Odd Week

What a strange week. There are times in life when, like the pretty nurse in Penny Lane, you feel as if you're in a play. It's as if you're the central character in a production of some importance, but you don't know your lines. That was me this week. It wasn't all bad. I wrote a very nice piece of profitable business, on which I will no doubt pay my fair share of taxes, confirming my reputation as a prodigious provider for my family. But the rest of the week was odd.

For reasons not entirely clear to me I have been in charge of telephones and Internet service at my business. When we built the place I drew the short straw and was assigned the job of finding a phone system, and then arranging for Internet and phone service. It isn't possible for anyone to be more ill-suited for such a task. I'm a creative thinker, a writer. My intelligence has always been limited to literature, music and history. Mathematics and the hard sciences leave me cold. I can't fix anything mechanical, never have cared a whit about what's under the hood of my car, that sort of thing. Anyway, in my roll as "the phone guy", I have been looking to consolidate all three services ( phone, Internet, and cable) with one provider, which, I was assured, would save us nearly $400 per month. Yesterday was "installation day". I knew I was in trouble withing 5 minutes of their arrival when the technician took one look into the phone closet, then asked me.."Who's your IT guy?"

ME:  Um..we don't have an IT guy. But if we did he would probably be me.

TECH GUY: Well, who do you get your data feeds from?

ME: Data feeds?..Wha..?

TECH GUY: You've got some sort of hybrid analog/ electrical system here and I need to have someone who can wire your router, and coordinate the transfer of your IP address into this new interface, so your network will work properly.

ME:.....but I just wanted a new phone service so I could save $400 a month. Hybrid..eh what?


It went on like this for ten minutes or so, me speaking halting English, he speaking very confident and rapid-fire Klingon. Ultimately I had to call the whole thing off because the girl who gave me the money saving quote failed to pick up on the fact that we needed 12 lines, not 5. So, all was for naught.Four hours of my life that I will never get back were spent feeling like a complete moron.


Then I stumble upon the "Life Of Julia" web slide show put out by the Obama campaign which illustrates in cartoon form the wondrous benevolence of Barack Obama's policies on the life of a composite woman named Julia from age 3 all the way to age 67...or as Clement Atllee would say, from "cradle to grave". It was an astonishing thing to watch. Julia enters Kindergarten fully prepared only because of the existence of "Head Start". She then does well in school and doesn't get fat only because of new nutritional requirements on school lunches mandated by government. When Julia becomes of a sexually active age she gets free birth control from her government health care plan so she can "concentrate on her life without worry". When Julia graduates from college her minimal student loans have a low affordable interest rate only because of the moderating hand of government price controls. When Julia decides to "have a child" ( no husband appears in this narrative ) she has prenatal tests performed and receives quality medical care only because of the wonders of Obamacare. etc.. etc.. No mention is made of how much any of this costs or who is paying for it. The striking thing about Julia is the fact that she doesn't resemble any of the women I have known in my life. This child seems totally bereft of Independence. Every accomplishment in her life is presented as a consequence of the existence of a paternalistic, caring government. The one thing Julia does that shows even the slightest bit of initiative..starting a web-based business, was only possible because she got a loan from the Small Business Administration. As I watched the slide show this disturbing thought came to me. The very fact that someone at team Obama thought that this was a good and persuasive  thing, that this would attract voters rather than repulse them gave me a chill. Fifty years ago, no self respecting Democrat would portray women in this way, as helpless, fragile flowers who without the lifelong intervention of a compassionate and all-knowing government, would wither on the vine of life. But, today, I live in a country where this kind of government is celebrated and promoted in slick graphics on the website of the President of the United States for all the world to see.

To top off my week I went to the doctor for a check-up. The news wasn't the greatest I've ever had at a doctor's office. On the way home I turn on the radio to hear that Elizabeth Warren, democratic candidate for the senate from Massachusetts, had listed her race as American Indian on her application to Harvard to improve her chances of acceptance and promotion at that fine institution. Evidence of her racial heritage consisted of the fact that her great grandfather had "high cheek-bones", and that her great, great, great, great grandfather married a woman who put Cherokee on a marriage license application in the 1800's making Ms. Warren 1/32nd American Indian. Ms. Warren,  meet Julia.

I believe that cloud that descended over my mood this week is what the Psychiatrists call.."alienation".

Freedom of the Press...Overrated

As is my custom at 6:30 in the morning, I scanned my computer screen for news headlines. Here are just a few that greeted me on Thursday, the 3rd of May, 2012:

"Blind Man Exposes Himself...at Association For The Blind"

"Homeowners Association Sues Returning Vet Over Backyard Swing Set"

" Computer Glich Summons 1,200 For Jury Duty, Causing Massive Traffic Jam"

"Man Attempts Robbery With Underwear On Head"

It's time to admit it..Freedom of the Press is overrated. In fact, I believe that this country would benefit greatly from a total news blackout for say, a month. I nominate August. It's hot, and most people are at the beach anyway. Seriously, what has a "free" press gotten us? The Today show. Matt Lauer, with his 20 million dollar salary asking George Clooney why more people don't love Obama. The New York Times, the alleged newspaper of record, hasn't endorsed a Republican candidate since, I don't know..Teddy Roosevelt, and yet still insists that it is politically unbiased. Fox News, where amazingly, every journalists they have ever hired to read the news just happens to have blond hair and a great rack.

