Fiscal Cliff? Give The People What They Want

I need to go ahead and get this one off my chest before somebody gets hurt. The news is now filled with talk of the coming “fiscal cliff”. I’m already tired of this media construction. There is no cliff. That would suggest that if someone went over said cliff, they would plunge to certain and immediate death. Someone who plunges off of a cliff doesn’t die 6 months later of complications. Death is immediate, instantaneous, and relatively painless, if I correctly understand the functioning of the nervous system. No, the fiscal cliff involved here would result in higher federal income taxes for every working American, and automatic, across the board spending cuts for all departments of our government. (In other words, the fiscal cliff is what regular people would be forced to do if their family budget was under water, get a second job, and cancel cable). How high and how broad? Well, the fiscal cliff would increase tax revenue to the government by 19%, while reducing government spending by .25%. Yes. You read that right. We are talking a “draconian” slashing of government spending by .25%. This is what we are told will produce untold devastation to our nation, causing much rending of garments, gnashing of teeth, and social dislocation not seen since the destruction of Pompeii by Mount Vesuvius in 79AD.

Having said all that, a deal needs to get done, and soon. While I can make an argument that we would be better off long term if nothing was done, the American people have made it abundantly clear that they don’t care about the long term. What, we’re racking up one trillion dollars a year in debt, you say? Screw it, I want my food stamps, I want the interest deduction of my mortgage, and don’t even think about messing with funding for Sesame Street.

Ok, so here’s the deal. I have some advice for the Republican party. This is not the time to dig in your heels. You want to drive a hard bargain in these sort of negotiations? Well, win an election! President Obama just kicked your ass running on a clear platform of raising taxes on people making over $250,000 a year. The American people were fine with that. So, why are you drawing lines in the sand over a position that was just repudiated by the America people? Listen guys, if you think that the country will be destroyed by higher taxes on the rich, then enact them. Then sit back and watch the economy tank, and in two years send your candidates out there with the message, “See, we told you this was going to happen!!” Elections should mean something. You guys lost. Take your medicine. If you block a deal, the President will hang the fiscal cliff around your collective necks, and blame your party for everything bad that happens as a consequence…and he will be right to do so.

Any deal that is reached will make our debt problem worse than it would have been without a deal. But the American people don’t care about debt, and they have just spoken on the subject. Give the people what they want.

A Thanksgiving Fable

It was the cranberry sauce that did him in. Cranberry sauce from a can. He had taken it from the refrigerator and hooked it up to the electric can opener. The thought had flashed through his mind, electric can opener? What, we’re too lazy for the old hand crank kind? We import oil from the Arabs so we won’t have to bother with hand cranked can openers? What a bunch of worthless, lazy bastards we have become. His mood was darkening.

Then he got out the small glass serving plate and turned the can upside down. Slowly at first but a sudden slurp later, the cranberry sauce wiggled across the plate. It bore the image of the can perfectly, every ridge clearly molded into it’s shape. He stood it on its end and stared.

What the heck was this, he thought, suddenly horrified. He grabbed the empty can, turned it in his hand to read the ingredients. Cranberries, sugar, water, and gelatin. He stared back at the crimson blob before him. Perfect, he thought. A perfect monument to man’s unquenchable drive to transform nature itself into something vile and disgusting. What on earth did those cranberries do to deserve this?

She had told him to slice it up in half inch portions and feather them smartly onto the plate. It will be festive, she had said. He did as he was told. The knife slid through  smoothly. These cranberries were planted, harvested, and cooked for this very purpose. It was their destiny to be cruelly humiliated in this way. They offered no resistance.

He wasn’t totally sure what feathering meant, but he supposed it had something to do with how they were to be laid on the plate. His first attempt looked scattered and not entirely festive, so he tried again with better results.

So, this is what his Thanksgiving had been reduced to. No apple cranberry casserole. No cooked cranberry dish at all. Cranberry sauce in a can would have to do. This would be the new normal. He stood over the plate in silence. His wife swooped by and offered faint praise...that’s nice honey, now do the second can, we need one dish for each end of the table.

