Blue Lights

Last night, Pam and I met our small group over at the new Hope Thrift store in Belgrade for the last time before we head out to Maine. Love those people so much. So, this week we continued this video series we’ve been going through on the subject of Race Relations and the Gospel. In it, two pastors, one black and one white, discuss their different experiences on the matter and try to find common ground centered around what our faith teaches. This week the topic was the very different perspectives whites and blacks often have with regards to the police. A lively discussion was had about this contentious topic, in the midst of which we offered our various experiences of when we have been pulled over by the cops. Jokes were made about how some of us have had much more experience with this than others! How much of what we have all seen in cell phone videos of encounters with the police could have been avoided with following the police officers instructions, hands where he can see them, “yes sir, no sir”, that sort of thing. There was disagreement in our group. That’s ok. We all agreed that when someone winds up dead, shot in the back, this is never an acceptable outcome.

And so...since this is 2020, on my way home, this happened:

As I alluded to earlier, I have had more than my fair share of encounters with the thin blue line in my life. But, its been a while. Let’s just say that I am not the most meticulous rule follower who ever lived when I happen to be behind the wheel. There I was, fully engaged in an in depth conversation about race and the police with my wife who, when she wants to be, is a fascinating conversationalist. Just as I exited the Willey Bridge, I saw the sudden flash of those sinister blue lights from the darkness of the median. In that instant I glanced down at my dash and saw the number 60. Busted!  Pam and I both could not help stifling a laugh. 

I pulled over and rolled down the window, placed my hands on the wheel at 10 and 2 and awaited my fate. It’s interesting that in all the times I have ever been pulled over I have never once wondered why? I have always known that I was guilty of something because...well...I’m me. Anyway, One of Henrico County’s finest walks up to the window, identifies himself and informs me that the reason he has pulled me over is because he clocked me doing 61 in a 45 mile per hour zone and he was going to have to issue me a citation. I handed him my drivers license and car registration. He was wearing a mask, which I thought was ironic. I had to fight the impulse to make a wisecrack like, “Whoa, I thought only bad guys wore masks!”, but the last thing you want to do when pulled over by the police is make jokes at their expense, so I thought better of it. The officer was professional, even courteous. He explained everything about the citation, etc.. and in no time we were on our way. Pam texted the group to fill them all in on the ironic ending to our night. Several cracks were made about my red Cadillac and obvious white privileged etc...hardy har har!

But, you know what? When those blue lights went on, just like every other time they have in my life, it never entered my mind that my life might be in danger. Never once. I have never been pulled over for the crime of driving around in the wrong neighborhood, or being in a car with a woman of another race. I have no experience with the emotions that must race through the minds of some African Americans when they see those blue lights. To the extent that any segment of our society fears that a routine encounter with law enforcement might possible cost them their lives is a tragedy. It’s unacceptable and we have got to figure out a way to stop it from happening.

The police officer on the Willey Bridge was the consummate professional and he was doing his job. I was speeding and he pulled me over because it’s his job to enforce the law. I treated him with respect because he wears a badge and I acknowledge his authority over me on the highway. But, if he had violated his authority in any way in his treatment of me it would have been a different story. I am a citizen endowed by the constitution with certain unalienable rights. Not only am I expected to obey the law, so is that officer. If either of us don’t there should be consequences. That’s not pro-police or anti-police. That’s pro rule of law.

So, I will be sure to pay my speeding ticket fine before January 27, 2021. No, I will NOT appear in court. No, I will NOT attend driver’s school. Puhleeze!!

Other Countries I Like

Lately, it has become fashionable to speak of American decline. It’s hard to scan any news publication these days without seeing some opinion piece about America’s impending crack up. Frankly, much of the talk is well deserved. By almost any measure, we are a hot mess at the moment. Sometimes, I try to imagine what I would think of America if I was from somewhere else, anywhere else. People around the world must look at us and think, what the hell? But, I’m not from somewhere else. For better or for worse, I’m an American. Despite all of the tumult and chaos that comes with my citizenship, I deeply love this place. Whenever I hear people talk about giving up their citizenship and moving to Canada or some such thing I think, what a moron. I mean, for goodness sake, Nancy...man up!! 

