes up half the screen, which I am sure is quite startling to old woman and young children. Nevertheless, it is a vast improvement over the old layout and I sincerely hope you all approve.

Is It Over Yet?

Donald Trump had a terrible week. In perhaps the most conservative place in America, he spent the week calling all of his opponents liars, accused the beloved(in South Carolina) George W. Bush of lying about WMD's, got in a dust up with the Pope, came out as a fan of the individual mandate in Obamacare, and was caught lying about his own opposition to the Iraq war.

Didn't matter. Won anyway. Big.

Meanwhile, in Nevada, Hillary found a way to not totally blow what had been a huge lead a month ago. She eked out another victory over a 74 year old Democratic Socialist, while managing to look as if she had lost. Apparently, blacks are not warming up to the Bern. Perhaps his endless yapping about class and income equality, and his comparative silence about race has convinced blacks that he isn't down for the struggle. But, a Pyrrhic victory is still a victory, so Hillary marches on in her joyless slog towards the nomination.

It's becoming harder and harder to imagine a fall election that doesn't feature Trump v Clinton. On the Democratic side, despite the exuberance of the Sanders faithful, one gets the feeling that Hillary Clinton is simply too diabolical to be stopped by something so hopelessly futile as mere...voters. Amoung Republicans, anti-Trump forces have been reduced to bragging about finishing second more consistently than anyone else, and finding hope in keeping Trump's margin of victory under the crucial 15 point threshold. The people who keep assuring us that at some point Trump will say something truly beyond the pale, have now been proven wrong at least 30 times. 

So, next comes March 1st, Super Tuesday, when I will get the chance to cast a ballot here in Virginia. I will vote for the candidate who has the best shot at defeating Trump, admittedly a long shot. Right
now, I believe that candidate to be Marco Rubio. Although, it will no doubt be difficult to overcome the devastation of Jim Gilmore's withdrawal from the race, I simply can't gather up all my marbles and go home! I'm not gonna lie...if Jim would make an endorsement, it would make this decision a whole lot easier.

Some of you might take exception to my irreverent attitude about all of this. Many of you are all in for a particular candidate and view the proceedings with a much more vested interest and a far greater emotional investment. Others may resent my efforts at humor...don't you know what's at stake??!! And you're right. This is serious. But, at this point in the contest, my defense mechanism of choice is sarcasm, or gallows humor, depending on your perspective. I'll move on to anger and grief later.

"We are gathered here because of one man..."

I was in the midst of an exhausting workout at the gym, dripping with sweat, slugging away on the treadmill when I noticed that the funeral for Antonin Scalia had just started on the television just in front of me. It was closed captioned so I had to read along as the words were typed out at the bottom of the screen. At first it was just ornately dressed priests walking up and down the aisles of the great basilica carrying a richly detailed crucifix of highly polished silver and gold, a black priest out front swaying the thurible back and forth sending gray plumes of incense everywhere. The typist pecked out two musical notes.

Several dignitaries read scripture passages. The other justices were there, the Vice-President, and many of the famous and infamous. Then, the judge's son, Paul Scalia, himself a priest climbed the steps to the pulpit. I wondered how he would eulogize such a brilliant but controversial man, especially with so many of his political opponents in attendance. I thought of the pressure he must have felt. Then he spoke these words:                                                                                                                          

"We are gathered here because of one man. A man known personally to many of us, known only by reputation to even more. A man loved by many, scorned by others. A man known for great controversy and great compassion..... that man of course is Jesus of Nazareth.”

The rest of his words were about the role that faith played in the life of his father. It was tender, well written, warm and touching. But it seldom strayed into mere tribute. This would be a summation of a life of faith, and I can't recall hearing a clearer presentation of the gospel of Christ anywhere, at any time. It was an amazing demonstration of hope and peace. I benefitted just by reading the script at the bottom of the screen, while sweat poured off my nose. Such a strange place to attend church.  

The FBI vs. Apple

http://www.nationalreview.com/article/431491/apples-tim-cook-right-resist-governments-demand

Read this. No, seriously. Read this now.

I have seldom used this blog to promote the work of others, but in this case I am forced to make an exception. When I first read the story of the government's demands of Apple in the case of the San Bernardino terrorist's cellphone, my BS detector went into overdrive. Something about the story gnawed at me, something didn't add up. I mean, other than my knee jerk inclination to get pissed off whenever the federal government starts throwing its weight around trying to bully a member in good standing of the business community, a business in Apple's case which has created more jobs and more wealth than a billion Bernie Sanders could in a hundred lifetimes. But it took Kevin Williamson over at National Review to identify the reason for my unease. 

