Joe Freaking Morrissey

There are many people who read this blog who are not from around here, and for you guys I'm sure it seems odd that I never mention the fact that I live in Richmond, Virginia, preferring to use the quaint name of the suburb of Short Pump instead. It's an excellent question. Richmond is a city of historical significance, an abundance of southern charm, and enough beautiful scenery to attract thousands of visitors every year. But there's a reason I never mention being from here. It's because I'm embarrassed.

Over the past thirty years or so, this city has been governed by a series of bottom-feeding, pocket-lining ne'er-do-wells who make Donald Trump look elegant by comparison. First, there was Leonidas Young, a Baptist pastor who while mayor was convicted of influence peddling for, among other things, stealing money from one of his parishioners. 

Just before his death early this year, Young announced his candidacy for the House of Delegates seat vacated by THIS MAN...

This is Joe Morrissey...more about him later. Only in Richmond could something like this happen. In our city, public service and prison time seem inexorably linked. Back in the 90's, we had a rather flamboyant City Councilman named Chuck Richardson. While serving on council he was caught in a sting operation buying heroin from an undercover cop. Sentenced to ten years in prison with nine suspended, Richardson, paid his debt to society only to be arrested again for possession ten years later. But in Richmond politics, a prison record isn't a disqualifier for public service, it's more like a resume enhancement. Today, Chuck Richardson has a street named after him!

Our current mayor, Dwight Jones, yet another pastor, has been putting on a clinic of cronyism, enriching his church and its members at every conceivable opportunity. 

But, he looks awesome in a suit, so he's got THAT going for him. Which brings us back to Mr. Morrissey. In many ways, Joe Morrissey is a ground-breaker of sleeze for our city. What I'm about to describe for you will sound so fantastic, so unbelievable, you will be tempted to think that I am making it all up. Surely, no one this unfit could be a serious candidate for Mayor of a city as big as Richmond. Think again...

Joe "say it ain't so" Morrissey burst onto the scene back in 1989 as the 30 year old firebrand who got elected as Commonwealth Attorney for the city. During his 15 year law career, Joe was found in contempt of court no less than ten times, and arrested five times. When he was finally disbarred in 2001, the presiding judge summed up Morrissey quite nicely...

"... frequent episodes of unethical, contumacious, or outright inappropriate conduct...the evidence demonstrates Morrisseys 15 year history of contempt citations, fines, suspensions, and even 

incarceration arising from unprofessional conduct...mostly involving an uncontrollable temper and dishonesty."

But, it gets even better. In August of 2013 Joe was found by police in his home with a 17 year old girl who worked in his office. Let's just say...they weren't exactly discussing the finer points of the law. A year later Morrissey was indicted on felony charges of indecent liberties with a minor, possession and distribution of child pornography, and solicitation of a minor. Ok..you better sit down for this one...while serving his jail term for the above conviction, he ran for a seat in the General Assembly...and won in a landslide.

Even our slimy governor, Terry McAuliffe, who never met a felon he didn't like, was forced to disavow Morrissey and kick him out of the Democratic Party. Oh, did I mention the fact that every single member of this Rogue's gallery are Democrats? Anyway, Joe is finally out of prison and doing what all disgraced politicians in Richmond do...running for mayor. In a poll released early this week, he has a commanding lead.

But, maybe Joe is a new man. I mean, after fathering five children by four different women, none of whom ever married him, Joe finally tied the knot...with the 17 year old girl he was busted with. Like all couples who have their first child together, the Morrissey's decided to take a family portrait to introduce the child to the world. Joe Morrissey being Joe Morrissey, THIS is what they went with...

Yes, if you had been thrown in jail for having carnal relations with a 17 year old and produced a child, this is exactly how you would want to announce the new arrival to the world, right? Yeah, let's go with the antebellum look.

This man is likely to become the first popularly elected mayor of the City of Richmond in 12 years. 

To which I say...of course he will.

Duck Doughnuts vs. Klondike Bars

I have not been a good boy today.

