A Safe Place?

I've been using the term parallel universe a lot lately, mostly because I'm half convinced that we are living in one. Somewhere out there is the actual universe where America is going about its business like it always has, where say, Jeb Bush has just won the election and is busy assembling his new cabinet to the collective yawns of the press. His Vice-President. . .Nikki Haley goes to see Hamilton and nothing happens. That sort of thing.

Just a few days ago there was another PU moment when Chicago mayor, Rahm Emanuel called a press conference to announce his intention to defy any attempt by Trump to alter his town's status as a sanctuary city. Without an ounce of irony and with an amazingly straight face, The Godfather actually said that his city would always and forevermore be a safe place for immigrants. Let the ballsiness of that statement sink in for a few minutes, then continue reading. I'll wait.

It is astonishing that a mayor of a city which has experienced over 600 murders in 2016 alone and a full 3000 shootings would choose to describe his city as safe for anybody!! Consider this. . .there have been more Americans killed in Chicago during the five years of Mr. Emanuel's mayorship than have perished in freaking Afghanistan...a lot more. Oh, and American soldiers have been slugging it out in that hell hole for 14 years!!! And yet, we send National Guard units to Iraq and Afghanistan but never to Chicago.

I understand that there is a Chicago company doing Hamilton. You know what I would love to see? I would love for Rahm and his wife to go to see that terrific play one night. After the thrilling performance, when the gifted cast comes out for their curtain call, I would love to see one of the actors step up, acknowledge his presence, then read him a prepared lecture with the line, "Mr. Mayor, we are the diversity of this great city and we are afraid that you are not willing to protect us!!" Just once, wouldn't it be grand to hear a liberal politician get lectured by some show folk?

But, enough with the politics. Thanksgiving is upon us and I am feeling magnanimous. There will be twenty of us around my table. In a PU where it is no more difficult to host a hundred than twenty, I would love to have one of those infinity tables filled with all of the people who I am so thankful for. There would be my extended family, the Dunnevants, the Dixons. There would be good friends from church and the office. There would also be the random souls I drive past at intersections in Short Pump panhandling. Maybe the cast of Hamilton. Barack and Michelle would sit right across from George and Laura Bush. I'd even have Donald and Melania here, although they would probably be at the kids table. After the meal, Frank Sinatra would drop by for an impromptu concert. How cool would that be?

The Great Poop Bag Scandal

This falls into the catagory of "Life's Little Annoyances." It may seem trivial what with all of the political upheaval running rampant throughout the land, but often, it's the little things. Am I right?

Ok, so. . .if you have a dog, you go through these things faster than Donald Trump through the Miss Universe dressing room.

Because I have yet to successfully teach a dog how to mount a toilet, the poop bag is a staple of any dog owner's life. With Lucy, sometimes when so moved, she can go through three of these babies in one day. The things work like a charm. You just drape it around your hand, reach down and pick up the offending deposit, then reverse the process, twist the bag a few turns and tie a knot in it and you're done! But, there's a problem.

Each roll is held together by an insidious piece of clear tape. If you look closely, you can see the shine above. This is no ordinary tape, no. . .this tape could hold the space shuttle together. First of all, it never fails to take me at least three minutes to find the leading edge of this tape so I can begin the arduous task of peeling it back. Once found, it's another couple of minutes of slow, painstaking progress before the first bag is freed from its cellophane prison. Then it happens. The newly freed poop bag unwinds itself revealing a giant rip right down the middle. Every. Freaking. Time.

We can put a man on the moon, but we can't figure a way to package poop bags in a manner that doesn't sacrifice the first bag of each roll! Come to think of it, Pam bought the giant package which advertised clearly...BONUS! 20 Free Bags. Well, not exactly. It's more like 8 free bags, since the first of each of the 12 rolls will be worthless. It reminds me of the famous hot dog bun scene in Father of the Bride. I'm thinking that the big shots in the poop bag industry know exactly what they are doing.

So, sure, in the grand scheme of things this poop bag scandal might not seem as important as Hillary's server, but in the real world where real people live, this is just one of many annoying, indignant straws which when combined with thousands of others eventually break the camel's back. Who knows? Someone fixes this poop bag snafu, maybe people chill out a little, and we don't end up with Trump.

Christmas List 2016

Lately the pressure has been mounting on me to come up with a Christmas list. For my family this means going to our Christmas Central Google Doc page thing and broadcasting my selfish desires for  the entire clan to inspect. To help me in this task, my Christmas lists from the past ten years or so can be pulled up from the archives. It has made for very interesting reading.

