I'm Actually Gonna Miss Bernie

The always vigilant American media are unanimous this morning, something truly historic happened last night. I have read three breathless accounts of how Hillary Clinton has become the first woman in history to win a major party nomination for President of the United States. It might even be more historic than when Barack Obama became the first African American to do so a mere eight years ago. If Hillary were a black woman, American journalists would all be needing smelling salts. The only things standing in the way of her relentless 16 year quest for the White House is that pesky FBI investigation and an increasingly unhinged Donald Trump. In the year of the outsiders, Hillary is holding the banner of the Oligarchy high.

I never thought I would say this, but I'm feeling a little sorry for Bernie this morning. I'm gonna miss the guy. At a time of obscene amounts of corporate money and mega donors, this 74 year old Socialist raised a boatload of cash...$25 at a time. He energized an army of millenials despite the fact that most of his policy prescriptions would have eventually bankrupted all of them. On policy 80% of his ideas were based on the premise that the wealthiest 5% of Americans would sit still for handing over 60% of every dime they earned, that this new level of income confiscation would have zero impact on the economy, and that the government could be trusted to do nothing but fabulous things with the new trillions flowing happily into the Treasury. But, there was more to Sanders than 1960's left wing Asshattery. He was actually right about some things. Modern America is controlled by a small group of Oligharchs. Very rich and very connected people in business and politics do successfully thwart the will of the American people. There is way too much money in politics. The most powerful and important  street in America isn't Pennsylvania Avenue or Constitution Avenue. It's K street. So, what did we do? We just nominated an admitted influence peddler and buyer of politicians, and the single most bought off politician since Boss Tweed. Crazy Bernie, indeed!

So, pretty soon we won't have the Vermont Socialist to kick around anymore. No more of this...

Or this...

I'm betting that shirt was bought off the wrack at J.C. Penney, and I also bet he paid for it with his own money. And that hair? If the guy had any Madison Avenue political advisers in his crew I'm sure they were constantly handing him a comb. But what's endearing about Bernie is that he obviously didn't care how he looked. Until last night, we had three candidates left. Only one of them was honorable, and he has now left the building.

Hillary. 6-6-16.

In a remarkably fortuitous turn of events, Hillary Clinton has clinched the Democratic nomination exactly 24 hours before the last big round of primaries, by somehow flipping a handful of super delegates. The story broke last night. Upon reading it at the Politico, I could practically hear that maniacle cackle of hers as she celebrated by drowning kittens in a marble bowl full of blood...it was 6-6-16 after all!

My son texted me the news. He was angry and suspicious...and had a right to be. He considered it a dirty trick designed to suppress turnout in today's California primary, and was convinced that the alleged persuasion of the super delegates involved several large checks. I reminded him that Bernie's supporters would walk through fire to vote for him, Hillary's supporters wouldn't walk through a gentle rain for her. If anyone should worry about voters not showing up because of this bombshell eleventh hour news, it was Hillary. This point seemed to calm him down a little. In fairness to my son, he isn't a full-on Bernie socialist. He disagrees with some of his positions. But Patrick rightly points out that Sanders is the only candidate who has campaigned against the culture of corruption and big money that has overtaken the system. Now, he's about to be vanquished by the Cruella de Vil of corruption, the Nurse Ratchet of cronyism. Disgusted, Patrick moans, "So, now I'm left with voting for either the Corruptor or the Corrupted."

Of course, there is a third choice...one that would put us all out of our misery, the Sweet Meteor of Death, or SMOD 2016. But, that's in God's hands. For now, ladies and gentlemen...your Democratic and Republican Party nominees for President of the United States...

My Trials and Tribulations

My Dad took this picture of me last night. He does this a lot, takes pictures of me for no reason. I haven't felt well lately. My shoulder hurts. I went to the very scary Vet last week and she said I hurt it chasing the frisbee. So now Dad won't throw it to me anymore. Plus, every time we go outside, I have to stay on the leash, even in my backyard! It's terrible. The worst part is, they have blocked off the stairs. That means I have to sleep downstairs by myself. I don't understand why I can't go upstairs. It's not fair! Oh, and Kaitlin came home yesterday and because of this new stair rule, I can't even wake her up by jumping on her bed and scaring the crap out of her like I love to do. No wonder I look sad in this picture!

