Hannah Graham

The horrible story of Hannah Graham took an ominous turn this morning with the arrest of a suspect in Galveston, Texas. The UVA girl is still missing. It doesn’t look good.

I have watched this sad story play itself out on the news and on social media over the past couple of weeks. As a father who nervously sent his daughter 7 hours away to attend college, I know a little of the anguish Ms. Graham’s parents must be feeling at this moment. But in my case, the anguish lasted only a few minutes after I received a telephone call from an Ohio State Trooper informing me that he was with my daughter at the hospital after she had slid off the road and crashed into a guard rail off of highway 35. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest, all the air rushed out of my lungs until the moment he told me that she was unhurt and that his call was merely to verify her ownership of the vehicle. I only had to endure 90 seconds of terror. I simply cannot imagine what Hannah Graham’s parents have endured for over two weeks now.

Unfortunately, I have seen more than once an opinion expressed by people on Facebook which I think is quite disturbing. It goes something like this, “Well, it’s horrible what happened to that girl, but, for goodness sakes, any 19 year old girl dressed like a slut who gets herself all liquored up is asking for trouble.”

Where to begin?

First, it is a fact that getting drunk impairs our ability to make clear judgments, getting stumbling around drunk, even more so. It is also true that how we dress does communicate to others what we expect from an evening out. Human beings generally dress in black when in mourning, we wear sports jerseys to signify allegiance to our favorite team, and when women want to be noticed by men, generally they dress accordingly, and I for one am so glad that they do. However, was in fact Hannah Graham asking for it when she got drunk and dressed in a skimpy top? To answer yes to this questions assumes several terrible things about men and women. It paints men as knuckle dragging apes unable to control sexual urges at the mere sight of cleavage. It serves to tacitly justify criminal assault based solely on visual stimulus. It also assumes that every girl who steps out in a low neck sweater does so because she wants to be attacked by a total stranger. My experience with women, even the ones back in my college days taught me that tons of 19 year old girls LOVE to flirt, but I never met one who longed to be sexually assaulted. To equate one with the other is insulting.

As far as the drinking goes, there is little doubt that if Ms. Graham had not been drunk, she would have made better decisions that fateful night. Still, a girl who gets drunk does not forfeit her rights as a human being not to be molested. I know of no legal defense for rape that starts with, “she was drunk, so…” Furthermore, all of these accusations of drunkenness and slutty attire tend to take the focus of what really happened that night which is that a girl, someone’s precious child, in all probability got abducted, raped and probably murdered by some lunatic. Let’s save our rage and indignation for the perpetrator, shall we?

Derek Jeter. Number 2.

Derek Jeter. Number 2.

For nearly half of my adult life, he has played shortstop for the New York Yankees, a team that I have grown to loathe over that time period. In fact, it is safe to say that there exists nowhere a sports franchise that I detest more than the New York Yankees. As a Red Sox fan, I suppose this is natural. Over the years I have developed an intense dislike for players in pinstripes. Alex Rodriguez, Robinson Cano, Andy Pettitte, Jaba Chamberlain, just the sight of them would raise my blood pressure. But with Jeter it was different.

Don’t get me wrong, I never cheered for him. There was no player in the game who I less wanted to see in the batter’s box with the game on the line. It didn’t matter if he was in the midst of a 0 for 30 slump, when the lights were the brightest, and the pressure at its highest peak, Jeter always seemed to come through.

Derek Jeter will play his last game this week, and that fact has caused me no small amount of sadness. The truth is, Derek Jeter represents everything that I love about the game of baseball. He is a throwback to an earlier era in the game. He’s the kind of player who never ran his mouth, never made news off the field. I never heard him say a negative thing about a teammate, never saw him try to show up an opponent. All the guy has ever done is play baseball at the highest level, while managing to save his best moments for the biggest stages when the pressure was the most intense.

He’s not even in the discussion of greatest player ever. There are many others with better power, more speed, a better arm, and better range. But there isn’t anyone to ever play the game with better instincts, no one who was more clutch.

A game as old as baseball experiences peaks and valleys and right now baseball is in a very deep valley. The game has gotten slow, its popularity is flagging with every demographic except mine…mid-fifties white guy. Losing Derek Jeter could not possibly have come at a worse time for the game that I love. But, father time waits for no man. So, number 2 will hang up the cleats for good after a game against the Red Sox on September 28, 2014.

He will probably hit an opposite field double with the bases loaded, top of the ninth to drive in the winning runs. Damn that guy!

Thanks Derek. Thank you for playing the game the right way, for never embarrassing it or yourself by beating up a woman or acting like a fool in public. Thank you for providing an example for young players to follow, an example of class, dignity and grace under pressure.

Derek Jeter. Number 2.

