RVA Makes Yet Another List

This is a fascinating bit of research put out by the Asthma and Allergy Foundation of America, whereby cities throughout America are ranked by how horrible the pollen gets in the Spring. A perfect score is 100. I am proud to report that my hometown...Richmond, Virginia is on this list, finishing a respectable 16th in this year’s ranking, with a score of 68.52. That means there are 15 other cities with worse pollen than us. Actually, there is some good news here...we don’t suck quite as bad as we did back in 2016, when we came in 14th.

The timing of this chart’s release could not have been more fortuitous, since the last couple of days has brought us the annual oak tree pollen string plague. In less than 36 hours time, a river of the stuff has fallen in my yard. Lucky for me, I have been fortifying my system with a daily dose of both Flonase and Claritin since the first day of February. This expensive cocktail has worked like a charm for the past two years, and I highly recommend it.

Getting back to this chart...upon closer inspection there are a couple of strange anomalies. Check out Wichita, Kansas. What the heck happened to Wichita? You guys dropped from number 6 in 2016 all the way to 22rd this year? That’s embarrassing underperformance right there. You guys need to tighten up or before you know what happened you’ll be off this list! And, how about Miami, Florida?? You guys were 75th a couple years ago and now suddenly you land in the top 30? Sounds like to me you guys are importing more than Cubans down there. 

I also can’t help but notice the preponderance of Southern cities on this list. Sure, there are a few from up north, but the top twenty is dominated by cities from the old Confederacy, with Tennessee alone placing four cities on the list. Perhaps, the ongoing judgement of God for slavery? On the other hand, New York has three cities on the list. Perhaps the ongoing judgement of God for rude arrogance? Who knows? But, one thing I do know...if you suffer from allergies, go West, young man, go West!

We Are All Snowflakes

One of my least favorite political traditions has always been the annual White House Correspondent’s Dinner. In the old days, it would be Bob Hope cracking wise about what a bad golfer Dwight Eisenhower was, or Buddy Hacket making fun of some cabinet secretary’s comb-over. More recently, of course, it’s become more raunchy, but so has everything else in the world. The reason I’ve never liked it is because, I’ve always felt there was something inappropriate, and mildly incestuous about the press and politicians getting all glamoured up in the same room...even for just one night. I prefer antagonism and tension between the two, permanent and unrelenting...but that’s just me. A few years back when suddenly Hollywood stars started showing up, the thing really jumped the shark. 

So, the most recent iteration of this event featured a comedian I had never heard of, and no President. The next morning everyone online was talking about her act, so I found it on YouTube. Here’s my take...

Her jokes could be categorized as follows:

Some were pretty funny.

Some were mean.

Some were profoundly unfunny.

Some were raunchy.

There was lots of talk of pu**y and orgasms, with the obligatory edgy F-bomb. Try as I might, I couldn’t imagine this type of language coming out of Bob Hope’s mouth, but I guess times change. 

What amazes me about all of this is the reaction of Trump supporters. They were shocked and infuriated by it all, particularly one of her unfunny lines about Press Secretary, Sarah Huckabee’s eye-makeup. Apparently, this comedian had crossed some kind of civility line by attacking a woman’s appearance. In addition, there was great wailing, weeping and gnashing of teeth about the level of language employed, having dropped into the gutter. Ok...time out.

I’m thinking that if Trump is your guy, you probably should sit this one out. The current occupant of the White House has made a living mocking the appearance of women, the language he has employed both as a candidate and so far as President has been unprecedentedly raunchy. For his supporters now to get the vapors when a comedian attempts to out-Trump Trump, is frankly hilarious. No, if you made excuses for him when he made fun of a disabled reporter, if you tolerated his putdowns of Megyn Kelly and Mika Brzezinski with those famous blood jokes, your pie-hole should remain closed at this point. As the judges like to say...You have no standing.