So, do yourself a huge favor and read this piece then ask yourself this question. Where, after hundreds of billion dollars in spending on security and law enforcement, does the government get the nerve to demand that Apple do its dirty work for them? Tim Cook is worried that this type of technology might fall into the "wrong hands?" Too late. The FBI is the wrong hands.

My Own Private Museum

I'm told that an awful lot can be learned about a man by walking through his library. If, for example, an entire couple of rows is occupied by biographies of Hitler, you might want to look for the nearest exit. Currently there are upwards of 400 books scattered about my house and my office. It has been great fun deciding which of them to reward by placing them in my new library. I'm sure that over the years new ones will be added, and maybe a few that didn't make the first cut will make an appearance at some point down the road. But for now, 152 titles have made their way onto these magnificent shelves behind my desk:

                            

                                                    

I have gone to the trouble of taking a written inventory. The following are a list of the most represented authors...

Dean Koontz, 15

William Shakespeare, 10

P.J. O'Rourke, 9

William F. Buckley, 7

Dumas Malone, 5

Jeff Shaara, 5

Christopher Buckley, 4

Pat Conroy, 3

Then there are a score of authors who have two titles represented:

Jon Meacham, Ernest Hemmingway, John Updike, John Feinstein, Marc Eliot, E. L. Doctorow, Stephen Ambrose, William L. Shirer, Burke Davis, G. K. Chesterton, Peggy Noonan, and Mark Twain.

Then comes the writers with one book each:

Edgar Allen Poe, Voltaire, Cervantes, Robert Louis Stevenson, Aristotle, Stephen Crane, Nathaniel Hawthorne*, Jonathan Swift, H.G. Wells, Herman Melville, Charles Dickens, Thomas Mann, Jonathan Franzen, H.W. Brands, Amity Shlaes, James Bradley, Winston Churchill, Alf J. Mapp, 

Fyodor Dostoevsky, David McCullough, Jonah Goldberg, Joseph Heller, Jack Kerouac, Homer, Robert Penn Warren, Dashiell Hammett, Truman Capote, Aldous Huxley, Harper Lee, Dylan Thomas, Saul Bellow, Thomas Sowell, J. D. Salinger, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Thomas Wolfe, John Steinbeck, C.S. Lewis, Sun Tzu, and Erik Metaxas.

One thing I noticed as I was putting this all together, and I would wager a rather large sum that my English Major daughter noticed the same thing....there are only four books in this collection authored by women, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, two books by Peggy Noonan and one by Amity Shlaes. This is profoundly embarrassing to me, especially considering the thousands of brilliant writers out there who happen to be women. Good grief, how did this happen? I probably have a dozen or so upstairs that didn't make the cut, but still...I've got to broaden my horizons.

Anyway, I can't tell you how much I love this new room. I've spent practically every waking moment in here since the furniture was delivered. Everyone of these books have meant something special to me at some point in my life. Having them gathered together in one place feels like walking into a museum of your life, only you're the only one for whom the displays make any sense. I remember being mesmerized by Catcher In The Rye, shamed by To Kill a Mockingbird, astonished by the questions in The Brothers Karamozov. I was terrified by The Nightmare Years, enchanted by The Prince of Tides, humbled by The Everlasting Man, and inspired by Bonhoeffer. Each book made a bold mark on my memory which still remains all these years later. 

Monetizing My Blog....a bust!

What I was hoping would become a major source of my retirement income has turned out to be a bust. That's right, faithful reader, monetizing my blog has turned out to be the empty pot at the end of the rainbow. After six weeks of the great experiment, I have netted a whopping $28.14. Put another way, at this rate after a year I will have earned enough money to pay 25% of one month's premium for my Obamacare health insurance policy! So, I guess my dream of retiring in three years will have to wait. In Google Adsense's defense...the process was quick and easy. But, fear not dear reader. Let not your heart be troubled. The purpose and therefore the motivation for The Tempest has never been financial. I write this blog for entirely mental health reasons, as in...maintaining mine!

Having a public forum for the purposes of self expression is about the coolest thing ever. The fact that people actually enjoy reading is even cooler, astonishing in fact. Having come up with something to write about 1,100 times in five years might suggest to some an unhealthy obsession with the written word. To others it might fairly be viewed as someone who perhaps values too highly his own opinions. But here's the thing...until you go to the trouble of writing down for public scrutiny your opinions of events, you don't realize how contradictory and biased they are! If anything, these past five years have illustrated the flaws in my thinking more so than the virtues. I have often contradicted myself. I find that my mind can be changed on a matter after reading an old, uninformed opinion. Keeping a record of one's opinions can be embarrassing and humbling, but it can also help reinforce the truth. Some truths are timeless, after all.