First of all, I never get the hat. Seems like every year I ask for a cool hat, but I never get one. What does this say about me and my family?? Do they not feel comfortable in their ability to determine what cool is? Perhaps. So this year I added the modifier, "befitting someone of my age and station in life." We'll see.

I did notice that this year's underwear request specified a waist size slightly larger than previous years. The reason for this remains a profound mystery.

I also keep asking for a Bacon-of-the-Month Club membership, to no avail. I understand that they are quite expensive. Perhaps so, but considering the ridiculously luxurious gifts I have bestowed upon my children, one would think that they would step up to the plate in this area. Besides, the more bacon I eat, the sooner they might enjoy their inheritance.

Something new was added to my list this year...a remote controlled rodent for pranking purposes. (I have somehow lost my old one.) After a while you get tired of fart machines, pocket sized air horns after grace at family meals, fake dog poop and vomit on the floors. It's time for something new.

So, there you have it. My Christmas list for 2016 is up a full six days before Thanksgiving. Now, get out there and do your best!

Quoting Jefferson

"Thomas Jefferson wrote to a friend that University of Virginia students ‘are not of ordinary significance only: they are exactly the persons who are to succeed to the government of our country, and to rule its future enmities, its friendships and fortunes.’ . . . I encourage today’s U.Va. students to embrace that responsibility."

UVA President, Teresa Sullivan


This is the unfortunate paragraph that has sent over 500 students and faculty at the University of Virginia scurrying to their safe spaces in horror. Mr. Jefferson's high opinion of the quality of future UVA students has had the effect of sending some of them to their fainting couches. Perhaps if the old man were alive today to see what has become of the student body of the school he founded, his exalted opinion of them would come crashing back down to earth. . .where it surely belongs. For us, the living, we must devoutly wish that UVA graduates do "not succeed to the government of our country."

The petition signed by the aggrieved parties at UVA objects to the use of a quotation by its founder not on the merits of what he said, but rather who he was, namely. . .a slave owner. The complaint is that although Jefferson was a great man, he also owned other human beings, so quoting him cannot be allowed because of the message of exclusion, and disunity which his past sins represents.

Ok. . .

Yes, by all means, let's throw out the wisdom and contributions of our ancestors whenever we discover them acting like men and women from the 18th century. I mean, how virtuous can they really be if they particated in an institution like slavery? No, men like Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and George Washington have nothing whatsoever to offer  enlightened 21st century humankind. No mention of their words, no matter how lofty, any longer has a place in polite society.

I feel quite confident in my conviction that the combined future output of the entire student body at UVA will not produce anything more lasting and durable than the Declaration of Independence. I feel sure that all the future scribblings of the 500 buttercups who signed this letter will not eclipse the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom for its advancement of liberty. But yeah. . .the bastard owned slaves. 

Our heroes often disappoint us. We wish they were more consistent. That a man who wrote, "All men are created equal" could own slaves jolts 21st century man. How could a man with such progressive attitudes towards government like Woodrow Wilson be such a bigot? How could someone who did so much for the poor and downtrodden in America like FDR be such a homophobe? The answer is, A. We are all deeply flawed, and B. We are all reflections of the times we grow up in. I hate to break it to the tender reeds in Charlottesville, but it is quite possible to have been a great and even indispensable man and to have been a slave owner in  the 1700's. The two are not mutually exclusive. We can at once acknowledge the greatest of Mr. Jefferson and ponder the inconsistencies in his life. Why was he such a spendthrift? Why was he so late in acknowledging the abuses of the French Revolution? Why did he lie about Sally Hemings? Why didn't he take up arms during the revolution? Why did he own slaves? But friends, I am here to tell you that without the man, the American experiment would have failed, and the delicate flowers in Albemarle county would be matriculating elsewhere.

Best Joe Biden Meme Ever?

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Aaron Paul 

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Joe: Yes, that was me.

Obama: Please stop.

Joe: I will not stop. This room will smell so bad when he gets here.

Obama: Joe...

Joe: Nope.

4:57 PM - 12 Nov 2016

 
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It's Been a Week. . .

A week has passed since the election. I had promised not to comment about the protests for a week, but now I'm having trouble articulating anything interesting on the subject. It's all been said by voices more prestigious and informed than mine. I will make an attempt here but I fear that you will be disappointed. It would appear that my politics tank is on fumes.