What do we as citizens gain from all this news anyway? Thanks to the 24/7 news cycle, we have virtually unlimited access to information on everything from the price of cotton in India to what Lindsey Lohan threw up for dinner last night...to what end? Are we better informed than say, a typical housewife in 1963 who's hometown  had one newspaper, and although her TV could only pick up two channels, she never missed Walter Cronkite reading the news every night? How on earth did she survive without instantaneous access to the daily tracking polls measuring President Kennedy's reelection chances? For heavens' sake, how could she possibly have made an "informed" decision without knowing that he was swimming naked with Marilyn Monroe in the White House pool?

Freedom of the press..ppsssht...how about freedom FROM the press? Every year when I go on vacation, I have a rule. My only source of news can be the local paper from where ever I happen to be. In Maine, I'm treated to the Lewiston Sun Journal. In Key West it's the Key West Citizen. Myrtle Beach offers up the North Myrtle Beach Times. Each of these fine papers offers everything I need to be properly informed...local weather, and a quality sports page with easy to find box scores. I turn off CNN,  FOX,  ABC, NBC, CBS, MSNBC, CNBC...and after a couple of weeks, my IQ has risen 10 points. My attitude about my country, the world, and my place in it improves exponentially with each day that I am not treated to every gory detail of it's sorry state. So, it turns out that Ignorance is not only bliss, it's also healthy.

A Night Out With The Siblings

I have an older brother and two older sisters. That makes me the youngest. They are all wonderful people. But last night I did something with them that I can't ever remember doing...ever. No, we didn't all read Shakespeare together..we went out to dinner complete with spouses and everything. There were no kids or grand kids. Our parents weren't there either. There were menus and waitresses...the whole nine yards. We weren't celebrating anyone's birthday, no three day weekend was involved. We simply picked a Ruby Tuesday's in Fredericksburg so Donnie wouldn't have to drive so far, and met for dinner.

It's not that we never eat a meal together. We probably are all together for meals a dozen times a year or more, but it's always at Mom's, or Linda's and it usually involves birthdays and is almost always on a Sunday after church. This time we were seated in the bar. It was really quite shocking. I half expected my Mother to suddenly appear to scold us for eating a meal in such close proximity to alcohol.

Donnie was late, having driven all the way from Maryland still in his postal service uniform since he worked all day. As he walked in we all yelled.."NORM!!" We had decided to meet to discuss some family business, but soon it was just a typical Dunnevant get together. After ordering appetizers, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. When I returned I asked, "What did I miss?" Linda answered, "Nothing. Paula just got in an altercation with a drunk over there for using foul language." There would be no more bathroom breaks for me. This was going to be a fun night!

Although no adult beverages were consumed, our fellow patrons would be forgiven for thinking otherwise. We Dunnevants talk at a rather high decibel level about even the most benign subject. So, as the discussions proceeded into politics we were in full-throat-ed shout-mode. We talked about Obama, a Chinese postal worker who brings his lunch to work everyday in a midsized suitcase, the miracle that is the Washington Nationals' 14-6 record, and someone Donnie works with named "Avis Davis, NOT Mavis".

The seating arrangement was strategic. The four siblings were in the middle with out-law spouses on the perimeter. As we began to talk business, Ron and Pam would lean in towards the center so as to better hear the conversation. Bill refused to be distracted from the giant rack of ribs he had ordered and showed no interest in joining in the conversation except when he abruptly asked me, " You gonna eat that pickle?"

After an hour or so of discussion and in response to my blogpost about Martin's having ruined Ukrops, Donnie pointed out that the same thing had happened in Maryland to his favorite grocery store. It had been bought out by a Norwegian company with the  phonetically challenged name of Ahold....with the "d" being notoriously silent. Hilarity quickly ensued as all of us took turns using the company name in creative sentences like..."Where do you work?..Oh I work for the "ahol" down the street!" And so on... This went on for another 30 minutes since we all had to wait for Bill to eat the three desserts he had ordered. By the time he downed the last bite of Apple Brown Betty, our ribs were sore from laughter, and we all were wondering how come it had taken us so long to plan a night like this.

I tipped our long-suffering waitress generously.

Local Woman Is Last To Admit That Martin's Sucks

SHORT PUMP,VA--  Beth Orinstein, of Wyndham became the very last grocery shopper in the west end to realize that Martin's really does suck late Thursday afternoon after it took her 20 minutes to find a jar of olives. While all of her family and friends had come to the conclusion months earlier that Martin's wasn't fit to carry Ukrop's jock-strap, Beth had stubbornly held on to the hope that Martin's wouldn't turn out to be a crushing disappointment.

"I just wanted to give them a chance, you know?" Mrs. Orinstein said as she tried to steady herself with a mint-chocolate milk shake at Chick-fila. " I guess everyone dealt with the death of Ukrops differently. I just couldn't bring myself to accept that they had been bought, so I just pretended that nothing would change. After all, they didn't take away my rainbow cookies and White House rolls..how bad would it be?"