My day began with a breakfast that consisted of two hot, fresh Duck Doughnuts, courtesy of my generous Assistant. Of course she didn't just drop by the place on a whim on her way in to work. I had sent her a text informing her that I might be a few minutes late and suggesting that she might want to consider using the extra time to go get me some doughnuts...so there's that. But, she made the Duck Doughnuts decision on her own, and what a fine decision it was. I had one lemon and raspberry glazed and one maple glaze covered with real bacon crumbles. Oh, baby!

To make matters worse, I have just topped off today's menu by gulping down a Klondike bar. But although the Klondike bar tasted alright, I was oddly annoyed by the experience. My annoyance stems from the fact somewhere down the line, the big shots at the Klondike factory have started making baby Klondike bars! I mean, seriously...have you seen how small these guys have gotten? What the heck? I remember when a Klondike bar was big enough to share with your wife. Now, it's like I take two decent bites and the thing is gone! I used to always eat them fast because if you dilly-dallied around with the thing it would end up a melting mess. Not anymore! I bet you we're paying more for these puny ones than we used to pay for the huge ones. And therein lies a life lesson.

What's the difference between Duck Doughnuts and a Klondike Bar? One of them is made by a local company, and one is slapped together by some multi-national conglomerate from God knows where. Actually God does know...they are made by Unilever, a company from the Netherlands. A bunch of Dutchmen make Klondike bars. The one I ate tonight could have been made months ago. It could have been stacked in a frozen warehouse somewhere outside of Amsterdam a year ago for all I know! But my Duck Doughnuts didn't even exist until 8:25 am this morning when the cheerful girl made them right in front of Kristin as she watched. They were still warm when we gobbled them down like fat kids on a piece of pie.

This is the difference between multinational conglomerates and a local business...you know exactly what you're getting when you buy local. And I don't have to worry that the next time I go in there they'll try to charge me twice as much for a doughnut half the size as the one I got last week!

Buy Local....and let the Dutch peddle their mini-bars somewhere else!

A Third Option

So, yesterday I discovered a new poll making the claim that 78% of white evangelical Christians supported Donald Trump for President. I posted the poll on my Facebook feed and asked the sincere question...Can someone explain this to me? The answer I got was a variation of the old adage, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I learned that none of my evangelical friends were enthusiastically supporting Trump, but rather felt forced to do so to save the country from another Clinton presidency.

I suppose I should feel relief. Somebody on Twitter yesterday made this statement..."I can understand reluctant Clinton and Trump supporters, I cannot for the life of me understand enthusiastic Clinton and Trump supporters."

But, what if both of these candidates are our enemies? Suppose both of them would be disastrous for our Republic...Trump because of his dangerous naïveté and volatile big mouth, and Hillary because of her irredeemable, hard-wired corruption? Suppose neither of them are fit to be President?

Someone on the thread made the statement that "not voting is not an option." Well, actually it is an option. In a free society, not voting is as much of a right as voting, always has been. If Hitler were running against Stalin, you bet I wouldn't vote! But, I understand how some people would think that not voting is a cop out. So, for those folks, third party candidates would be an option. Depending on who you talk to, voting for Gary Johnson would be a de facto vote for either Hillary or Trump. Odd how everyone always rails against the corruption of the two party system, but nobody ever votes for a third party candidate! Lucky for us...there's a third option.

I'm old fashioned enough to think that voting is one of my jobs as a free citizen. I'm not an absolutist on the subject...sitting out an election here and there is no sin...but generally speaking, a well-informed, engaged citizen should exercise the franchise when given the opportunity. So, how about this? Go to the polls on Election Day. Enter the voting booth and cast your ballot for all of the races presented to you...congressman, sheriff, assemblyman, local initiatives, etc. Then simply abstain from casting your presidential ballot. You will have fulfilled your duty as a citizen, while passing on being asked to make a choice between two disastrous presidential candidates. 

Here's the thing. One day, I will face my creator and will be asked to give an account of my life on earth. Even scarier, one day I will have to face my own as yet unborn grandchildren and answer the question, "Pops, did you vote for Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump back in 2016?" I am convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that I will not be able to intellectually or ethically defend either of those votes. However, this vote would be much easier to explain...