Post-election America has become a meme's war. From the right have come photographs of empty streets with the caption: Scenes of angry protests by disappointed Republican voters in 2008 and 2012 when Obama won the election. From the left a whole host of Joe Biden memes, my personal favorite being this gem:
https://mobile.twitter.com/aaronpaul_8/status/797559068999069697/photo/1

As is my habit, I have not seen footage of any of the protests since I do not watch television news. I have read plenty and seen scores of pictures, enough to get a flavor of what is going on, and enough to form an opinion, which basically is. . .much of the overwrought histrionics on display in America's streets is one of the primary reasons Donald Trump got elected in the first place. I have the sense that many people are worn out by the sight of the perpetually aggrieved. Many of the same crowd that just a week ago were talking about how America was already great, were now carrying signs declaring that AmeriKKKa was never great in the first place. The same people who a week ago ripped Trump for suggesting he might not accept the result of a rigged election were now screaming, "not my president" at the top of their lungs. I will freely acknowledge that the vast majority of these demonstrators were peaceful and fully within their constitutional rights of protest, however, the accompanying violence and property destruction dealt out by the knucklehead fringes is always what makes headlines. At some point, one would think that these folks will abandon the streets and either go back to class, or back to work. But maybe not. Maybe slogan-chanting protests will be a permanent feature of life in Trump's America. Lovely.

While I am aware that many post-election stories of anti-immigrant hate crimes have been exposed as hoaxes, there are two stories that I know to be true as they involve my son. A friend of his, who I know personally, was accosted at a stop light by a man yelling vile things at him for the crime of being a "f**king Mexican."  Actually, Elias is a legal immigrant from Venezuela who just recently became an American citizen, and you will search far and wide before finding someone who loves this country more than he does. My son's church door was bespoiled by a swastika just in time for services this past Sunday. And while it is true that random graffiti and racial slurs do not equal Nazi Germany's rebirth, and cannot fairly be attributed to all Trump voters, its still disturbing to see, no matter it's origin. Some things are always wrong at all times from whatever source.

I didn't vote for Donald Trump. I have a boat load of concerns about his fitness and temperament. But  he won. I will give him a chance just like I have given every other duly elected President in my lifetime. When he does something right and good, I will cheer him on. When he does something wrong and destructive I will rip him a new one. But, the Republic endures. I've got a life to live and bills to pay. It's time to buck up and get on with it.

The Twelve Days of Thanksgiving

I love Thanksgiving. I have testified to that love many times in this space. I have pointed out its superiority to Christmas in every measurable way. For one thing, it is uniquely American and as an American I'm thinking that we desperately need to find things to be thankful for about now. So, this Thanksgiving comes at a good time.

This year, it will be a Dunnevant/White affair, and it will take place at our house. Pam's parents, sisters and their families will join us along with all of my tribe, including Miss Sarah Upchurch for her first ever Virginia appearance. So, there will be seventeen of us along with two large dogs, Lucy and Jackson.

Pam is already planning the event with painstaking precision. The appropriate linens have been purchased, along with the requisite table decorations. The meal will be a work of art. But, lest you think that she's doing all the work, I have important tasks on my plate as well. For example, I am in charge of the after dinner football game. This year, since we are in the suburbs, it will take place in the street, so I will have to borrow my neighbor's "SLOW...CHILDREN AT PLAY" sign. Football on pavement could get chippy, so I will have to be sure that the first aid kit is well stocked. I'm thinking that this year's contest might very well become a Dunnevant vs. White affair. I will be paying particularly close attention to the competitive instincts of Patrick's girlfriend, having never observed her in athletic efforts before. . .a crucial test.

When it's all over, the six of us will settle in for the evening, listening to carefully chosen Christmas music as we decorate our tree. There will be hot chocolate. There will be turkey sandwiches. There will be a lump in my throat.

And this year there will be much to be thankful for. 2016 has been a profitable one. All of us have been healthy. All of us have enjoyed job successes. Patrick got his first solo apartment. Kaitlin and Jon moved into their first house. For the first time in our lives together, Pam and I got to spend an entire month on vacation in Maine. We have recently discovered a new church and can't wait to get out of bed every Sunday morning to go, that in and of itself, a miracle. And. . .the election of 2016 is finally over. 

So, I am ecstatic at the prospect of having all of my family sleeping under my roof, even if only for a few nights. Let the Twelve Days of Thanksgiving begin. Wait, that's not a thing, you say? Well, it should be!