The Peoples Climate March

So, yesterday in New York City, there was a protest called the “Peoples Climate March.” Whenever I see anything with the word “Peoples” in front of it, I always think of 60’s radicals, those mythical kids from Berkeley who thought Mao was groovy…but that’s just me. No, these marchers were protesting global warming and demanding that something be done about it right away. Judging from the signs held aloft along the march route, the villains of climate change are, in no particular order, capitalism, the Tea Party, the Koch brothers, oil companies, the Republican Party, and the United States. In other words, the usual suspects. These are the same villains in practically any protest march featuring folks fond of the word “Peoples.”

I studied the pictures from the event carefully. More than once I saw Styrofoam cups that had been embossed with the slogan “The Arctic Affects Us All” courtesy of Greenpeace, proving that in the war to save the Earth, irony is the first casualty.

There was Leonardo Dicaprio, looking dapper in beard and beret, whisked to the event no doubt by his private jet. Much was made of the many interviews conducted with participants by skeptical reporters inquiring as to whether or not these climate crusaders would be willing to give up their energy-sucking smart phones and automobiles. No one was, and most resented the questions. Mr. Dicaprio seemed truly astonished when asked about his fleet of private yachts, as if that had nothing whatsoever to do with his demands that the rest of us turn away from our planet-killing consumer culture.

But, this is America. We are the protest champions of the world, and I for one take much pride in this fact. I don’t fault anyone for their passion. I also have no doubt that yesterday’s marchers are sincerely convinced of their cause and its righteousness. Still, whenever this whole climate change subject comes up, my unanswered question hangs in the air like acid rain…what would you have us do? The proposed solutions offered by the true believers would cost unfathomable sums of money, cause unprecedented economic upheaval, with little effect on the actual…planet. Even the rosiest scenarios offered by proponents of this radical recasting of civilization admit as much. Let’s spend 500 gazillion dollars, reshape the relationship between governments and the governed, and take away personal freedoms so we can possibly lower the planet’s temperature by 2 degrees in 100 years? Oh, and if you don’t agree with us, you’re a war criminal.

Have we human beings been good stewards of the Earth? No. Should we as individuals and collectively as governments do more to clean the water and air? Yes. Should we be trying to discover and then develop new forms of energy that might replace fossil fuels? Absolutely

Should we give in to the unhinged demands of the People’s Climate March types and dismantle our entire economy? Slow down, Sparky.

One Dream-Free Night...that's all I ask

Big, crazy, jam-packed week ahead. I don’t have as many of them as I did twenty years ago, largely because I work a lot smarter now than I did then. But this week will be like the bad old days.

I’m not sleeping well lately. Those of you who know me well will recognize this complaint as it has been a lifelong problem. In the past it has been an inability to fall asleep. But now it’s just that I wake up several times during the night, and spend the rest of the time dreaming, not the good kind of dreams, but rather the exasperating ones. These are not nightmares. No one gets shot, there are no monsters. These are the kind of dreams where you’re trying to do the most mundane of tasks but can’t quite get it done. A few nights ago I dreamed that I had a tee-time with three other unrecognizable guys at Pebble Beach. They were standing on the 1^st tee and there I was in the parking lot trying my best to get my act together. First, I couldn’t get my clubs out of the trunk, then, I couldn’t find my shoes. Once I finally found them, I naturally broke a shoelace putting them on. All the while, my friends were yelling for me to hurry or we were going to lose our spot. This went on seemingly all night. When you wake up at 5:15 with this sort of frustration, you’re not going back to sleep!

So, last night I dreamed that one of my best clients was sitting in the reception area of the office waiting to meet me for his annual review. Meanwhile, I was making the interminably endless two and a half mile journey from my house to my office, facing one supernatural obstacle after another, while constantly glancing at the clock, knowing that with each new five car pileup, each new flooded road and each new Biblical plague, I was falling further and further behind schedule. When I finally pull into the parking lot, the dead locusts that had encrusted my car had jammed the door shut. I woke up feeling like I had run a marathon in army boots.

I’m sure that a Psychiatrist would have a field day with all of this. I don’t have a lot of confidence in dream analysis, I rather believe that dreams have chemical origins, not sub-conscious ones. All I want is a dream-free night.

"If men were angels..."

 

         “That government is best which governs least.”

                                                                     Thomas Jefferson

Like much of the wisdom of the Founders, the above quote sounds quaint, almost silly to 21^st century ears. At first reading, Jefferson’s notion seems self-evidently true. A well behaved citizenry would need little governing. As Jefferson’s neighbor and dear friend James Madison observed, “If men were angels, no government would be necessary.” But, men are not angels. We build prisons not for criminals, but for us.

In our time, it has been the great project of Progressives to perfect mankind. From Woodrow Wilson, and Theodore Roosevelt, up through FDR and Barack Obama, the American people have voted for men who promised to unleash the power of the government to attempt a reshaping of man’s character. This activist vision has produced a leviathan with almost limitless power, which has managed to make Jefferson’s 200 year old observation seem charmingly naive.