Anyway, this blog is not about being an American in 2020. Rather, its about the exact opposite. I feel the need to reassure the rest of the world that we are not, in fact...insane. We are just going through a phase, not unlike a rebellious toddler or a petulant teenager. Compared to most of the rest of the world, we are the equivalent of a teenager...in nation years. 244 years old is quite young for a nation-state these days. My message to the rest of the world is, be patient with us. Soon, we will get our driver’s license and be out of your hair!

No, this blog is about one American’s admiration for other countries out there in the world. I’m not as well travelled as I would like to be. I’ve visited probably a half dozen other countries during my life, a number I hope to at least double before I assume room temperature. But as a history lover and voracious reader, I consider myself more knowledgeable about the nations of the world than the average bear. As a result, I have developed opinions about other places. There are nations of the world which I am kindly disposed to for reasons of language, culture and history. And since everyone loves...lists...I have composed a list of the countries around the world that I admire the most, the places that I hold in the highest regard. These are the nations and the people among whom I would choose to live if I had to for some reason. I present them here in no particular order or rank, along with the reasons for my fondness:

1. Australia

A beautiful place. Stunning, in fact. I love the fact that it is...down under, literally down there at the bottom of the survivable world. I love their accents, the ruggedness and vastness of the land. I love how the entire place was started as a penal colony, a place for British crooks to go to live out their sentences. And now look at them! Amazing.

2. The British Isles

I use this formulation, despite how it would surely rile those who actually live there. Yes, I know that England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland are four different places with very different traditions etc...but for me they will always be connected. As an American, I feel indebted to this great island, for their rule of law, their language, hell...the Magna Carta for goodness sake. Not to mention Shakespeare! 

3. Canada

Although you couldn’t pay me enough money to actually, you know, live there, if there are nicer people anywhere in the world, I can’t imagine who they would be. The world could use a heavy dose of Canadian manners at the moment. These are easily the best neighbors any modern nation could ask for, educated, prosperous, and unlike their noisy southern neighbors, they never stick their noses in other people’s business! If it just wasn’t so stinking cold!!

4. Italy

Never been, one of greatest personal failings of my life so far. Their history is vast. They once controlled the world for 1500 consecutive years, people! Today, and for most of my lifetime their government has been a feckless mess, they of the 2897 prime ministers in the fifty years after WWII. But, good lord in heaven the food, the scenery, the romance. The fluidity and beauty of their language alone would be worth living there for at least a year! Architecture? History? Are you kidding me? What a country!

5. New Zealand

A country roughly the size of California with the population of Los Angeles...without the smog and celebrity nonsense that comes with the City of Angels. Ruggedly beautiful countryside combined with an educated and productive people, and plenty of room to stretch out. Sign me up!

6. Germany

I know, I know. It’s hard to warm up to Germanic tribes. The Kaiser, Adolph Hitler and the World Wars that flowed from Bismarck's spawn and all that. But still, Germany fascinates me. I’m fascinated by their tenacity, their efficiency and their remarkable ability to regenerate themselves from not one but two devastating humiliations in the past one hundred years, to now once again dominate the European continent. And, of course, there’s the matter of Ludwig Von Beethoven!

There are more on my list, but I’ve got to go to work. 

Trip Guilt

Yesterday was weird. 

With only four days remaining until our trip to Maine, I have been trying my best to recover from this aching hip thing called sacroiliitis, or at least get it to the point where it doesn’t hurt so much. I’ve been taking the meds I was given and refraining from strenuous activity, yada yada yada...There has been some improvement, but not fast enough for my taste. So, yesterday there I was avoiding all strenuous activity, watching the U.S. Open on television, taking hot jacuzzi baths and using a heating pad. What was my wife doing? Rage cleaning!