The fact is, there's a part of me that enjoys controversy. I actual like stirring the pot. If these blogs don't irritate at least one person, then where's the fun in that? Opinions provoke, and provocation can be great fun. But according to Google Adsense, fun will have to be my only reward. 

This is the day...

Dreary rain falling outside has melted yesterday's snow. It's a Tuesday and the clock is ticking. A man who lives to age 80 gets 29,100 days on this earth. After each one is done, they never come back. A man who is 57 has fewer days ahead of him than behind him, 20,000 already spent days stretching behind him obscured by the dust of the road. Today is what we have. Dreary, rainy Tuesday is the moment that counts. Tomorrow might be better. The sun might be shining tomorrow. But tomorrow might never get here. Today is the thing.

Most days carry with them no memories. The vast majority of them are uneventful, indistinguishable units of time on a calendar. Then something spectacular happens and a day becomes plated in gold, the birth of a child, a wedding, an anniversary. Others are marked in black, someone dear gets sick, an accident, someone beloved slips away unexpectedly. But most days lack drama, nothing of consequence happens and one blends into the next like water colors. 

But is this as it should be? Is life to be lived in long seasons of sameness interrupted by the spectacular and the heartbreaking? I think not. Maybe everyday should be gold plated, everyday an adventure. If our hearts could take it, wouldn't living everyday as if it were our last make a difference? Sure, it would be exhausting, but maybe each day should end with us collapsing in bed completely spent. Maybe we're all supposed to arrive at the end with scars all over us, battered by an energetic life, not as a well preserved corpse about whom people say, "Oh, he looked so good for his age."

"This is the day that the Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it."

Why President Obama is Not My Enemy

Writing a blog is sometimes fraught with peril, especially when the subject is politics. It is very easy to be misunderstood. My limitations as a writer can sometimes result in people jumping to conclusions that I never intended to convey. Today's topic might very well be one of those times, but here goes.

I'm not terribly fond of the Democratic Party, have never been a big supporter of the current President. This will come as no surprise to any of you. But what may surprise some of you is this truth...President Obama is not my enemy. 

In this hyper-polarized and divided nation, compromise and accommodation have somehow become synonymous with weakness. Any compliment paid to the other side feels to some like a betrayal. Well, in my opinion, this graceless, scorched earth style of politics is toxic and may very well eventually kill this country.

Over the weekend, after the sudden passing of Justice Scalia, social media almost immediately erupted into a volcano of bad faith, some on the right voicing accusations of assassination by dark leftist forces, some on the left positively gleeful at the death of such a powerful enemy. It was shameful and unworthy of us.

The thing is, I have no enemies in politics, I have opponents. Even Donald Trump isn't my enemy. Neither is Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders. They are politicians with whom I disagree, nothing more. Here's how it works:

President Obama is a good man. There are things to admire about him. We are human beings first, and as human beings go, there's a lot to like. He's a good father, for one thing, and by all accounts a fine husband. As the first family, they model all of the right qualities for our nation, a very good thing. As President, he has had some terrific moments. The speech he gave at the funeral of those killed in the attack on Gabby Gifford was beautiful. When speaking about the youngest victim of that tragedy he said, "I want us to live up to her expectations. I want our democracy to be as good as Christina imagined it. All of us, we should do everything we can to make sure this country lives up to our children's expectation." Those were beautiful words that put a lump in my throat, worthy of a President.  Although his gifts as a speaker were oversold, he has moments of brilliance, and the spoken word is one of a President's most valuable tools. The fact that I disagree with him about policy cannot and should not blind me to his gifts or force me to actively delight in his failure. 

Listen, President Obama and I, by and large want the exact same things for this country. We both want a robust economy, more and better paying jobs, better and cheaper health care, a peaceful world. In other words, we share common goals. Where we part ways is over tactics, not strategy. He is of a political philosophy that values centralized planning. His default assumptions about the problems we face are that no problem is without a government solution. In his mind, government is a positive, transformative, benign force for all things good. I totally and completely reject that line of thinking. For me, central planning bureaucrats are not agents of progress, but obstacles to progress. In my opinion, a government large and powerful enough to provide for your every need is a government large and powerful enough to take from you everything you have, and if history has taught us anything it is this...centralized power in the wrong hands is the most dangerous thing on earth.