Mrs. Orinstein, a mother of three growing boys, was delighted back in February of 2009 when the only noticeable changes in her Short Pump Crossings store seemed to be the hideous nuclear waste green uniforms the employees were forced to wear. The still friendly, if somewhat embarrassed workers still took her groceries to the car for her. Her favorite Ukrops meals to go were available for her to buy at the last minute for dinner on those days when she fell asleep on the sofa watching the Young and the Restless. But gradually Beth began to notice the subtle changes, and soon she went into full denial.

"I just couldn't deal with the sense of loss, the relentless disappointment. So I guess I just pretended not to notice when they totally re-arranged all of the aisles in the most annoying way possible. It's like one day I could have shopped for a week's worth of groceries in thirty minuets with a blind fold on , and suddenly it takes me ten minutes to find the condiment aisle."

As Beth stares out the window, her eyes begin to fill with tears and her hands start manically working the straw of her shake. Keeping alive false hope for two years has clearly taken a toll. I ask her to describe the olive incident in more detail, but she just sighs heavily.

" Like everyone else, I have to admit that it did bother me when they took down the "Let's All Go To Church This Sunday" painting. I mean, I don't actually attend church, but it always made me feel better when I saw that thing hanging up there. And yes, it was annoying when every time I needed something on a Sunday I had to go to that dreadful Food Lion. And, there was something endearing about having to stop by Krogers to buy beer and wine on the way home. But today, I just wanted to buy a bottle of olives for God's sake!! What moron thinks to put olives on the baking aisle?!"

As her frustration begins to pour out in torrents now, other Chick-fila customers start to notice, and begin to nod their heads sympathetically, their expressions a mixture of understanding, sadness and anger. " Of course, I suppose I should have asked Mr. Creepy Customer Help-Guy where they were, but then he would have followed me around trying to make conversation for an hour! I want olives, I don't want to make a new friend!! And what's with the grocery carts full of discount wine and beer everywhere?! WE GET IT...you sell hooch! Oh, and how about that tacky seasonal aisle they added, with all that kitschy plastic junk that you used to have to go to Walmart to buy?? One day I look up and an entire wide aisle is devoted to crap that costs less than a dollar. Seriously, the next time there's snow in the forecast..to hell with it..I'm staying home!" As we got up to leave, teary-eyed customers stood and applauded, a scene worthy of a Frank Capra movie.

I thanked her for the interview and being willing to admit that she was the last hold-out, the last person in Short Pump to understand the complete community devastation that the arrival of Martin's has visited upon us. In the half-empty parking lot, she stood beside her Yukon Denali for a photograph. When I got back to the office I tried to reach an official at Martin's for  comment. No one in management agreed to be interviewed for this article, but an anonymous low level purchase agent did admit that the transition has been more difficult than company officials had expected saying only, "For what it's worth, we underestimated the bitchiness of our customers."

In a related item, officials at Bill's Barbecue, Pleasants Hardware, Ben Franklin, The White House of the Confederacy, the Coliseum, and each statue on Monument Avenue all have denied that they are the targets of hostile takeover bids by a consortium in New Jersey.

The Fifth Commandment

I've been thinking about the Fifth Commandment a lot lately. "Honor thy father and thy mother..". What does it mean? When I was a child it's meaning was clear. My parents were the authority in my life. They fed me, clothed me, and provided a roof over my head. My mother, through the pain of childbirth, brought me into this world. My father taught me right from wrong, the value of hard work. They both instilled in me a feeling of well-being, that I was loved and cared for. My job was simple. "Honor thy father and thy mother". That meant no back talk, do what I was told, show them proper respect, try not to embarrass them in public.

Now, I'm a father. I have two kids whose job it is to honor me. They do so in amazing ways too numerous to list here, but in summary, they never back talk me, they follow my suggestions, for the most part, and they have never embarrassed me in public or private. On the contrary, I am always eager to inform people that Patrick and Kaitlin are, in fact, my children, if for no other reason than to see the shocked expressions on their faces when they realize that someone as goofy as me could have produced kids with such intellect and refinement.

But, although I am a father, I am still a son. My parents are both in their eighties. They have reached a hard season, a time of  struggle, a time of need. How to honor them? How much time is the proper amount of time to qualify as suitably honoring? What is the correct amount of deference I should show to them when their ideas and wishes are the wrong ones? In the past two years it has occurred to me that it's very much easier to honor your parents when they are happy and healthy. When pain comes, bringing anger and fear with it, honor becomes illusive.

Declining health and the inexorable march of time often conspire with each other to rob us of our dignity. Our parents become entirely different people than the ones who raised us. But I find in scripture no dispensation from the fifth commandment, no time limit, no bail out provision. So, I must find the middle ground between telling them hard truths that they don't want to hear, and giving them the respect that they still are owed. I must honor the commitments I have made in my own life while still finding time to be there for them.

The odd thing about this is that there are two conflicting truths doing battle within me. The first truth is that I have not done enough to fully honor my parents during these years of pain. The second truth is that no matter what I do in the future, it will never be enough to satisfy them.

And still I'm left with the clear and plain words from the second chapter of Exodus.."Honor thy father and thy mother, that your days may be long upon the land that the Lord thy God is giving you." I just pray that my days aren't too terribly long.