That’s not entirely fair. She wasn’t actually...mad...or anything, it just seemed like it to me from my view from the couch. She cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, scrubbed the wood floors, vacuumed the entire house, all the while doing load after load of laundry. Meanwhile, I sat there feeling more and more worthless by the minute. Guilt began to creep in. I started to imagine what she was probably thinking but was too nice to say, “How convenient that your back goes on the fritz just when all this work has to be done!!” Then, just about the time when I was about to offer my limited services to help, she says to me:

...I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m upset with you for laying around the house watching golf while I’m running around like a crazy woman cleaning this house. No. I am not. Your job, right now is to get your back working right so you can drive me to Maine without having to stop every two hours to get out and stretch. So, stop feeling guilty!!

Isn’t it weird how when you’ve been married to someone for 36 years, you start to be able to read each other’s minds? You can tell what’s going on up there just from body language!

This morning, the house is immaculate. My back feels a bit better than it felt yesterday, and we now have three days left until zero hour. Today is packed with business activity, as will be tomorrow for half the day. Then our COVID tests Tuesday afternoon, and packing up Wednesday afternoon.

Poor Lucy will soon discover that she will not be coming along with us...again. She will not be pleased. She already knows something is happening because the staging area for trips to Maine always starts filling the dining room weeks before we leave. She has seen the traveling stuff accumulating in there. Her hopes are high, at this point. But, with some of our time being taken up with lake house hunting on this trip, there will be times when we will be away from the cabin for long periods of time. Having Lucy along will not work well under those circumstances. So, the poor girl will believe with all her heart that she is going to Maine...right up to the moment when when we close the door in her face on Thursday morning. It’s a horrible feeling. I hate leaving her for so long  and I love having her up there with us. She loves the lake more than we do! So, I’ll have guilt weighing down on me until we get to Pennsylvania. Luckily for us, Lucy will have one of her best buddies taking care of her...Bernadette, along with her omnipresent fiancé, Isaac. They will lavish her with love and attention which will hopefully help compensate for our treachery.

Has America Lost Its Mind?

Social media has had a bad week. Truth be told, its had a bad year. The entire past decade hasn’t been that great either, come to think of it. Sometimes it’s great. I’ll see a beautiful picture of someone’s new baby or their hilarious dog doing something adorable and it makes me smile. Other days I’ll come across some bad news about an old friend. I’ll send him a private message or pick up the phone and connect, a very good thing. But most days, social media is the place I go that convinces me that we Americans are losing our minds. What I see on Facebook—I gave up Twitter a year ago—is essentially the Balkanization of my country, the great herding of us into our exclusive enclaves of ethnic, religious and political identities. Once safely there, we feed on only the things that confirm our tribal beliefs. The process has made us dumber, meaner, and uglier.

A couple days ago a story appeared on my feed. There was a picture of dark menacing clouds gathering over the Capital building with the ominous headline...A Storm Is Brewing. The story had been reposted by a friend, who had reposted it from someone else, who had passed it along from a blog written by some other guy with 5000 followers who I had never heard of. The author, it turns out is a semi-obscure blogger, (I know a thing or two about obscure bloggers!), known for writing very conservative opinions for a group called Colorado Republicans. So, like any concerned citizen who learns that there is a storm brewing in my nation’s capital, I read the story. Wow.

According to the writer of the piece, who assures us right away in the very first sentence that he is not an alarmist, proceeds to tell us that there is a massive conspiracy cooking in the highest levels of Washington, the result of which will be violent civil war after the 2020 election, regardless of who wins!! Can you imagine how frightening the story might have been if this guy was an alarmist? Anyway, here’s the scoop: If Donald Trump wins, top officials of the Democratic Party are plotting violent insurrections to punish the citizenry for re-electing Trump. This violence will make the protests since George Floyd’s murder look like child’s play. To protect Americans from this violence, top officials of the Trump administration are drafting up Marshall Law edicts for the entire country. If, on the other hand, Joe Biden wins, equal violence will be unleashed in the streets of every American city—with the active support and assistance of Biden-Harris and the leadership of the Democrat party—to enact retribution against those who elected Trump in 2016. What evidence does the writer offer as proof of these allegations? We are assured that his information comes from a highly placed government official who shared this treasonous information with him personally. The reason he is so certain it is all true is because ordinarily, this friend of his hardly ever talks about what’s going on at his job. That’s it. His one source for this bombshell story is some anonymous guy he knows in some unnamed department of the government.