The conservative idea of government is essentially government by negation. Ronald Reagan promised to get government “out of the way and off your back.” His famous line on the campaign trail was that the scariest ten words in the English language were, “I’m from the government, and I’m here to help you.” The American people responded to his words with two broad landslides. But, that was thirty years ago and very much the exception to the rule.

We have as a nation accepted the Progressive model of government. We now expect our President to do great things, our government to develop bold programs to fix this and that. We look to Washington for answers not just to the big perplexing questions that have plagued civilization for millennia, but increasingly to even the small irritants of life, resulting in a Federal government empowered to remove Snickers bars from high school vending machines.

This is all very bad news for the Republican Party, even worse news for any Libertarian impulse. With nearly 50 million of us receiving food stamps, any candidate proposing a dismantling of big government is fighting a losing battle. The battle between aggressive and limited government has been won by the Progressives. The best that the Republicans can hope for is better management.

“If men were angels…” Madison was right, of course. But what happens when the men and women who run government aren’t angels either? When we gave them such power, we assumed, hoped and prayed that they would only exercise it for the public good. The corrupting tendencies of power have a long and storied history. A government granted so much of it might in the end be impossible to stop. When that day comes we will read Thomas Jefferson’s words and weep.

News Quiz for the Week of Sept. 15

The public humiliation and barbaric subjugation of women. The infliction of extreme violence on children. A ruthless hierarchy completely dominated by men.

The above statement best describes which organization?

A.   ISIS

B.   NFL

 

What are the criteria for inclusion in President Obama’s coalition to degrade and destroy ISIS?

A.   Commitment of ground troops

B.   Financial contributions

C.   Private, informal agreement NOT to shoot at our airplanes

 

What do the two choices on the Scottish Independence ballot actually mean?

A.   NO, I do not want to break away from the UK

B.   YES, I do want to remain part of the UK

C.   NO, I do not want Scotland to become an independent state

D.   YES, I do want the UK to stay together

Could the confusion over the ballot and the consumption of 25 metric tons of Scotch on election day have had any bearing on the outcome?

 

Who had a worse week?

A.   Roger Goodell

B.   John McCain

C.   The Tampa Bay Buccaneers

      D. The staff sergeant 30 days shy of retirement who got deployed to Liberia to  fight the Ebola virus

Superior Metabolism

Eleven years ago, I had emergency open heart surgery to repair the mitral valve in my heart which had rudely blown up due to a birth defect that had gone 45 years without detection. Thankfully, the repairs were done successfully and I have had no heart problems since. Besides the emotional upheaval that such a terrifying experience visits upon you, open heart surgery tends to focus the mind. Nothing makes you appreciate life more than the prospect of losing yours.

So, after the six weeks it took me to recover from having my chest opened, I joined American Family Fitness and quickly became a three days a week work out devotee. When I began, I was 199 pounds. Within a few months I dropped down to 187 and happily discovered that no matter what I ate, as long as I worked out three times a week, my weight stayed at 187. It was like magic.

The pre-surgery tests on my heart revealed wide opened arteries, no heart disease to be found. This despite a lifelong diet that consisted of food that would give your average dietician nightmares. Among my favorites are things like bacon, sausage, steak, pizza, ice cream, donuts, bread, butter, beer, pancakes, mashed potatoes and gravy, and anything else with tons of carbs and calories. My business associates would marvel at my diet. “Dunnevant, how come you don’t weigh 300 pounds? If I woofed down as much crap as you do they’d have to send me to a fat farm!”

“Superior metabolism,” I would reply with cocky flair.

Then I turned 56.

Suddenly, as if God had been distracted by the Middle East for the past 11 years and finally happened to notice me shoving two raspberry-filled donuts in my pie hole for breakfast, everything has changed. The scale in my bathroom has begun arguing with me. After a particularly delicious weekend a few months ago, the clearly defective scale declared that I was 194 pounds. What?? No worries, I thought. I’ll just increase the intensity of my workouts, go an extra 15 minutes on the treadmill. Still 194. Ok, well, I’ll just have to add an extra workout. Four days a week will do the trick. I enjoy working out anyway, it’s a great stress reliever.

Still…194.

Yesterday, I put myself through a wringer of a workout. Two miles on the treadmill, ten miles on the bike, an hour of cardio that left me dripping in sweat. I had burned 1100 calories. This morning? 194.

My buddies at the office are having a field day. “How’s that superior metabolism working out for ya there Porky?” In truth, I have been warned by friends for years that at some point in my future, my body furnace was going to change and I wouldn’t be able to get away with those double steak burritos with milkshake lunches. They all said that at some point, slathering butter over seven rolls at Bertucci’s before my entrée arrived wasn’t going to work anymore. Meanest of all, they would taunt me with, “Dunnevant, I see lite beer in your future.

Blast them! It’s all true.

But I made it to 56. It was a great run!