So, I try to vote for those least enamored with blind faith in the redemptive power of government. But, as is often the case in a democracy, sometimes my guys lose. When that happens, I don't immediately start praying for my political opponents to all suddenly die in their sleep! I have never wanted President Obama to be a failure, largely because if he is a failure, my country fails. My faith instructs me to pray for my leaders. It makes no exception for party.

In November, we will elect a new President. At this point, I have no idea who it will be, although at this writing, the favorites are Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, Bernie Sanders and Ted Cruz. None of them will be my enemy on innauguration day. We have a system of government that provides checks and balances on our worst instincts. I will trust that system of government to protect me from their worst policy prescriptions. Whoever the next President is will be the beneficiary of my prayers. I don't think this makes me naive or soft. I think it makes me a good citizen. Does it mean I am insufficiently partisan? I can only hope so.

Dogs Are Ruthless

On this Saturday morning, February 13, in Short Pump, Virginia, the sun is shining brightly. But it's only 21 degrees. The high will only reach the upper 20's. Tonight it will drop to 10. For my friends unlucky enough to live up north, you're probably thinking, "Wow! For February that's downright balmy! Let's have a picnic!" To which I say...bless your hearts.

For my Deep South and California friends, the mere idea of 10 freaking degrees is unfathomable. You guys don't own enough clothing to survive such a day as this. So, weather is a very subjective experience. When I was younger, I wouldn't have hesitated to bundle up and head outside on a day like today. I remember once playing golf with my brother in a snow storm. I was 13 years old and very much the idiot. He was 23 and without excuse. 

Sometimes my wife complains about the fact that I still do foolish things more appropriate and understandable for a teenager than a 57 year old man. Fair enough. But there is one thing that has managed to chasten my tomfoolery, one part of my arrested development that prudence has restored. I hate cold weather. Gone are the days of 35 degree rounds of golf. Three mile runs on frigid mornings? Not a chance. I look out the windows of my awesome new library at the bright sunshine, watching it have zero effect on the frozen, crunchy grass of my front yard and I'm thinking, "No way I'm going outside today."

Lucy, on the other hand, has other ideas.

She has already had a frantic, exhilarating, madcap adventure in the backyard which featured gnawing on an azalea branch that just happened to somehow fall off one of the bushes, several high speed figure-eight laps, and one epic bowel movement. Now she has cast her eyes into the front yard. She stands there at the front door gazing out longingly. Then she sits, turns towards me with her pink tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth looking like a complete lunatic, "So, wanna take me for a walk??"

So, after ten minutes of this expert human shaming campaign, I give in. I'm about to bundle up and take this crazy dog for a walk. Dogs are ruthless.

A Food Review

Ok...I'm very tired of writing about politicians and politics. So, this morning a review of some truly awesome takeout I had last night.

When my wife left the house yesterday morning, she informed me that she was going to make sausage and lentil soup for dinner last night. I was thrilled. Any dinner which features sausage as a main ingredient gets my vote, but this particular soup is fabulous. All day long thoughts of the meal that awaited me once the day was through gave me hope that the gyrations of the stock market would all be forgotten once I sat down in front of a that steaming bowl of awesomeness.

But then, at 5:30 my wife walked into the house loaded down with a strange white plastic bag and declared, "I know that I promised you sausage and lentil soup, but I've had a long and crazy day, I'm exhausted and too tired to make it tonight, but...I picked up a treat at Q!!"

For the uninitiated, Q is short for Q Barbeque, a fast food style Barbeque place less than two minutes from our house. Despite the fact that it is clean, has no hubcaps hanging from the ceiling, and isn't really a uh...restaurant, it serves up some incredible food. Anyway, just recently we discovered a new menu item called beef brisket chili. I am here to tell you, it is very good. How good? Let me try to explain.

It's Texas style chili with chunks of brisket swimming around in the bowl. Actually, not really swimming since it's much too thick for that. Sliced green and red peppers are in there too. But there's some sort of sause or spice of some sort that makes the dish. At first you don't think it's particularly spicy...just delicious. The chunks of meat as delectable as anything you've ever put in your mouth. But about five spoonfuls in you begin to feel the heat. It starts at the corners of your mouth, then makes its way into your nose, which begins to run a little, delicately, like your wife's nose runs during the makeup scene in one of those Lifetime movies. Before long, your eyes start to water. You are forced to pour a second glass of tea, then a third. But there is simply no way you're not going to finish this bowl of chili because it's the most delicious thing you've had to eat in months. You take a break, eat a corn muffin, drink some more tea, then pound the last spoonful. It's the kind of chili that should be eaten while listening to some 70 year old blues guitarist. You glance at the clock. It's after six. You ask yourself, "Where did I put that bottle of Pepsid??"