He looked up from the plate, glanced around the kitchen into the living room. His kids were slumped on the couch watching a parade. His unemployed brother was buried in the classifieds, looking for a job. His annoying nephew’s head was festooned with top of the line earphones, which thankfully kept his vile grunge music private. The only people interested in this meal were his wife and his dog.

The second can looked funny. It slid out more quickly but not as intact as the first. He suspected that perhaps it was bad. Was it even possible to get a hold of bad canned cranberry sauce? If so, this was surely it. There was a troubling gash in the side, and an equally disturbing rim around the top. Quality 

control was a lost art anymore, he thought. Someone at the cranberry plant had taken a bribe and now families all over America were about to eat bad sauce. Well, not THIS family.

Looking back on it afterwards, he couldn’t remember how it had all gotten started. He looked down at his hands. They were bright red. His breathing was labored, his heart was pounding, a feeling close to exhilaration coursing through his veins. A blob of mashed potatoes was slowly sliding down the television screen, partially obscuring Al Roker’s face. Black eyed peas rolled down the hall which led to the front door. His mother-in-law’s face would be forever burned into his memory, mouth agape, wide-eyed horror in her eyes, a patch of sweet potato casserole plastered across her face, a melted marsh mellow clinging to the end of her nose. He seemed to remember throwing a slice of cranberry sauce at his brother. The memory was cloudy and moved in slow motion. Everyone had frozen. The nephew had removed his earphones and smiled broadly. Then it was all a blur. At the beginning, his wife stood with her hands at her sides in dumbfounded astonishment at the sight of her stuffing flying through the air in tightly pressed balls. But soon, she was in the kitchen madly throwing Tupperware containers full of brown sugar and flour into the air.

      

                                                                            

The dog was jumping from place to place in tail-wagging glee, happily cleaning up the largesse. Soon, it was all over. The only thing left on the table was the big bird and two baskets of Hawaiian rolls. Everyone froze in place, chests heaving from the exertion, eyes alive with fun, remnants of cranberry sauce crusted in everyone‘s hair. All eyes were now on him. He, after all, had started it, and now it was over. What to do? What now?

Anyone up for some turkey sandwiches?... he heard himself say. A thunderous cheer rose through the house as everyone gathered around the table. He began carving the turkey amidst the unbridled glee that had overtaken his family. The sandwiches were delicious, the conversation uproarious. After the meal, his father-in-law reminded everyone, that nobody had said a blessing. Everyone looked at him. He stood from his spot at the head of the table, a lima bean sliding off of his head as he rose. Everyone closed their eyes as he began to pray.

“ Lord, we thank you for this day. We thank you for our lives. We thank you for this food that we just finished eating, and the rest of it that we threw at each other before. We ask your forgiveness for the waste, but we thank you for this memory from the bottom of our hearts.”

After the meal, everyone picked up rags and mops and sponges of every shape and size and began the cleanup while the Cowboys and Lions played on the TV. As the nephew walked out the door, he stopped, looked up at his uncle and said, Dude, two words for you...Best. Thanksgiving. Ever.



Thanks, came the reply. And that’s three words, knucklehead.

Shame On You, General.

When Bill Clinton was famously caught using a cigar inappropriately with Monica Lewinsky in the oval office, many seasoned observers thought that we had reached a new low in public, high profile adultery. Never before, they said, had such a powerful man been caught engaging in such reprehensible behavior while holding high office. Well, the lesson here is to never say never.

Over the past few years, the American people have been treated to the indignity of:

Arnold Schwarzenegger having a love child with his maid.

Governor Mark Sanford leaving his wife and four kids for a hot Brazilian commodity broker.

Senator John Edwards having a love child with a campaign worker while his wife was dying of cancer.

Congressman Anthony Weiner sending nude pictures of himself to some random college girl from Seattle while his wife was pregnant.

