Thinking Nervously About Noah

"Americans More Skeptical of God Than Ever..." was the headline that caught my eye on Drudge this morning. 

On a related note, God Isn't Terribly Thrilled With Us At The Moment Either, would have been a nice companion story.

Every few years we see these surveys taken which attempt to measure the religious beliefs of Americans. All of the trends seem to suggest that we have lost or are in the process of losing our faith. There is plenty of room for quibbling with the data. While belief in God is declining, interest in spirituality had been on the upswing...until this latest survey which has even that slipping away. In addition, belief in God and membership and identification with one of the many churches claiming to represent him are two different things. But even here, the numbers don't look good. Membership and attendance are way down across the board. All of which leaves me with the nagging question of, which came first? Have we abandoned our faith because we have become such horrible, selfish people...or have we become horrible, selfish people because we have abandoned our faith? I'll leave that one to the theologians.

As I survey the world around me, I come to the inescapable conclusion that if I were God, I would wash my hands of all of us. God is patient and kind and long suffering, we are informed by the book of Psalms. Well, it's a good thing, or we would all be toast. When I observe how we treat each other down here, the greed, the hatred, the ugliness, I've got to think that there's a part of God that is getting increasingly pissed off. Back in Noah's day, we learned that God's famous forebearence had limits. The stuff they were doing back then seems like entry level degradation compared to a typical Tuesday afternoon on the Internet today.

At this point, I'd settle for some basic human decency. Sometimes, I'll find some story of a homeless guy who stumbles across a wad of 100 dollar bills that has fallen out of someone's pocket. I watch the video of the guy spending 15 minutes trying to find the owner, then when that fails he finds some of his homeless friends and shares his largesse with all of them. On the one hand, the story warms my heart, on the other hand it shames me because I know that most "respectable people" in a similar situation might have tried (briefly) to find the owner, but afterwards would have pocketed every red nickel. Would I have sought out five of my friends to share the money with? Uh...no. This, I believe is at the root of our problem.mthe more stuff we have, the less important our fellow man becomes to us. The homeless guy has nothing, except those he shares his life on the streets with. They are his prized possessions. The words of Jesus ring true, "where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

What Do I Want For My Birthday?

Exactly two weeks from today, I will endure another birthday. It will be my 58th. Pretty soon my wife will ask me what I want for my birthday. I will offer one of my famously frustrating answers, "I really can't think of anything. Whatever you get will be fine." She will rightly point out that this is not an answer. The problem is that everything that I want is either too expensive, or too theoretical. How exactly to you wrap up, calmness? In what size box do you place, peace?

Don't misunderstand me, I have many reasons to celebrate April the 3rd, not the least of which is that it sure beats the alternative. In ways large and small, I have lived a blessed life. It has featured more victory than defeat, more health than illness, and more wealth than poverty. It was my very good fortune to be raised by two extraordinary parents, and surrounded by three loving siblings. I married far beyond my station and brought two exemplary children into this world. I received a hard won education, started and built a business of my own from scratch. Along the way I have found friends to share it all with. And yet...

This is where one must be careful. It is difficult to speak of anxiety and disenchantment without sounding like a whiner. Indeed, it may be impossible. We are about to find out, I suppose. This year, as I approach April 3rd, I do so with an odd heaviness, a weight of doubt. Many things contribute to the weight, and none of them particularly stand out as the prime culprit. In no particular order, here they are...

1. I miss my kids.

My children are grown and gone, and this is a fabulous and happy thing. Both of them have become independent adults, valuable additions to their communities and terrific human beings. I am quite proud of both of them. My oldest, Kaitlin, a world class teacher of the English language to middle schoolers, married a fabulous young man who has proven his mettle both as a husband and provider. My son, Patrick, is a hard working businessman and musician who has carved out a nice life for himself the old fashioned way...by working hard and well. The trouble with all of this is that they are miles and miles away from us. Columbia, South Carolina and Nashville, Tennessee are not cities where you drop by for dinner when you live in Short Pump, Virginia. So, they live and build their full lives without us. Yes, we text, talk and FaceTime. Yes, we plan vacations together. But, neither of them are here, and that fact has left a vacuum. When they start having kids of their own the vacuum will become a canyon.

2. Running a business isn't nearly as fulfilling as starting one.

Establishing myself in the investment advisory business was no small feat. I nearly quit a hundred times. But eventually, I was able to make a go of it, and it has been a rewarding career. Of course, the hand maiden of my work is often debilitating stress. As a younger man, I never gave it a second thought. The older I have gotten, the harder it has become to manage. 

