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??"

February and F-Bombs

I am no stranger to the February Funk. A couple of years ago I wrote a piece about it entitled "The Curse of February." Every word of it was true and remains so today. But, this year feels different.

I suppose that when you endure February amidst the backdrop of a presidential campaign season, things feel worse. Even though elections are an essential part of living in a democracy, and for the most part a healthy exercise, there is a certain amount of silliness to them as well, and this year, a new level of vulgarity, a tawdry tinge to things not seen before. Most of it comes courtesy of Mr. Trump who recently has felt emboldened enough by his success to inject language into his speeches that heretofore had been considered toxic for serious politicians. Within days I'm sure we will all be treated to the first intentional F-Bomb drop by a Presidential candidate in U.S. History. If past is prologue, Trump's poll numbers will go up afterwards, especially among evangelicals!!

I don't know...maybe it's no big deal. Presidential candidates, I'm sure, use this sort of language in private all the time. If we say we want authenticity in our public servants, maybe a coarsening of their language is what we get. Listen, I'm no angel when it comes to the occasional salty word. Sometimes, when trying to express a difficult emotion, a well timed four letter one does quite nicely. But, I'm not running for President. I prefer a minimum standard of dignity from those aspiring to lead my country. I like to believe that the men and women running for the highest office in the land have the requisite vocabulary needed to communicate their thoughts to us without resorting to the lowest level of communication we share...the profane. But, now that pu**y and s**t are out of the bottle, something tells me they will never go back in. ( I use the asterisks here just in case my Mother might somehow be reading this in heaven...).

But, I digress. February is with us for another 17 cold and dreary days. There's Valentines Day to look forward to, and President's Day. But mostly, thin clouds, a small sky and a diminished sun, trying their best to simulate a real month. 

Thanks, New Hampshire.

It is now official. The folks over at Ripley's can go ahead and print it in their latest edition. Hillary Clinton is the worst Presidential candidate in history. Despite having more campaign cash than anybody, more name recognition than anybody, and the full throated support of most of the media, she just got...trounced, whipped, embarrassed, and dare I say, manhandled, by a 74 year old Socialist in New Hampshire. This after getting waxed in 2008 by a first term black senator with a thinner resume than Kim Khardashian. It would appear that Mrs. Clinton is the most overrated politician of this or any other age.

On the Republican side, it's becoming harder and harder to imagine a scenario that doesn't feature Donald Trump as the nominee. The only person who can beat him now is Ted Cruz, and I'm not sure even about that. Rubio, Bush and Kasich are finished. Although Kasich finished second, it was a very distant second in a state he had practically lived in for the past year. And now, he's broke. There is no reason whatsoever for Chris Christie, Carla Fiorina or Ben Carson to remain in the race. It will be a two man fight the rest of the way between two men who the Republican establishment truly despise.

So, the prospect of a fall election featuring dueling populists is starting to become more and more likely. Part of me thinks that if Hillary implodes, the big cheeses in the Democratic Party will step in and insist that Joe Biden get in the race. Despite the support of his enthusiastic supporters, Bernie Sanders isn't going to become the next President of the United States. Come one people. We aren't freaking Venezuela! Of course, in my lifetime the Democratic Party actually nominated Walter Mondale and Mike Dukakis, so anything is possible I suppose. 

But let's say for a minute that it winds up being Trump v. Sanders. We would have one candidate appealing to our fear, and another appealing to our greed. One guy promising to build a wall, and another guy promising to make health care and a college education a free entitlement. One guy who has never been elected to anything before, and another guy who has never had a real, private sector job in his entire life, surviving for over 50 years at the public trough. One guy who thinks a country can be governed by the sheer brilliance of his personality and another guy who thinks that the answer to every problem we face can only be found by expanding the power and reach of government. It will be Benito Mussolini v. Karl Marx redux. Instead of " It's morning in America', more like..."It's midnight in America. Do you know where your kids are?" Both of these men will be in their 70's if they get elected.

'Merica.