　

And now to this list of dubious distinction, we can add Four Start General David Petraeus, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, having an affair with his biographer who just happens to be voluptuous and twenty years his junior. The General’s wife of 38 years, Holly, is reported to be devastated by this news and not very happy with the former US commander in Afghanistan. Lucky for Petraeus, he had to good sense to hold off consummating his relationship with Paula Broadwell until after he had accepted the CIA directorship job since adultery is a crime under the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

What to make of all this? First of all, one should never conjure up a convoluted explanation when a simpler one will do, that is, men are pigs. On the other hand, what do all these incidents have in common? All of them are powerful, accomplished men. All of them except Petraeus would be considered at least reasonably handsome. For those of you who have googled a picture of Anthony Weiner…I am grading on a curve. All of these men are were married to older women, and all of them fell for a much younger, hotter version of their wives. And finally, all of them have careers that grant them lots of opportunities to cheat. Each have jobs that require lots of travel, an enormous amount of time apart from their families, especially in the case of the General. But there is one thing that sets the Petraeus case apart from the rest. The first five men on this list are politicians. As such, I expect a certain level of sliminess, a certain amount of amoral opportunism. In my mind, any political figure in this country with anything approaching real power, I suspect them of infidelity already. But General Petraeus is one of the highest ranking and most celebrated officers of his generation. He comes from an institution that promotes real talent and achievement. You don’t become a four star because your Daddy made a lot of money. To become a leader of men at his level, you must have demonstrated genuine leadership skills, and a level of discipline unfathomable for most of us. What happened to honor? What of honesty? What of integrity?

All of these adulterers are miserable failures as men, but for me, the General is the worst. I expect nothing in the way of honor from my politicians so I’m seldom disappointed by them. But I expect better from Four Star Generals. There’s a reason that adultery is a crime under the Uniform Code of Military Justice. It’s because it reveals a lack of judgment, loyalty, and honor.

Shame on you, General.

True, But Disappointing.

Yesterday I bragged on Facebook about my prediction, back in April, that the Giants would defeat the Tigers in the 2012 World Series. My sister Paula, with characteristic disregard for my tender feelings, posted a reply that began thusly, “Nobody cares, Doug.” She then pointed out that the television ratings for the World Series were less than the ratings for the latest Alabama v. LSU game, the insinuation being that college football is better because more people watch. I might counter with the fact that just because more people watch Jersey Shore than Parenthood doesn’t mean that Jersey Shore is “better”. But I cannot deny the fact that baseball has fallen from favor with most Americans. Fifty years ago it was the national pastime. Today it’s considered a relic of the past and is probably 4^th or 5^th in popularity among American sports fans. This sad fact joins many other things that are true but disappointing:

# Although God has created nothing that tastes better than bacon, it’s perhaps the most dangerous food for the human heart ever ingested by man. Why, God? Why do you do this to us?

# The most comfortable clothes in my closet always seem to be those that are the most egregiously out of style.

# Whenever I buy the latest technological device, it is declared obsolete as soon as I remove it from it’s box.

# People like Justin Bieber and Ke$ha become multi-millionaires before they can even vote, but classically trained musicians have to get second jobs at the Home Depot to make a living.

# The most Godly, wise, and hardest working pastors labor in obscurity, while the most ignorant and arrogant preachers end up on television.

# The New York Yankees and the Miami Heat exist as proof that money can buy championships. Not every year, but more often than not.

# Joe Paterno, Donald Trump, and Nancy Pelosi exist as proof that wisdom does not always come with age.

# Our political system stopped producing statesmen about the time that television was invented.

# Dwight Eisenhower and David Petraeus were both famous generals. They both had extramarital affairs. One became President, the other fodder for TMZ. Welcome to the Age of the Tabloid.

# Fifty years ago, Fifty Shades of Grey would only have been sold in seedy adult bookstores in bad parts of town. Today it is the number one selling novel in America.

# The vast majority of American flags are manufactured in…China.

Suffering From Withdrawal

Day three of my HYPER-NEWS blackout. I’m staying “informed” only through the Associated Press website, the business news section of the Wall Street Journal, and the top of the hour news broadcasts on radio. A few observations.