3. I miss my parents.

My mom died nearly four years ago. My dad followed her two years later. I have never fully recovered from their loss. I don't weep, I'm not paralyzed by depression. But hardly a week goes by when at least once I think of how much I want to pick up the phone and hear their voices on the other end of the line. There are so many things I wish I could tell them, things I want to ask them about. But, it's too late for that. Instead, I must rely on my increasingly faded memories.

4. I have become spiritually homeless.

It has been a long, slow process, but I have become disconnected from the Baptist denomination in general and my home church of 27 years in particular. Most of this disconnection is my own fault. There is nothing especially horrible about my church. In many ways it is a remarkable place with a proud and noble heritage of faith. For me, it has become irrelevant to the realities of life in 2016. Nothing much has changed about the place since I joined as a young man. As life has gotten more complicated and much more serious, it's casual air of informality has begun to irritate me. I guess I'm longing for spiritually sterner stuff, something which finds its roots in an earlier century, a liturgy that wasn't conjured up in the 1950's, but rather closer to AD 50.

But, enough with all of this self reflection. What do I want for my birthday? It's simple really:

I want a week in Key West, in a villa on Sunset Key where Jon and Kaitlin can have one bedroom, Patrick's wonderful girlfriend, Sarah, can have another, and Patrick can sleep on a pull out sofa in the den. Pam and I will have the master bedroom which has its own private deck overlooking the blue ocean. While we are there, the stock market will go up every day, and all of my clients will be deliriously happy with their portfolios in my absence. At the end of a sandy road in an obscure corner of the island, we will find an Evangelical-Anglican-Holiness church with a 100 voice choir and sixty piece professional orchestra, where the guest speaker will be a hologram of C.S. Lewis. After a thunderous adaptation of an anthem by Handel, special music will be supplied by Steven Curtis Chapman accompanying himself on a Martin six string after he shared the inspiring story of the lives of Emmett and Betty Dunnevant.

Got all that, Pam?

Worst Case Scenario

Ok kids, it's the day after St. Patrick's Day, the perfect time to contemplate worst case scenarios.

As I survey the dystopian carnage that is the political landscape of 2016, a couple of things seem apparent. At this point it no longer serves any purpose to pretend that the coming train wreck can be avoided, so let's dive into the abyss, shall we?

1. Donald Trump will either win the Republican nomination outright, or go to the convention with a majority of the delegates. In either case, the Republican Party hierarchy will come up with some way to deny him the nomination, either by way of some imaginative rule interpretation or outright thievery. If they stiff The Donald, there probably will be riots. Only, this time the riots will not be celebrated by the left or contextualized by the media like the ones in Ferguson and Baltimore. There will be no faculty lounge talk of legitimate expressions of rage by the dispossessed. No, these riots will be the old fashioned kind.

2. Upon leaving Cleveland, what's left of the Republican Party will be running someone like Jeb Bush, or John Kasich or Paul Ryan as their compromise candidate. The Donald will no doubt launch a third party bid for the Presidency. Having thus split the opposition, Hillary Clinton will sweep to an electoral college victory with only a plurality of the vote( just like her husband in 1992 ). She, of course, will misinterpret this as a mandate. On the heels of the Republican Party crackup, Democrats will take back both houses of Congress.

Admittedly, I paint a bleak picture, but isn't that what worst case sceneries are? Only this particular WCS isn't so far fetched. Which brings me to a question that I have privately been pondering ever since I heard Trump explain how highly educated he was by saying, "I have lots of words, I have the best words." What is to become of my country on November the 9th, 2016 when she only has one functioning national political party?"

As feckless and incompetent as they have often been, the Republican Party has at least provided a break on some of the more unhinged tendencies of the party of government. Although the Republican Party shares much of the blame for our 19 Trillion dollar national debt, can you imagine how high that number would be if Washington was only inhabited by people who wake up every morning salivating at the prospect of spending other people's money? And while examples of Republicans actually trying to reduce spending come along about as rarely as Thursday night sex, with only Democrats around, will the idea ever make another appearance in the public discussion? Having a political party in Washington that at least made an attempt to temper the boundless expansion of government, I like to think, has helped preserve what it left of the entrepreneurial instincts of this country. But when the Republican Party dies, then all that will be left is a triumphant, jubilant and emboldened Socialist project that no longer has to pay lip service to free enterprise. Thanks, Donald.

What are the alternatives to my worst case scenario?

1. Donald Trump wins the Republican nomination and sweeps into the White House with Republican majorities in the House and Senate.