After reading this story, I rubbed my tired eyes with my fingers and pondered how we have arrived at this point. That so thinly sourced, illogically reasoned claptrap could possibly be believed by rational human beings is quite beyond my comprehension level. But, then I read through the comment section. The unanimous reaction of nearly all those bothering to offer an opinion of this piece was...This is so scary!! Well, of course it is! If it weren’t, you wouldn't be reading it, it never would have been reposted a hundred times. So, why was it reposted so many times, eventually finding its way onto my feed? Two words...confirmation bias. If the story sounds like something you think the other side capable of, then you are more likely to believe it, no matter how obscure the writer may be or how little evidence he offers to confirm his assertions.

After this depressing experience, I asked my wife a hypothetical question that went like this. “How different would you feel about the world right now if you hadn’t read anything on Facebook for the last twelve months?” Suppose our collective consciousness had not absorbed anything from social media. Would we be better off or worse off? My contention is that we would all be smarter, nicer, and better looking...and in much less need of therapy. 

The Dumbest Idea I’ve Ever Had?

One week from today, Pam and I will be in Maine. This time I’ll be packing long pants. High temperatures promise to be in the mid 50’s to mid-60’s, low temperatures mostly in the 40’s. We might get lucky and catch a day or two in the 70’s, but we also might get a day or two in the 40’s. I sure hope not! But, no matter, we will be in Maine for a little over three weeks and that’s just fine with me.

Meanwhile, we have entered an informal lockdown-ish, self imposed, semi-isolation mode leading up to our departure. Pam is somewhat a stickler in this regard, although she is much more relaxed than she was last time we went to Maine. I think we all have relaxed a bit, although COVID is still alive and well,  lurking out there. Our pre-trip COVID tests will be next Tuesday, in compliance with Maine state requirements for incoming travelers. So, my planned trip to Mona’s yesterday had to be scrapped when both my intrepid assistant and my wife had the same reaction to my plan to smoke cigars, inside at a place with no social distance arrangements and no mask requirement, “Ok, this is about the dumbest idea you’ve ever come with.” My defense amounted to the fact that I had honestly never given the COVID implications a second thought, or even a first thought. Going to Mona’s is just something the fellas do every couple a months. Besides, the area of dumbest ideas I have ever come up with is an awfully broad field of study for such an offhand accusation! Doug Greenwood was the first to point this out...”No way. You’ve come up with lots dumber ideas than this!” Yeah, so...we decided that sitting inside, blowing tobacco smoke in each other’s faces for a couple hours probably wasn’t the ideal pre-trip routine. Yet another fine tradition laid upon the alter of this interminable pandemic.

In other news, I have been dealing with a medical issue for the past three-four weeks. It has been quite painful and troubling, and as a result, the mind begins leaping to ridiculous conclusions. Isn’t it funny how our minds so quickly jump to the worst case scenarios? Anyway, I finally went to the doctor yesterday and discovered that all is well. I do not have cancer, tumors, gall stones, kidney stones, or any of the other wild diagnosis I had come up with in my head. Instead, its something called Sacroiliiatis, a fancy term for...sore hip. A course of prednisone, 1000 milligrams of Tylenol, and wet heat for a week or two should do the trick, says my dorky, but gifted family doctor, who also opined that I probably hurt it lifting heavy boxes at Hope Thrift. The very last thing that wonderful place needs is one less volunteer, so my three weeks in Maine comes at the perfect time. I can recuperate from this hip thing while I’m there and be ready to head back to the store when I return.

Finally, I have a buddy named Tom Allen. Cool guy. U of R grad, goes to my church. He occasionally sends me hilarious stuff. Some of it I can even share with the general public! What follows was one of his best submissions. After the Mona’s thing and the collective cluelessness of my guys to it’s implications, it rings especially true!!

I don’t know about you, But I’m thinking that now might be a good time for a woman President...

You Guys Hear About This??

There was a huge blowout bash at the Waldorf-Astoria to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Manhattan Comedy Club recently. Everybody who was anybody in the humor business was there. Mr. Impressions was there, of course, along with Mr. Slapstick, Mr. Improv and Mr. Standup. Then, Mr. Pun walks in and immediately ten people collapse on the floor dead. The next morning’s headline in the New York Times was:

Pun In. Ten Dead.