Rainy Sundays and the "Church Decision"

It's Sunday morning. Overnight a cold front moved in from the west and spread low clouds and a soft cold rain. Looks like it's going to rain steadily all day. Pam is making pancakes. The prospect of church attendance hangs precariously, like the sword of Damocles, over our heads. Soon a decision will have to be made. Do we submit ourselves to the discipline of our faith and not forsake the gathering of ourselves together in worship(as is the habit of some)? Or do we give in to the overpowering desire for an uninterrupted day of domestic bliss, including but not limited to, eating, reading and relaxation? Sensing the spiritual tension, Pam has dialed up Christian music on Pandora.

Perhaps if we listen to worship songs in the background all day this will serve to mitigate the damage. Or maybe the dulcet tones of The Old Rugged Cross will only make us feel more guilt. We could always tune in to channel 12 and watch the service on television. Yes, our church is televised and has been continuously for something like a thousand years, a source of great pride for our Media Ministry. But watching your own church on television from the comfort of your sofa in your pajamas brings very little comfort. You see all of your friends in their nice clothes, friends who did the right thing and made it to church. They might be bored, they might be day-dreaming about being at the beach, they might be thinking about where they will go to lunch afterwards instead of listening to the Pastor's sermon, but they are there, and that's the important thing.

To help the decision making process, it always helps to do a Ben Franklin close. You know..that thing you do by making a list of the positives and negatives on a sheet of paper? Ok here goes...

CHURCH ATTENDANCE POSITIVES:

1. Spiritual pride that comes with the knowledge that you overcame the sin of laziness.

2. Unique benefits of the group dynamic of actually being there as opposed to watching on TV.

3. Stirring music with lyrics that tell the story of our faith, and the comfort that comes from hearing the voices of others.

4. Fellowship of  close circle of dear friends.

5. Inspiration drawn from a powerful and relevant sermon drawn from scripture and the hard crucible of life lived fully engaged in the 21st century.

6. Lunch with friends afterwards.


STAYING AT HOME POSITIVES:

1. Being in your pajamas until it's time for lunch.

2. The possibility of an unplanned nap.

3. Having time to read, think and write uninterrupted by plans.

4. Freedom to indulge wild hair of everything from gardening to house cleaning.


CHURCH ATTENDANCE NEGATIVES:

1. Boredom and annoying predictability of liturgy.

2. Having to sit in a pew for over an hour.

3. Having to endure the occasional, mind-numbingly juvenile lyrics of what passes for "praise-music".

4. Trying to ascertain what possible relevance the sermon might have to what I face on Monday.


STAYING AT HOME NEGATIVES:


1. Guilt

2. The nagging feeling that I'm missing something vitally important.

3. Guilt

4. Guilt


Ok, so that about covers it. It's now 8:54. Decision time is roughly 30 minutes away. T-minus 29 minutes and counting actually. Pam says "We should probably go." As usual, she is right. See ya at church.

Prepare To Be Jealous

My kids got me the coolest birthday present ever. I've been proudly showing it off at the office. Everyone is jealous that they don't have one, although they don't admit it. Instead, they throw their hands up, look at me with perplexed fascination and say something snarky like..."What, are you 12 years old?!"..which is code for, "that's the most awesome thing ever and I wish I could get away with having one of those babies on MY desk!" Here's a picture of it in all it's awesomeness sitting menacingly atop my printer...

Its called the USB Desktop Missile Launcher. It plugs into the USB slot on your computer and from there I can access its awesome camera display and pick my targets (unsuspecting fellow workers who happen to wander into my office). I simply press the arrow keys to line up the coordinates and then I press the space bar and it fires a nerf-like projectile with stunning speed and accuracy. If that's not enough, the firing of the missile is accompanied by an amazing sound effect of explosions which serves to further startle the victim. I have to say that it has been quite a while since I have received such a practical and useful present. It's the gift that keeps on giving. I have only scratched the surface of the manifold capabilities of the DML. It says in the manual that I can activate attack mode via Skype! So, as long as my computer is on, I could initiate a launch sequence from the comfort of my home office via skype. Now, this is why America is the greatest country ever. We keep coming up with amazing products like this. Uh..wait..says the danged thing is assembled in China.

What goes on in Vegas....

The news has been full of stories about government waste lately. From the lavish Vegas bash thrown by the GSA, to the fabulous Hawaiian vacations enjoyed by GSA's director, Jeffrey Neely, to the $800,000 in travel expenses incurred by the Secretary of Defense for 27 weekend trips home...all courtesy of the taxpayer. None of these stories surprise me. None of these stories anger me. This is exactly the sort of thing I expect of a government as huge and influential as ours. This sort of unaccountable waste is as predictable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. It's inevitability stems from this basic fact about human beings, ie..people are much more prudent concerning their own money than they are concerning someone else's money.