Well, last night was the last straw. There I was sleeping in the library where they have banished me...when suddenly I felt it. There was a thunderstorm coming! My humans are the bravest people ever. They sit there watching television or reading even in the middle of the most horrifying downpours you've ever seen! Even when the yellow flashes come, they hardly look up from whatever it is they are doing. I've never seen such valor. But just because they aren't concerned about the instant death that these storms bring doesn't mean I have to go along with their madness. No sir! At the first hint of trouble, I head for Mom's walk-in closet. It's nice and dark and not nearly so noisy. I stay there shaking until the terror is over, then come out to find my humans acting like nothing ever happened. I worry about them sometimes.

Anyway, last night this terrible storm came through and I instinctively headed upstairs to save myself when I realized that there was a piano bench blocking my escape route. I have to admit, I panicked a little. I thought about peeing for a minute but thankfully got ahold of myself. I tried whining, but they couldn't hear me. My Mom could seriously sleep through anything. So I knew it was either me or that piano bench. Even though my humans have both told me a thousand times this past week not to jump or run, I knew it was my only hope. Besides, they were both fast asleep and couldn't see me. First I thought about grabbing the bench by one of its legs and dragging it out of the way, but thought better of it. My humans have this thing about chewing on the furniture. I know, they're weird that way. I knew that my only solution was going to be jumping over the bench and somehow landing on the stairs beyond without jamming up my shoulder even worse than it already is. So, I went for it. I landed it like a boss, I must say!

Soon, I was shaking safely in my storm closet and eventually the killer storm passed. Dodged an enormous bullet, I did. But I have a feeling that my horror isn't over. I keep picking up dark rumors of a long trip in my future...something about a lake, and a place called Maine. It sounds sketchy. 

The King is Dead

Muhammad Ali died last night. I'm sure that all of social media will soon be awash in testimonials, and most of them will be over the top with high praise. I don't intend to fall into that trap. While Ali was perhaps the greatest athlete I have ever seen in my life and without question the greatest fighter, that's pretty much where the accolades should end.

Ali was a contemporary of Martin Luther King and the two were a universe apart from each other. The day that Cassius Clay embraced the Nation of Islam and its maniacally racist leader, Elijah Muhammad, Ali chose segregation over integration...King's words, not mine. Ali's relentless narcissistic chanting of "I'm the greatest of all time!!"...flew in the face of what most Americans wanted in their heroes. No one wanted their own children to develope such levels of self regard. When he decided that his "religious convictions" prevented him from fighting for his country, while allowing him to fight for money, well, most people didn't buy it. 

Still, I was a seven year old kid living in New Orleans when he stood scowling and defiant over a fallen Sonny Liston in this iconic photograph. Over the next three years I watched most of his fights on our old RCA Victor black and white television in our cramped apartment. We always cheered for his opponents...Floyd Patterson, George Chuvalo, Zora Folley, Jerry Quarry. It was like watching a man fighting little boys. Ali was a thing of beauty, graceful, perfectly built, with lightening fast hands. They didn't stand a chance. After the fights there was no salute to the fallen, only semi-poetic gloating.

So, I was no fan of Ali the man and will not engage in the revisionist history that will rise up over the next few days about him. But, I was amazed at Ali the fighter who actually was the greatest of all time. So that is how I will choose to remember him, a great and iconic boxer...and nothing more.

On a happier note, my sweet daughter finished her third year of teaching yesterday and this morning is headed to Short Pump to attend the baby shower of one of her best friends...which means that she will be staying here for the next two days. I fully intend to spoil her rotten.

Trump and the Press

Part of me really doesn't want to write this. Regular readers are aware of my views on Donald Trump. Generally speaking, I find him to be an embarrassment. Despite what follows here, I still have no intention of voting for the man...but... I have to say that I do enjoy watching him with the press.

For as long as I can remember, I have loathed members of the fourth estate. I understand their importance in a healthy democracy and have zero interest in silencing them. But, I still hate them for several reasons. First of all, I know basically what their world view is, and it isn't mine. The vast majority of the White House press corp voted for Obama and would never even consider voting for a conservative anything. They all insist that their near unanimous liberal voting record in no way effects their reporting. I don't believe them. Well, I believe that they believe that, but I don't because it's impossible. My political beliefs certainly have an impact on what I think about politicians, and so do yours. But reporters expect us to believe that the fact that practically all of their colleagues believe the same thing about politics doesn't in any way affect the way they report the news, the type of questions they ask, and the questions they don't ask. It's a ridiculous notion.

Most of the presidential candidates I have supported over the years have been eviserated by the press at every opportunity, and with very few exceptions my guys have mostly just taken it as a given. Now comes Donald Trump. Practically every member of the national press has made it clear that they despise him...and with good reason. But instead of meekly submitting to their hatred, he has decided to dish it right back at them. Gone are the polite non-responses. Gone is the false pretense of friendship. It's like Trump is thinking, "Ok, you want to destroy me? Not if I destroy you first!"