2. Ted Cruz wins the Republican nomination on the second ballot in Cleveland, names John Kasich as his compromise VP, and this odd couple beat Hillary Clinton in November. Donald Trump, ever gracious in defeat, campaigns tirelessly for the Cruz-Kasich ticket.

The chances of either of these two coming to pass are roughly equivalent to Snoop Dogg's chances of landing the role of Captain Von Trapp in the coming remake of The Sound of Music.

So, until something more plausible comes along, I'll stick to doomsday.

Horrible Working Conditions?

Adam LaRoche is a left handed, power hitting, slick fielding first baseman for the Chicago White Sox...or at least he was until the other day when he suddenly announced his retirement from baseball at age 35. When the announcement came down I was shocked. He might not be in his prime, but he is still an outstanding player. Oh, and by retiring he will forfeit his $13,000,000.00 salary for 2016. The explanation he gave was "personal reasons."

I'm particularly interested in this story because LaRoche is a former Washington National, and I enjoyed watching him play there. By all accounts, he was not only a terrific player but a great clubhouse guy, popular not only with the fans but with his teammates as well. The little guy in the picture? That's Adam's son, Drake. They are practically inseparable. In his time in Washington, Drake was a constant clubhouse presence, sort of a team mascot.

It's not every day when a professional athlete voluntarily walks away from 13 million dollars. While it's true that during Mr. LaRoche's 12 year career he has banked nearly 70 million dollars, still...walking away from 13 more is rare. My first thought was...maybe his wife is ill, maybe some sort of family thing.

But then the story came out that the reason he was retiring from the game was indeed a family matter. White Sox general manager Ken Williams had apparently asked LaRoche to stop bring his son to work every day. It was Williams' position that a baseball clubhouse was not an appropriate place for a kid to spend all of his time, and besides, if every player brought their kids to work the place would turn into a zoo and somebody would end up getting hurt. LaRoche's response was, ok, if I can't bring my boy to work, then I won't come either.

Wow.

The reaction has so far been overwhelmingly positive in favor of LaRoche's stand. Former teammates have tweeted their support. Fans have hailed his devotion to his son. It's been a love fest.

So, why do I think he's nuts?

Listen, I love my kids, love being with them, love sharing life with them.  I've even brought them into my office on occasion. But is it an unreasonable request for an employer to ask an employee to leave their kid at home once in a while? No matter how much money LaRoche makes, he's still an employee. The boss gets to make the rules, and if he says no kids in the clubhouse, well, that's the way it's got to be, right? The White Sox planned their season assuming that Adam LaRoche was going to be their first baseman.  Now they've got to come up with a plan B because their guy got all butt hurt because Drake can't come to work with him? I'm sorry. Be a professional! Doesn't the kid have, like...school or something? 

The cynic in me is thinking that this is all a stunt to get LaRoche out of Chicago. Maybe he wants to play for someone else and he thinks that by threatening to retire, the Sox will trade him somewhere else. If not, and it actually IS all about the kid, sorry, it's stupid. Yet another pampered athlete that can't manage to play a game for which he gets paid an insane amount of money, unless he gets his way.

Is this yet another job that Americans won't do?

The Devil and the Deep Blue Pantsuit

Was yesterday Super Tuesday II or III? I can't keep up with all of the super stuff happening in this election. Nevertheless, the results yielded winners and losers:

LOSERS:

1. Marco Rubio. After getting clobbered in his home state of Florida by a man he clearly despises, the young Senator finally called it quits. I like him, voted for him when I had the chance. While I didn't agree on every position he took on the issues, I just liked him. He's smart, confident and positive. He's the kind of man who would as President imbue the office with youth and vigor. Maybe he was too young, maybe his resume too thin for 2016.

2. Ted Cruz. Even though he came close in Missouri and North Carolina, coming close isn't good enough when you're supposed to be the man who is going to overtake Trump. Losing in North Carolina was particularly disappointing, since it was a State that seemed well suited for his message. No matter how his campaign labors to spin the results, coming in second isn't how you become the nominee.

3. Bernie Sanders. Clearly, getting swept by Hillary Clinton last night put an end to the pipe dream that always was his candidacy. "FEEL THE BERN" was always a pretty cool slogan and all, but the heat is gone now. He put up a decent fight, and the fact that Hillary Clinton, with her war chest of dirty money and virtual lock on super delegates, had such a difficult time dispatching a 74 year old Socialist, says more about her than him. Although Bernie Sanders lives at the other end of the political universe from me, there was always something endearing about the man. For one thing, he was authentic. He didn't need an army of pollsters and confidence men to tell him how or what to think. He never once had to reinvent himself. He just walked up to the podium and said, "I'm Bernie Sanders. I'm a Red and proud of it. Vote for me." I'll miss him.