Here's a thought experiment. Suppose you were walking down an empty street and stumbled upon a wad of ten one hundred dollar bills. There is no one around to return the money to, no way to determine to whom it belonged, so you realize that it's your lucky day. How do you spend that money? Do you calmly deposit the $1,000 into your savings account and thank God for his rich blessings? Or do you reason that since this is an unexpected windfall, why not treat yourself to a new set of golf clubs, or a weekend at the Spa? My guess is that you would spend this largess in ways that you would never dream of spending your own hard-earned money. This is human nature. It happened to me once. Years ago, I completed my three year study program and finally earned my Chartered Financial Consultant professional designation. The company I was working for at the time gave me an unlimited gift certificate to a high end store that sold business products like fancy briefcases etc. Since the certificate had no limit, I went hog-wild. I bought a beautiful all leather Hartmann case that I still use today. It cost $400..in 1996!! If I had been spending my own money, my budget would have been 50 bucks. It's always easier spending someone else's money.

This is the intrinsic problem with government. Every nickle that government spends is someone else's money. The larger and more powerful that government is the less connection there is between the sources of the money and the spenders of the money. As budgets get more complex the less accountability there can be. Sure, every now and then something particularly egregious pops up like this GSA party and a Congressional hearing is called where the guilty spendthrifts are slapped on the wrists. But for every story that we know about there are ten that we will never discover.

There is one political party in this country that IS the party of government. The Democratic party believes in the power of government as a driver of social justice. It believes in the righteousness of the collective, in the roll of government as referee, umpire, and inspector.  Democrats are loud and enthusiastic champions of full funding for their vision of this powerful government. Unfortunately, there is no political party with anything approaching influence that champions a dismantling of and downsizing of government. The Republican party talks a better game but when they get in power, the only thing that gets downsized is the rate of growth of government, and then, only if we're lucky.When both major political parties in a country generally agree on an ever expanding roll for government, the result is never ending deficits.

If you are a Democrat, I know what you're thinking. "What, you think government is the only institution that wastes money? Big corporations waste money too!!" Yes, they do. But when a corporation goes on a wild spending spree, then what's left of the free market will punish them for it. Their stock price will suffer, market share will decline, and people will lose their jobs. Unless, of course, you're too big to fail, in which case the government, using someone else's money will bail you out, insulating you from the consequences of your bad decisions. Kinda like welfare. But in government, no matter how wasteful, ineffective, outdated or redundant your agency happens to be, your budget never actually gets cut. Maybe every now and then it's growth rate is slowed, but there's never any cuts to the perpetual motion machine that is big government. So, we better get used to $850,000 dollar parties in Vegas for government bureaucrats.

The Buffett Rule...Stupidity on Steroids

The White House freely admits that even their most optimistic projections of the next ten years shows staggering, out of control deficits. 2012's deficit alone is 1.5 trillion dollars. This is an unsustainable national tragedy that demands serious reform to correct. So, what is the President's plan? The Buffett Rule.

Yes, the Sage of Omaha, the third richest man on the planet is famously annoyed by the fact that he pays taxes at a lower "rate" than his secretary. Our President, never content to let a perfectly good annoyance go to waste, immediately seized on his comments and decided to make the "Buffett Rule" the centerpiece of his strategy to rein in the fiscal insanity facing the country. Yes, passing a law demanding that anyone making one million dollars a year be required to pay a minimum of 30% in taxes is President Obama's solution to the trouble we face. Yes, the financial train wreck we find ourselves in stems from the horrible fact that the rich earn much of their income from appreciating assets and thus pay only 15% tax on that income. Guys like Buffett and Romney are awash in capital gains income. The Buffett Rule, we are told by the President,"will help us close our deficit. This is not politics, its math."

I will not here debate the wisdom of whether or not capital gains should be taxed at a lower rate. I will not debate the charge that millionaires don't pay their fair share of taxes. I will not even debate the politics of such a tax proposal during an election year. I prefer to examine exactly what kind of "math" the President could possibly be talking about?!

The Congressional Budget Office has estimated that full implementation of the "Buffett Rule" would raise 5 billion dollars in revenue to the Treasury. Other analysis estimate the number to be closer to 3 billion, but for argument's sake, I'll take the CBO at it's word. 5 billion dollars....or enough money to close our current 2012 deficit in roughly 500 years. 5 billion dollars....or the amount of money our government borrows every 24 hours. We are facing a tsunami of deficits and debt as far as the eye can see and the President's plan is...the Buffet Rule. Wouldn't it be better if the government just confiscated all 44 billion dollars of Warren Buffett's net worth instead of settling for 30% of his yearly income? Better yet, why don't we confiscate every dime from everyone who showed up in the Forbes 400 richest Americans list this year? In exchange for all of their money, the government would agree to provide them reasonable housing, food and medical care. Desperate times call for desperate measures. When the American people see the patriotic sacrifices being made by the super rich, our collective sense of fairness would be satisfied, and with all that money we could, we could...close the 1.5 trillion dollar deficit for 2012. Yep, we would only fix the problem for one year. Then in 2013, there wouldn't be another 1.5 trillion to confiscate. But, for one glorious year there wouldn't be any fat cats not paying their fair share, and certainly that would be worth it...right?

When Republicans talk about illuminating "waste, fraud and abuse" from the federal budget as a way to balance the budget I get angry because the amounts of money involved are like treating a knife wound with a band-aid. When Democrats call for millionaire tax hikes as a way to close the deficits I also get angry. Both approaches amount to score settling appeals to political interests, and do nothing the address the big problems driving our nation to the edge of a fiscal abyss. Those big problems are out of control spending, and a tax system that has successfully managed to remove half of our citizens from the tax rolls. Any real and enduring fix will HAVE to include dramatic reductions in federal spending AND tax increases..on EVERYONE, not just the Warren Buffetts of this world.