As someone who is not a liberal Democrat, I understand why so many loathe the press in this country. You could throw a net over a random 100 people anywhere in this country, even the bluest of blue states, and not find 95% support for liberal Democrats. It’s just a statistical impossibility...except for the ballroom at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner. So, it stands to reason that a crowd of Democrats would take great delight in ripping in to any Republican President. But...so what? It’s their gig. However, for this particular Republican President, and his supporters, to decry the lack of civility is the ultimate example of hutzpah. While, this particular comedian was raunchier and meaner than most, and even many Democrats objected to her performance, Trump people should let others do the complaining. 

It’s official...we are all now... snowflakes.

The Devil Is In The Details

Finally gotten around to reading one of my Christmas presents, the new biography of Ulysses S. Grant by Ron Chernow. I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with Chernow. Although he is, at times, a brilliant writer and historian, his style can be irritating...never failing to employ a thousand words to say something he could have said with twenty. This thousand page doorstop will be a chore to get through, but so far it is fascinating.

What are the first thoughts that pop into my head when it comes to Grant? There are several, and none of them good...drunkard, scandal ridden, plodding, heartless meat-grinder of men and materials who, on a level playing field couldn’t have generalled his way through a wet paper bag when compared with Lee, Longstreet, or Jackson. It seems that Mr. Chernow is determined to raise my estimation of our 18th President. So far, 100 pages in, its still 1854, and a picture is emerging of an entirely unrecognizable figure. In Chernow’s hands, Grant is merely an occasional binge drinker, an easy mark for con men, and a deeply compassionate soldier with a quartermaster’s grasp of logistical detail. Hmmm....

In other news...

This coming weekend, my son and his fiancé will drive up from Nashville for the last time before the wedding. The occasion is a shower for the bride-to-be thrown by the Dunnevant/Schwartz women. Now that Pam’s school year is over, she has taken up the full time position of wedding planner/coordinator/trouble-shooter/organizer/plotter/schemer/travel agent/technical advisor/logistics maven/purchasing agent/tailor/tinker/soldier/spy. The old saying is, The Devil is in the details, and I can personally attest that right now, Lucifer has the upper hand! While the ladies are enjoying the shower, my son and I, hopefully along with a couple local groomsmen, will search for wedding suits of the slim cut variety. Of course, I gave up slim cut anything quite some time ago, but I understand they are all the rage among the flat-bellied set. Then, I hope to have time to make a pit stop at a local brewery for a couple of Richmond’s newly famous craft beers. By the end of the weekend much progress will have been made, sending Beelzebub into a headlong retreat.

Tom’s Defense

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And Now...Tom Brokaw

The Today Show. NBC Nightly News. Author of The Greatest Generation. 

Those are the three things I think about when I think about Tom Brokaw. Now, this morning, if fresh allegations from 25 years ago can be believed, a fourth thing will enter my mind...sexual misconduct.

On the same day that Bill Cosby gets convicted of rape by a jury of his peers, one of the few remaining members of the national news media who can safely be described as beloved, is dealing with allegations from two woman who claim that back in the 1990’s, Tom Brokaw acted inappropriately towards them. So far, there are no claims of rape, but rather, claims by veteran reporter Linda Vester that he “physically tried to force her to kiss him on two separate occasions, groped her in a NBC conference room and showed up at her hotel room uninvited.”

Ok...what the heck?

I suppose there are two ways to look at this story. If you are inclined to defend Brokaw, you would question the time line and point out that what Vester is describing might be boorish behavior, but doesn’t rise to the level of criminal sexual misconduct. You might accuse her of wanting to jump on the MeToo bandwagon and take her place among the honorable celebrity victims for her fifteen minutes of fame. So, he “tickles you around the waist with others in the room looking on, you wait 25 years, then call it groping???” He tried to kiss you a couple of times, showed up at your hotel room once uninvited, you rebuffed him, he took “no” for an answer, you suffered no career demotions as a result....where’s the fire??

On the other hand, you could read this story and ask yourself, what the hell is wrong with men?! Tom Brokaw was then and remains a  married man...to one Meredith Lynn Auld since 1962. If you’re keeping score at home, that’s 56 years. Mrs. Tom Brokaw was a former Miss South Dakota, and by every account is described glowingly as an amazingly strong woman and devoted wife and mother of five children...