The AP website is about as boring a thing as I have ever encountered on the internet. No screaming, misleading headlines, no flashing ads for mortgage refinancing floating across the screen, no woman with disturbingly large breasts imploring me to try a testosterone boosting cream. Just long detailed articles chronicling the news of the day, with not very many pictures. It’s like an online version of C-Span. Z-zzzzz. Meanwhile, at this very minute Rachel Maddow is probably leading off her show with shocking news of secret Republican plans to outlaw oral sex in San Francisco…and I’m missing it. Right now, Bill O’Reilly is escorting some pin-headed liberal out of the “No-Spin Zone”, Glen Beck is reporting on skyrocketing gun sales and the bourgeoning hybrid seed business. I bet The New York Times is running the latest Paul Krugman piece about his man-crush on Nate Silver. But all I’ve got this morning is a long boring story about the national security intricacies of the David Petraeus resignation.

The one thing I’ve noticed over the past three days is just how much time I spend consuming news. By eliminating the 13 sources that make up this boycott I have freed up lots of time during my day. The question becomes, what to do to fill the hours? I could take up a hobby, learn a foreign language, devote more time and energy towards making more money. I could buy an old pick up truck and rebuild the engine, after I took a class to learn how the internal combustion engine works. The possibilities are endless.

The real test of this two week Scream-News moratorium will come if and when there is a real crisis. Say, Israel’s air force decides to take out Iran’s nuclear reactors, or Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi are both killed in a meth lab explosion in the Cannon office building. That’s when I’m really going to miss Rush Limbaugh’s instant analysis, and the unhinged commentary of the Daily Kos.

For now, I soldier on.

The Experiment, And A Look At History

I am about to conduct an experiment. The election is over. My guy lost. Now, everywhere I look there are either stories of the coming apocalypse, or proclamations declaring the death of the Republican party. Any fair reading of history tells me that both assertions are ridiculous. So, here’s my plan.

For the next two weeks starting at 7 am Friday the 9^th day of 2012, I will institute a self-imposed ban on the following outlets of information:

1. The Drudge Report

2. National Review

3. MSNBC

4. FOX News

5. The Huffington Post

6. The Daily Kos

7. The O’Reilly Factor

8. Sean Hannity

9. Rush Limbaugh

10. CNN

11. Stephen Colbert

12. The Daily Show

13. PBS

In addition, I will refrain from reading the Editorial Pages of both the New York Times, The Washington Post, and The Wall Street Journal. To obtain my news, I will consult the business pages of the WSJ with a high degree of skepticism. After two weeks I intend to measure my mood, my level of confidence and the quality of my thoughts. My hypothesis is that all three will show dramatic and measurable improvement. I will then report back to you with the results.

We live in a world where the “news” is delivered 24/7 in a hyper, opinionized way by manic and intensely competitive “personalities”. I try to expose myself to a wide range of them, but I find myself not so much informed as unnerved by the whole process. And, I believe it has contributed greatly to my feelings of isolation and despair when it comes to my country. So, this experiment begins.

Now, to those of you who feel exultant as well as those of you who feel despair at the outcome of this election, I offer the following history lesson. The election of 2012 will usher in neither a 50 year reign of Democratic Party dominance, nor the death of the Republican party. How do I know this? History. Here’s my theory. In times of great uncertainty and tumult, the American people have often warmed up to a beefier, more aggressive and dominant attitude toward government. However, when the crisis passes, the American people have consistently preferred a lighter touch, as follows:

　