Graduate School Journal...Part 2

Yesterday Pam and I got to spend much of the day doing the tourist thing around Princeton while Patrick was in meetings. We bought some books, walked through some shops in Palmer Square and then spent some time on the Princeton campus. Absolutely gorgeous. Patrick's meetings went well, although I think the financial realities of life here were brought home to him in his meeting with the financial aid people.

It has been a great trip. I can see Patrick living and thriving here. The school exceeded expectations. Last night we drove into the town of Windsor to see "The Artist". This is the Oscar-winning silent film by mostly French actors, directors etc.. It was amazing. The score, the glorious lighting of black and white, the phenomenal acting required when words are absent, all made for a terrific movie. Of course, the first thing Patrick said afterwards was how amazing the music was. Nothing has changed in that regard since he was five.

So, now we head back to Richmond. This time four months from now I'll have two kids in graduate school. That thought seems outrageous to me. I barely survived the University of Richmond. It was everything I could do to sit still long enough to endure an hour long lecture. Now, thirty years later I have two kids who can't wait for the next class.

Graduate School Journal...Part 1

I'm in Princeton, New Jersey with Patrick visiting what will be his home for the next two years, Westminster Choir College. We have toured the campus and walked through this most charming of what the people up here refer to as "townships". Everywhere you look you see stately old buildings covered with ivy. Coffee shops outnumber Walmarts about 28 to zero. There are chocolate shops seemingly on every corner, quaint bookstores and upscale boutique shops of every description line the streets. There are beautiful, ornate churches everywhere. I've seen Presbyterian, Methodist, Episcopalian, Catholic and even an Assembly of God, but no Southern Baptist! If ever there were a place perfectly designed for a kid like Patrick to thrive, this is it. As a student at this school, he will get to sing in choirs that perform in Philadelphia and New York, even a performance at Carnegie Hall in the fall. There's a train station within walking distance that goes straight to Grand Central Station in New York that I'm sure Patrick will wear out. What an awesome place for my son to be. So blessed.

Easter Tradition At The Dunnevants

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. Kaitlin will be driving up from Winston late this afternoon. Patrick flies in late tonight. We will all be together, just the four of us for the first time since the new furniture arrived. Patrick's room is now where the movie room used to be and vice-versa. Hope he's fine with the new arrangement. Our new kitchen table's inaugural meal with all four of us will be the much anticipated Easter morning breakfast. This meal is famous in Dunnevant family lore because of Pam's "empty tomb rolls". She flattens out a tube of canned biscuits, then inserts a marshmallow and wraps the flattened dough around it to form a ball. This dough ball then gets dipped in butter and rolled through a bowl of some sort of heavenly ambrosia containing sugar and cinnamon. Everything gets loaded into muffin tins and thrown in the oven. Then these babies are served up on a plate with bacon, scrambled eggs and fresh fruit. When you dig in to the rolls, the inside is hollow since the marshmallow has melted, adding its thousand calories to the mix. The empty tomb rolls make us think of our Saviors' resurrection from the dead. It's all quite wonderful.

This year will be like all Easters in my family. There will be an egg hunt...with a twist. My two kids have always been insanely competitive with each other. Everything had better come out "equal" in the end or both of them will claim that the other is guilty of a "big braggy show". So, twenty years ago it became evident that just hiding a random number of eggs around the house and letting them go at it was problematic. This always resulted in one of them having more eggs than the other, an intolerable outcome for my strangely communistic children who always insisted, like Stalin and Mao before them, in equality of results!! To insure peace, Pam came up with the brilliant idea of buying an identical number of color-coded plastic eggs, giving each of them an identically sized bucket and letting them get after it, knowing that as long as neither of them were color-blind, they would end up with the same number of eggs, and we could go to church on speaking terms. This plan worked so well, we've done it the same way ever since, even though my "children" are both in their early twenties, college graduates, and surely beyond such pettiness. Somewhere down the line I came up with the idea of saving my pocket change all year, and instead of filling the eggs with teeth-rotting candy, filling them with quarters, nickels and dimes. This proved to be a raging success as well, although making sure that the money came out equal in the end was and is a labor-intensive process.

The question now has become, at what point do we retire the Easter egg hunt? Last year Jon was with us and I thought perhaps that would have been a good time to bring the festivities to a close. But, Pam, being the creative party-planner, people pleaser that she is, came up with the idea of buying a bag of plastic baseballs to hide for Jon so he wouldn't feel left out. I was fine with it, but drew the line at filling his baseballs with my change. Seriously though, one of my kids is in graduate school, and the other will be this fall, and we're still hiding twenty year old plastic eggs around the house for them to find? Yes, we do. Knowing their Mother as I do, we will be hiding those eggs for them every year until it comes to the point where our grandchildren start getting annoyed at having to share my change with their parents.

The Mystery Of Kim Kardashian

This morning I was getting dressed for work in the usual way, only this morning it happened to be at the exact moment when Ann Curry of the Today show was interviewing Kim Kardashian. So, essentially, this blog writes itself.