But, apparently, she wasn’t enough for Tom? If these allegations are true, Brokaw was making advances to a 28 year old co-worker while this woman was at home raising his children. How does this even work? How would you go home after making passes at another woman, and look your wife in the eye and ask, So, how was your day? I am at a loss at how to explain this sort of thing. If he was able and willing to comfortably lie to his wife, how much easier would it be to lie to the rest of us in his role as a journalist?

I hope these allegations are false. I like Tom Brokaw. I’ve always liked him. But, my gut instinct is to believe Linda Vester. I don’t see what possible incentive she has for bringing all of this up now. Sure, she might be celebrated in some corners, but she will be vilified in others. And it’s not like this sort of behavior is new to NBC news, for heavens sake. It’s been one thing after another at 30 Rock.

Still, this is a sad state of affairs we find ourselves in, is it not?

Trump’s First State Dinner

I was reminded yesterday, while reading a news story about the upcoming State dinner at the White House for the President of France, that Donald Trump is a teetotaler. That’s right, our President doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol...which means that he behaves the way he does...stone cold sober. Ponder that one over your morning oatmeal.

There seems to be an odd bromance going on between Trump and Macron. They seem weirdly attracted to each other, what with the uncomfortable touching and prolonged and entangled hand shakes and what not. Trump was caught on camera dusting dandruff off the French leader’s shoulder before a photo was about to be taken so “he would be perfect.” It’s all quite unsettling. 

I wonder what was on the menu at the big soirée last night? If it had been up to The Donald, I’m sure that the Macron’s would have been appalled at the huge pile of McNuggets and french fries on their plates. But, I’m told that Melania was in charge of the menu, so I’m sure it was appropriately eclectic, featuring several Croatian delicacies like..uh...wait, is she from Croatia or Slovenia, I can never remember? Regardless, I’m comfortable with the fact that Donald will pick at his meal and wait until everyone leaves to have his Big Mac in the privacy of the family quarters. I don’t begrudge the man his pedestrian palate...especially if Melania chose the squid ink risotto for the main entree...

Doctor’s Office Magazines

I experienced the best and the worst of the American healthcare system this morning during my 8:45 appointment with my family doctor. This was a six month check up from the unpleasantness of last August, when...they tell me...I suffered a mild stroke. My cholesterol levels had to be checked, along with my blood pressure. There were no lines, no waiting, and very little red tape involved in the process. In fact, within ten minutes of my arrival, I had been processed and found myself secure in my doctor’s examination room awaiting his arrival. That’s the best of American healthcare. Very quickly on the heels of this victory came the crushing defeat of examination room magazines...

There was a stack of them neatly placed on the end table beside my chair. I combed through them, only after withdrawing two tissues from the box on the table across the way and a squirt of anti-bacterial gel. Nothing quite says, raging petri dish of potential ecoli like a stack of doctor’s office magazines. But, I digress. The real problem I have here is the horrible selection. I would think that doctor’s would want their potentially sick patients to read upbeat, motivational fare. I wouldn’t think that they would lay out the latest literature on end of life care, for example. Probably wouldn’t want to include the hospice trade association newsletter either. 

Of the ten offerings in my doctor’s room, the only one which was even vaguely interesting happened to be a year old, and featured a fascinating account of...well, see for yourself...

Somebody named Mama June lost a staggering 300 pounds. That’s the equivalent of an offensive lineman! Of course, the sad fact that this magazine was from 2017 leaves the burning question of...”But, did she keep it off?” entirely unanswered. Then, there’s the riveting blockbuster of Barry Manilow’s UNTOLD STORY. We are promised that the aged pop star will, for the first time, open up about being gay. As I flipped through the pages, I thought that this had to be the worst kept secret in the history of Hollywood. Barry Manilow is gay??? What!!??

Luckily, right before I was about to be informed all about Nicole Kidman’s twin sister, my doctor burst in, iPad at the ready, stethoscope hanging from his neck, looking embarrassed by his own pitiful magazine collection...

Doctor: How old is that one?

Me: April, 2017.

Doctor: Hey, hey!! That’s not bad, right?

Me: So, did this Mama June woman keep the weight off?

Doctor: I’ll have to get back to you on that...