World War 1 and it’s upheaval usher in Woodrow Wilson and his merry band of Progressives bent on transforming American society. As soon as the war was over, and before the ink was even dry on the Treaty of Versailles, America quickly soured on Wilson’s Progressives and opted for 12 years of laissez faire Republicans. It was time to have fun and make money, and we did both in record breaking ways. Then the Great Depression and the rise of totalitarian regimes round the world ushered in FDR and the New Deal. Things got scary, so we wanted our government to beef up and protect us. After the war was over though, we got tired of all the fussiness, all the rules and regulations and do-gooders. It was time to rebuild, to get back to growing the economy and making some money. Yes, that nice man, General Eisenhower will do nicely. Then the civil rights movement and the social upheaval brought on by the war in Vietnam turned the sixties into a caldron of chaos. Whenever that happens, America turns to government and so we got LBJ and his Great Society’s war on poverty. Which was fine and dandy until the radicals started getting a little too weird. Then it was time for some law and order, and who better for that job than the Republicans and Richard Nixon? But, America doesn’t much care for paranoid crooks in the White House so we decided to give a big-toothed southerner a try. Thankfully Carter gave way rather quickly to Ronald Reagan. When he left and was replaced by his Vice-President, the first George Bush, the temptation was to believe that this time, the Democrats really WERE dead. Wrong again. Hello Bill Clinton.

The pattern should be pretty clear by now that the preferred political philosophy of the American people is highly fungible. The pendulum swings in slow motion sometimes, but it does swing. In 2012 America, has turned once again to Obama. We have experienced in the past ten years the worst terrorist attack in history and the second worst economic collapse in our history. Time for an aggressive, vigorous government. But, as sure as day follows night, these trying times will fade, this government will overreach, and the American people will tire of the Nanny state at some point.

That’s my theory, and I’m sticking to it. Oh, and one more thing. I’m going to do a better job of praying for the President than I did during his first term. Now that he’s our guy for another four years, he’s my guy too.

A BAD Day At Chick-Fil-A????

On election day I had one of the most shocking, disheartening experiences of my life. No, I refer not to the results of the contest but to something far more disquieting, far more damaging to my sense of well-being and normalcy. I actually had a bad customer service experience at Chick-Fil-A!!

I’m not a big fan of fast food, but when I do get a hankering for greasy, delicious chicken, I prefer Chick-Fil-A. I suppose that in the 8 years or so since the Short Pump store opened, I have made 200 trips to the place. Actually that number makes it appear that I am quite the fast food fan, but do the math folks, that’s only twice a month!! It has always been the same thing, delicious chicken, impossibly cheerful employees, sparkling clean tables and despite the lines, jet-fast service. Until election day.

I had just stood in line for 45 minutes exercising my franchise and had worked up an appetite. I noticed that there wasn’t a long line of cars in the drive-thru so I pulled up, and walked inside for a sausage egg and cheese biscuit. There was a long line but nothing out of the ordinary. Immediately I noticed that my fellow patrons seemed edgy, irritated. Perhaps they were frustrated by the voting process or something. Soon, it became clear what the source of this strange vibe was. Something foreign and sinister had crept inside my Chick-Fil-A…bad service! The cheerful cashiers seemed irritable, shaken. There were four of them hovering around one cash register in frustration. Three more were visibly distraught about the pace at which the cooks were delivering their orders, even to the point of verbal confrontation. In 8 years I have never heard an ill-word exchanged by anyone on the payroll. What was happening?? It was as though someone had screwed with the space time continuum and I had been transported to a Jeff-Davis highway McDonalds on the Southside. An Asian man in the line next to me was getting more agitated by the minute and was muttering furiously in some unknown tongue. When his order was finally complete he loudly proclaimed, “ Bad Work!! Too much time!! Too much time!! Bad work!!”

When my traumatized cashier finally handed me my order, she apologized profusely and begged my forgiveness. I said not to worry and thanked her, to which she replied in a trembling tone…”My pleasure…”

It occurred to me when I got in my car to leave just how well run a business is Chick-Fil-A. After 8 years, I had just had my first bad experience. That’s 8 years of outstanding customer service, in a fast food joint! Are you kidding me? What a record. The fact that I am even writing about this testifies to what an anomaly it is! What it proves is that even the best run enterprises in the world have bad days. What sets apart Chick-Fil-A is that when they have one, it’s big news. So I write not to complain, but to praise. The fact that I had my first bad experience means that I’ve got 8 more years of, “It’s a great day at Chick-Fil-A“, and, “My pleasure” in my future. Oh, and by the way, my sausage egg and cheese biscuit might have taken a while to arrive, but it was awesome.