To Stand or Not To Stand

http://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2012/12/colin-kaepernicks-tattoos.html

Several years ago, I wrote the above blogpost about a young quarterback for the San Francisco Forty-Niners who had gotten himself into a bit of contoversy over his tattoos. I was sympathetic. Even though I generally hate tattoos, I came to his defense, taking the position that he shouldn't be judged solely on the amount of ink on his body, but rather by the overall quality of his character. Well, now he is once again in the news. During the playing of the national anthem before a recent pre-season game, Kaepernick refused to stand. After the game, he explained his decision to the press...

"I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color. To me, this is bigger than football and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way. There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder. This is not something that I am going to run by anybody, I am not looking for approval. I have to stand up for people that are oppressed. ... If they take football away, my endorsements from me, I know that I stood up for what is right."

When Kaepernick first ran afoul of public opinion, he was a bright comet lighting up the NFL with his aggressive style of play and amazing athleticism. He took the Forty-Niners to the Super Bowl that year and seemed destined for greatness. But it's been a tough several years for the gifted quarterback since. In the NFL, defenses adjust to comets eventually, so the comet has to adjust accordingly. Kaepernick hasn't been able to do that and now finds himself in a pitched battle with the pedestrian Blaine Gabbert to be the backup quarterback for his team...quite a precipitous fall from stardom.

Reaction among other players has been mixed. Some applauded his decision, others disagreed but defended his right to protest, others objected, calling it disrespectful to all of the men and women who have given their lives to protect us and our freedom. More cynical voices accused him of being a malcontent who can't handle his reduced role, and is seeking attention. Still others chided him for spending too much time thinking about politics and not enough time studying the playbook. It's been a very mixed bag.

I fall into the mixed category. My view on the national anthem is that when it is played at public events, respect needs to be shown. I always remove my hat, face the flag, put my hand over my heart, and sing along. Doing so does not mean that I am thrilled to the gills with every single thing going on in the country at that particular time. Neither does it mean that I support every action taken by my government, now or in the past. For me, it's an acknowledgment of gratitude that I was born here. It's a tip of the hat to all of the men and women who have sacrificed everything for the preservation of this Republic. And yes, to a certain extent, it's about...love of country...despite its many sins...love.

But, this isn't the 1970's Soviet Union. Love of country isn't coerced by gunpoint. One of the truly great things about America is that we make room for dissent. No... we don't love dissent, we don't celebrate it, but we make room for unpopular opinions. If Colin Kaepernick feels that his country is oppressing blacks and doesn't feel that he in good conscience can stand with his teammates while the national anthem is played...so what? The only thing worse than no patriotism is forced patriotism. So, I say once more....give the guy a break.

A Dog Memory

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=3fLJ32uH4MA

Yesterday was National Dog Day. I ran across the above preview of a new movie called A Dog's Purpose, and made the mistake of clicking on the link. There's no way I could sit through this film. Yes, yes...it's terribly heartwarming and in spots potentially hilarious. But one scene was just too painful to endure. It's the one where the kid is laying on the floor at the vet where he has to put his faithful dog to sleep. There's a scene that shows the beautiful dog's sweet eyes beginning to shut. When I watched it, I was immediately transported back to that bitterly cold Christmas Eve 17 years ago when It was me laying on that floor staring into the dying eyes of my first Golden Retreiver...Murphy. 17 years, and I still remember it like it happened yesterday.

Murph was 14 years old and on his last legs, but when we returned from Granny Till's Christmas Eve dinner that night and opened the garage door, I knew something was wrong when she didn't rise up from her bed in the corner to greet us. Since I had two young children in the car, I shuttled them past her on the way inside to shield their eyes from her condition. Once they were safely inside, I rushed back out into the garage and found him, back legs paralyzed laying in a pool of urine, but eyes bright with delight at seeing me. I was heart broken at the sight of my once mighty dog reduced to such a state. To add insult to injury, we were in the midst of a sleet storm, and it was 9:00 at night...on Christmas Eve. I dialed up our vet hoping against hope that he would be opened at such an unlikely hour. He was. I bundled Murphy up in a blanket and soon was on the floor of Gayton Animal Hospital saying goodbye to my beautiful dog. I held him tight while the injection began it's work. It was an excruciating experience.