Before I proceed, I should confess up front to never having watched an episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians. The sum total of my knowledge of this woman comes from what I am able to glean from the covers of Us, People, and the National Inquirer as I'm standing in line at Martins. With those fine publications serving as my data-base, I can confidently assert that Ms.K has very large breasts, wears spectacular clothes, seems to be quite fond of large athletic black men, and wears copious amounts of makeup.

What I have never understood is why she is famous. Does she have musical talent, does she act, is she a model? I mean, what exactly does she do, and how did she get her own television show? I watch the television screen for clues to her success. She is sitting there in a fabulous blue dress into which her bountiful assets have been poured. Just for arguments' sake, I will assume that her physical beauty has not been genetically manipulated or surgically enhanced, that what we see is, in fact, real. Well done, Mr. and Mrs. Kardashian, well done.

But as she begins to speak, I am astonished by the perfectly pedestrian drivel that comes out of her voluptuous mouth. This girl is virtually identical to practically every super-beautiful girl in the history of the world. There is nothing unique or captivating about her. She has the intelligence of your average late night dime-store clerk. Not one word that she speaks is in the slightest way interesting. When challenged by Ms. Curry as to whether her ill-fated marriage to Kris Humphries might have been some sort of publicity stunt, she seemed genuinely shocked that anyone on earth could possibly have come to such a conclusion. Rarely have I seen a public figure with less self-awareness...and I'm American, so that's saying something!!

So the mystery of Ms. Kardashian remains. Absent any obvious talents, I am forced to assume that she is famous, for being famous. Like Paris Hilton before her, we will watch her with shameful fascination. We've already watched one marriage collapse. There will be more. Then there will be some sort of substance abuse which will require stints in a series of celebrity rehab centers. Perhaps that will be the genesis of yet another reality show, following Kim throughout the despair of the 12 step recovery program.( Step one...lay down the curling iron and slowly step away from the vanity table!).
Then we will watch as her narsicism ratchets her down ever lower until finally, she ends up hawking her tanning beds on Craig's List. But, about the time we think she's disappeared forever, there will be a religious conversion, and a shocking tell-all auto-biography, in which we learn that Kim was sexually abused by her creepy step-dad Bruce Jenner. Tears will flow as Oprah tenderly squeezes out all the salacious details during a prime-time interview that will be the highest rated television show of all time. The headline in the National Inquirer the next day will scream.." Kim's Painful Ordeal Takes Toll On Figure."

Birthday Checklist

Today is my birthday. As has been my custom since turning 50 I try to perform some feat involving physicality, not to prove my relative fitness, but more to document the progress of my inexorable decline. Today it was a 5K run, a distance of 3.1 miles. I ran it outside on a rather hilly tract I have measured out in my neighborhood. My time was 27:50.7. Two years ago my records indicate that I ran 4 miles on a treadmill in a time of 31:48. Three years ago I ran 3 miles on a treadmill in 23:39. At this pace I will soon manage to break the 30 minute barrier for one mile!

Since it's my birthday, there's a paragraph that I need to get out of my system...

Yesterday I tried to help my daughter fill out her first 1040 form. I haven't done my own taxes in over 20 years since my return is practically an inch thick, costs me $500, and I don't understand a word of it. So, I probably am not the best person to ask for help filling out even the most benign IRS form which I assumed something called the "EZ" 1040 form would be. Nope. Even at this entry level introduction to the labyrinth that is the IRS, I was hopelessly over matched. "If line 24d is greater but not equal to the total on line 17, proceed to tax table on schedule ADJ" was one of the more straightforward instructions found on this two page EZ1040 form for tax-paying beginners. After 10 minutes of this I was muttering under my breath about the "pencil-necked, soul-crushing, blood-sucking, parasitic bureaucrats who work at the most evil construct ever spawned by the United States government."

There. I feel better already. However, having just read the part about blood-sucking parasites it occurs to me that there is an agency of our government that was the ACTUAL spawn of the IRS and the CIA. That would be the department of Homeland Security, and it wouldn't surprise me if there isn't some pencil-necked employee sitting in a cubical doing nothing else but monitoring blogs for combinations of words that might be deemed "dangerous". Perhaps they use some sort of algorithm that screams  an alarm whenever the words "blood-sucking" and "bureaucrats" appear in the same sentence. On the off chance that this is the case, let me just say that I was not referring to any specific actual employees of either the IRS,CIA or Homeland Security, all of which are part of the grand mosaic that make up the engine of our self-government. I was merely voicing the minor frustration that many of us feel when trying to comply with the law of the land. So, no need to push the "audit this guy" button. haha...