Couple of days ago he called one reporter a sleeze, another a real beauty. One breathless reporter asked him if he had a problem with scrutiny and if he becomes President will his dismissive treatment of the press continue. Trump shot back..."I love scrutiny, what I don't like is lies. I find that political journalist are the most dishonest people in the world, and if I become President, yes I will continue to dismiss you guys"...or words to that effect.

Now, set aside for a moment the irony of Donald Trump lecturing anyone about honesty, when I watch him interacting with the pampered elitist national press corps this way, something in my heart thinks..."damn right!!!...and finally, somebody has the guts to call out these biased hacks!"

Of course in Trump's case, he also threatens to try to pass laws that would make it easier to sue the press, which is a horrible idea, not to mention unconstitutional. I don't want the press censored in any way. The fact that most of them are Democratic Party water carriers is just the way things are and will probably always be...and I'm ok with that. But it is refreshing to listen to a Presidential candidate treat them accordingly.

A Great Cartoon

Had a great debate with my son today about the minimum wage. He is in the Bernie camp, advocating for a $15 an hour wage. I argued that if the dude who takes out the trash at McDonalds was worth $15, I would be glad to pay him, but since he is not, I resent some Labor Department functionary telling me what I have to pay my employees. It was back and forth all day, first through email, then texting and included some gems. While ripping central planning types for their lack of real world experience in the business world, I suggested that they "couldn't sell hacksaws in a prison!" Then a bit later Patrick shot back at me with, "a conservative's idea of an adequate health plan is a bottle of Castor Oil." Great stuff!!

In the old days they used to say, never get into an argument with a guy who buys ink by the barrel. Well, today it should be, never get into an argument with a millenial with video gamer thumbs. Patrick can be in mid-sentence, then Google up a term paper full of stats in like two seconds to bolster his argument. By the time I think about using Google, it's already next week. I have to rely almost solely on whatever is stored in my head, and is retrievable after 58 years of wear and tear. But, I hold my own. Towards the end of our back and forth, Patrick sent me this:

Now, this is an awesome cartoon, especially if you want a $15 minimum wage. It's practically perfect. There's the poor, lowly, innocent worker with his meager little sign and a buck and change on the ground behind him, while the big, bad, mean spirited businessman is atop his stash of billions lecturing the little guy about GREED! It was meant to be a final blow to our debate, an unanswerable gauntlet thrown down at my feet. The only problem is that I see something else when I look at this cartoon. I see it, but most don't. Very few Millenials can even imagine what I see. But anyone who has ever owned a business will see the same thing I see.

I look at the man on the top of that mountain of cash and I think...I wonder how high that mountain was before the government swooped in for their fair share? I think this way because I'm a businessman and as such have to pay all of the hands thrust my way by federal, state, and local governments with money from my own accounts. There is no such thing as "withholding" in my world. There also isn't any such thing as employer-paid FICA taxes, or for that matter...employer paid anything. I suppose I should be grateful that I don't live in California since if I did, by the time I paid both halves of my FICA tax, my federal estimated income tax, my California State taxes, real estate and personal property taxes and a thousand other transaction fees for the privilege of doing business there, nearly 60% of my mountain would have been taken by government. Since I'm a Virginian, it's only around 42%. 

But notice who never gets called greedy in this cartoon? Government is never accused of being greedy, even though their appetite for our money is unquenchable. It's always that tight-fisted business owner at the top of a mountain of cash with the GREED tag. Because the cartoon always gets drawn after the hand of government has been filled and safely out of the picture. 

But, it's no use asking anyone to think of the government as greedy. In much the same way that we are told that African-Americans cannot be racist, I suppose that government simply cannot be greedy either. Besides, they are here to help us and they know what's best for us, even when...especially when, we don't. The fact that the men and women who have comprised that government over the past fifty years have managed to wrack up nearly 20 trillion dollars of debt just means that they are working really, really hard to help us. And if we knew what was good for us, we would be grateful.

What a Month!

The long slog of May is over. Birthdays have been celebrated, anniversaries marked, weddings attended, awards collected, and new apartments occupied. Three thousand miles have been added to the odometer of the Pacifica. Eating so much restaurant food has resulted in an addition five pounds to deal with. Now comes June and its looming deadline.

This month will be devoted almost exclusively to work. It will be a grind. I need to finish many things, wrap things up in as tidy a bow as is possible. This is what happens every year the week or so before our summer vacation. But this year will be different. We will be trying something new and possibly life changing. We will be spending the entire month of July in Maine. That will require a new level of getting ready.