Once I recovered, a new problem presented itself. Murphy was cremated, but I was not looking forward to explaining that to my children on Christmas morning. It was going to be horrible enough breaking the news of his death to them. I realized that I was going to have to come up with an alternative narrative. So, there I was, driving out to my parent's house in Montpelier, in a sleet storm, to prepare a fake burial site. We would all be gathering at their place on Christmas Day, so I thought we could have a little funeral service. But first I had to dig a grave and clear off the sleet from the place so it would look legit. What a night!

One of the things I remember the most about that Christmas morning was taking the kids out into the garage to tell them that Murphy had passed away in the night. Neither one of them cried. They were just silent and still. Then suddenly, either Patrick or Kaitlin...I can't remember which...walked over to the the garage door, where the windows were frosted over and wrote with their fingers...goodbye, Murphy. We love you.

Yeah, so I will not be going to see A Dog's Purpose, because I already know what a dog's purpose is...they exist to make us better people. They teach us how to love each other with abandon and without reservation. And when they leave us they break our hearts.

Project Update #1

I have no idea what time she came to bed last night. She was in the midst of this...on a mission. Despite being stiff and sore, she did take a break from her labor to go to her normal Wednesday night yoga class. I provided Q barbecue takeout for dinner and made sure she got some onion rings. She will be back at it today while I'm at work.

My wife...doing the jobs that most Americans won't do.

Lucy is not amused. She seems particularly annoyed by the presence in the foyer of these two wing backed chairs which were formerly in the corners of our dining room...

Consequently, she spent most of yesterday upstairs, unwilling or unable to deal with the new, modernistic feng shui of the foyer. Lucy doesn't do well with avant guard decorating concepts. And don't even get her started on the gigantic plastic bag that's covering the bookcase!!

Tune in again tomorrow for the latest on....the project!

The Wondrous Example of Harry Truman

Here's a question for your consideration this morning...How do career politicians become insanely rich? 

In America, we don't pay our politicians a ton of money. A United States senator, for example earns $174,000 a year...not exactly slave wages, but compared to most CEOs, professional athletes and entertainers, it amounts to a rounding error. The Secretary of State earns $186,600. The President of the United States gets paid $400,000. Yes, I know that the benefits are quite nice what with an otherworldly pension plan etc... But still, compared to the private sector, the owner of a reasonably successful small business in this country can earn more than the President of the United States. This is as it should be. So, the question remains...how is it that a guy like Harry Reid comes to Congress in 1982 as a man of modest means, never earns more than $194,000 a year, but now is worth over 10 million dollars? Savvy investing, I guess. But let's not pick on Harry. He's got a lot of company on the rags to riches gravy train that is public service. Even short timers who come to Washington, serve a couple of terms as a Congressman, then land of job as a lobbyist with some consulting firm, end up as millionaires. I'm not talking about the guys and gals who were already rich before they went into the politics racket because there are plenty of them on both sides of the aisle. No, no...I'm asking about the relatively normal folks who go to Washington and suddenly develope the Midas touch when it comes to their personal fortunes. It's uncanny.

Leave it to our poorest President, Harry Truman, to explain this phenomenon. Old Harry entered the White House without two nickels to rub together and left it the same way. As an Ex-President, he received not one dime of pension except for his $112.56 monthly army pension. He was given no secretarial allowance, no expense money of any kind and was forced to move back into his not very elegant family home. He refused to cash in on his status as a former President in any way: 

"I could never lend myself to any transaction, however respectable," Truman later wrote, "that would commercialize on the prestige and dignity of the office of the presidency." 

Luxuriate over the simple, decent goodness of that statement for a minute, and notice how exotic it sounds to 21st century ears. 

" An honest public servant cannot become rich in politics."

...oh, but Harry, the dishonest ones sure can!