AWAY, Season One. A Review

There’s a new show that is all the rage on Netflix. It’s called AWAY, and it’s about the first crew of astronauts to attempt to land on Mars. Pam and I were excited to watch anything about space travel and those crazy engineers who run NASA. A couple of nights ago we finished season one. So much for The Right Stuff, or even Apollo 13. This was more like This Is Us in space. It looks like the folks at NASA have gone through sensitivity training and gotten in touch with their feelings. I hated it.

So, the story revolves around the multi-ethnic, multi-national, multi-gendered, multi-sexually orientated crew of five, led by an American woman, Emma. We are led to believe that she wouldn't even be on this mission had not her husband, Matt, fallen ill with some genetic disorder that has left him in a wheelchair back in mission control. The rest of the crew checks off all the correct 21st century boxes, there’s the carefree second in command, Rahm—from India, Lu, the Chinese officer who gets outed as a lesbian barely 24 hours into the mission, the surly Russian cosmonaut, Misha, the most experienced guy on the crew and the only one with an old school spaceman personality, who naturally, goes blind during the trip and gets transformed to a fuzzy teddy bear right before our eyes. Finally, there’s the botanist from the Sudan, Kwesi, who has never been in space before, but serves the important purpose of not only representing the African continent, but also the community of faith, when we discover that he is the only crew member who believes in God via his “what are the odds” devout Judaism!! Back in Mission Control, the leader of NASA is a gray haired woman who is hailed as a great leader despite the fact that she shows zero qualities of leadership beyond frowning at people who bring her bad news and suggesting that everyone meet in the conference room immediately! Meanwhile, Matt seems to be the hero of the show since he is constantly coming up with Jerry-rigged solutions to the constant stream of malfunctions that plague the ship, all the while having to deal with his constantly disobedient 15 year old daughter and her Latino boyfriend. If that’s not hard enough, poor Matt has to fend off the growing affections of the stand-in mother, hand picked by NASA, to look after said daughter. Not to be outdone, we discover that Rahm has the hots for his commanding officer, Emma, setting up the question in all viewers minds...Which of them will be unfaithful first??

This show, in only ten episodes has broken the all time tear count set by its inspiration—This Is Us—by a country mile. Every five minutes, these highly skilled, meticulously trained scientists burst into uncontrollable sobbing at the slightest provocation. Emma, the commander, is the leader of these water works, constantly provoked to tears by her daughter, her husband, and her own feelings of inadequacy. Somehow, this woman has been chosen to lead this historic mission, to command the most significant human endeavor ever attempted by man and womankind, despite the fact that she clearly would rather turn the ship around and head back to earth to council her daughter about the dangers of premarital sex. She is a hot mess of regret, indecision, and self doubt...you know...the Right Stuff.

This is the thing I don’t understand about Hollywood. These are the people who are constantly lecturing the rest of us about our intolerance, our racism, our hopelessly provincial misogyny. And yet, this is what they serve up as an example of a strong woman...Emma. It is not possible to overemphasize just how uninspiring she is as a leader and a woman. When her flailing, mutinous  crew desperately needs a firm decisive leader, Emma gives them weakness, indecision and petulance. She is constantly having to be reassured by her husband back home that she’s going to be ok. It’s pathetic. Hollywood, it turns out, doesn’t know a damn thing about what a strong woman looks or acts like. I do. I grew up with a bunch of them. My sisters would have had the crew of Atlas doing their jobs without any belly-aching in five minutes, never mind my mother, who would have mopped the floor up with them the first time she heard any whining. Oh, and try challenging her authority? Good luck with that.

The worst scene in season one comes as the ship is about to be incinerated by what appears to be an unavoidable series of failures. We are treated to Emma and Rahm, sitting side by side in the control room plotting the proper coordinates to try to avoid disaster...and we are asked to believe by the script writers that they have time for a ten minute side bar about their nascent feelings for each other??

Houston, we have a problem!

We won’t be watching season two.