WINNERS:

1. Hillary Clinton. Barring an FBI indictment, a New York Times expose of a lesbian affair, or the discovery of a cancerous tumor in her lungs as the source of her incessant coughing, she is not only your Democratic nominee, but the next President of the United States. 

2. John Kasich. Finally...after 27 contests, the man wins something. Although, in all honesty, declaring a man with a 1-26 record in primaries a winner is sort of like declaring Bruce Jenner a lovely lady...sort of true, but not very convincing. What's next for the guy? Where can he possibly pull off another win? Nowhere. His big hope is to somehow become the compromise, consensus pick of a brokered convention. Good luck with that, John. 

3. Donald Trump. Anyone else who won four out of five contests last night on the Republican side would have been declared the clear winner. But every media outlet known to exist in the free world keeps grasping at the elusive straw of a deadlocked convention as a way of denying the man. In my lifetime, I have never seen a candidate so universally hated by practically every corner of the political establishment as Donald Trump...and yet, he keeps winning. It's actually funny hearing all of the wise men casting doubts..."Yes, but...he can't get above 45%!...Yes, but now that Rubio is out, conservatives will coalesce around Cruz!...Yes, but now that Kasich has won Ohio, he won't be able to get enough delegates before the convention!" When I was growing up, this kind of talk was called, whistling past the graveyard.

So, my takeaway from last night was this...the 2016 election will be a contest between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton...the Devil and the Deep Blue Pantsuit. Come November the 8th, all of us will be about ready to blow our brains out.

...And Now it Gets Ugly

"If we can make it through this election without someone getting shot, it will be a miracle."

 I wrote the above on March 2. After the events of this past weekend, the odds have gotten a lot longer. I spent the past few days in North Myrtle Beach relaxing and enjoying some truly beautiful weather. After one particularly spectacular day of lounging on the beach, we settled in front of the television in our pajamas. Both FOX and CNN were wall to wall with the Chicago ugliness. There were several hundred protesters marching on the floor of a Trump rally holding signs and locking arms. Some wore sombreros, one had wrapped himself in a Mexican flag, one held a sign that said, We Are Not Rapists. There were Bernie Sanders supporters, people from Black Lives Matters. Most were young, most seemed from one ethnic minority group or another. A black man appeared on the podium tearing up a piece of paper, trying to avoid being whisked away by a pair of security people. Then suddenly a white man and a black man were shown nose to nose in a heated argument. Soon, they were throwing punches. Trump supporters then started coming down from the crowd into the stew of chanters on the  floor of the hall, mostly middle aged men holding their own signs, thrusting pointed fingers angrily at the equally angry protesters. Meanwhile, outside the arena, Chicago police were trying to maintain order among the thousand of so protesters in the street. Arrests were being made, angry people, tightly packed together swayed back and forth, being jostled this way and that by the confused efforts of police batons. Faces contorted by angry shouts filled my television screen. Breathless announcers did their best to make a bad situation worse by piling on unhinged reactions to the images on screen.

Soon, Donald Trump was on the phone informing us that he had cancelled the event because of his concern for everyone's safety. For the next fifteen minutes, he skillfully played the victim, once again live and in prime time, via television time that he didn't have to pay for. 

As I watched this unfold in front of me, this thought came to me...Donald Trump just won the Republican nomination.

An argument can be made that Trump had this coming. His rallies have featured several ugly incidents of protesters being roughed up, with his vocal encouragement. But, like my mother used to say, "It's all fun and games until somebody puts an eye out!" Some may say that it's poetic justice that a Trump rally would be cancelled because of a thousand immigrant protesters. Others might point out that it's the height of irony for Trump to present himself as having had his First Amendment rights violated...when it has been Donald Trump who has championed an opening up of libel laws that would make it easier for him to lock up people who write bad things about him! But, as I watched the events unfold, all I could see was how a majority of people in my country would see it...an unruly mob trying to silence speech. Whatever the purpose of this protest was, if it was designed to rally people against Trump, it was a miserable failure. I would have felt exactly the same if a thousand Trump supporters had shown up at a Bernie Sanders of Hillary Clinton rally and forced its cancellation. My sympathies would have been squarely with Sanders and Clinton, not the screamers.

Now, a new chapter to the 2016 election story is opened, the part where we try to shout each other down, the part where protesters attempt to silence speech they would prefer not to hear. Each new event will feature louder and angrier denunciations. The blowback will be strong and equally angry. 

 

Somewhere, an unbalanced man or woman is contemplating martyrdom.

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.