Birthday checklist:

1. Take freshly baked molasses cookies made by Pam to the office.  CHECK.

2. Get taken to lunch by my office mates. Take full advantage of their rare display of generosity. CHECK.

3. Read scores of birthday wishes posted on my facebook page and say a prayer of thanks for each one. CHECK.

4. Enjoy steak dinner at Firebirds with great friends. CHECK.

5. Ponder the inevitable and relentless physical and mental decline that awaits you in the years to come. CHECK.

April Fools and the Week Of My Birthday

Anyone who knows me knows that I love April Fools Day. Its the only day of the year where my predominant personality trait is celebrated, the one day where what I really love to do isn't "frowned upon in this establishment!!" Those lucky enough to work with me in my office have learned to fear this day. They enter the office gingerly, vigilant eyes scanning the ceiling, doors and walls, determined not to be victimized. They perform even the most menial tasks with extreme caution, never knowing when a remote controlled rat might dart out from underneath their desks, or when a large bucket of ping pong balls might suddenly pour down from the heavens. Even the most benign surface might by covered with some odious gooey substance of unknown origin. Strange odors waft from the most unsuspecting places. I'm telling you, it's a thing of beauty. But not today. Once every seven years my big day falls on a Sunday. It's like the Governor's pardon, or the year of Jubilee for everyone else, but for me it's the mother of all letdowns.

Today is also the beginning of the week of my birthday, a seven day celebration of the day, 54 years ago, when I was born. That's the way we do it in the Dunnevant family. One day just isn't enough. Birthdays have lost much of their cache with me in recent years. When I was a kid I couldn't wait to be older, I counted the days until I turned 13 as if I was going to win the lottery. 18 was cool. It meant I could drink beer legally, and vote. Oddly enough I found that drinking beer legally, in a bar wasn't nearly as fun as sneaking around. Then 21 came and went. It wasn't as big a deal in 1979 to turn 21 as it is today. 30 was weird. I was a father by then and it didn't seem possible that I was 30. I had always been told never to trust anyone over 30. Could I now not trust myself? 40 was a blur, 50 even blurrier. Birthdays have become more like reminder posts than occasions of celebration. They are like those signs you see on the interstate..."last rest stop for 100 miles"..reminders that something unsettling is in your future. I'm not exactly sure when it started, but it used to be when I would accomplish something athletically like a personal best time in the mile, or hitting a wind-aided 300 yard drive I would brag about my superior skill. But somewhere awhile back I started saying..."not bad for a       year old." How did that happen?

So, I will grin and bare the week of my birthday, and be thankful that I have not assumed room temperature, which, after all, is the only other available option. Perhaps I will go out and do something physically demanding to prove to myself that I've still got it, whatever "it" is. Then after I return from Patient First in a sling with a prescription for pain killers I'll feel much better!

Ist Quarter Observations...Trayvon, Ky.vs Louisville, and wedding showers

The first quarter of 2012 is now in the books.  A few observations follow concerning the state of things:

# The Trayvon Martin story gets more convoluted with each passing day. The more we learn, the more confused we get. However, two things are certain, and I believe I made this observation in my first blog on the subject. If Trayvon were white, an arrest would have been made by now, and if Trayvon's killer had been black, we wouldn't even be talking about this story because there would be no story. Oh, and what is a "white-hispanic"? I can honestly say I've never heard of such a designation before this case. I assume that because Zimmerman has a white father and an Hispanic mother, he is a "white-hispanic"? But by this logic, President Obama should be referred to as a "white-african-american", shouldn't he? The cynic in me thinks that the New York Times chose this new locution because the story wouldn't have had the same zing if the killer were "only" Hispanic. Then it would have been just another minority killing another minority which happens literally every day without comment. But, throw the "white" tag in front of Hispanic and BAMM...you've got yourself a full-throated front page screamer, complete with marches, boycotts, and bounties. One little 5 letter word. Now the most dangerous place in America to find yourself is between Al Sharpton and a TV camera.

# Tonight the University of Kentucky plays Louisville for a chance to play for the National Title. Two schools from the same state, both with rich basketball tradition, and both with seriously flawed head coaches. Just three years ago Rick Pitino was going through a sex scandal involving lots of lying, hypocrisy and extortion. Good old Rick, the devout Catholic family man caught having sex with a woman not his wife in a booth at a public restaurant. Then, there's John Calipari, he of the vacated wins at Memphis, he of multiple recruiting violations and phony SAT tests and a graduation rate of .087%. These two guys make it hard for Italian Americans to overcome Mob stereotypes. One of these two guys needs to make the other an offer he can't refuse. Don't be surprised if at halftime of tonight's game, a star player gets whacked.

#There's a huge thing at my house this afternoon. A wedding shower. The house is decorated in pastels and there's frilly stuff everywhere. It's for Meghan Kees. Her, Kaitlyn Burton, Arika Aker and my daughter were the four amigos all through high school. Now, Arika's married, and Meghan is having a wedding shower in my house. Watching these girls grow up has been a wondrous sight to behold. They are all so mature and adult-like. Hard to believe that what seems like a few months ago they were lounging around in their pajamas in my living room watching Dawson Creek marathons, trying to eat pop-corn in braces. Now look at them. Beautiful, smart, and getting serious about life. Well done.

# The new furniture is beautiful and the house looks great, but a bit like a house that should belong to someone else. I look at the new sofa, the rich dark wood, the grownup kitchen table and wonder what hotel suite we're in. Pam bought a shag rug to put under it all. Looks great. I'll feel better once I spill something and get that out of the way.

Opening Day 2012..yeah baby!!!

On opening day last year I published a blog entry about the romance and grandeur of the game of baseball, MY game, the game I've been in love with since grade school. It was full of childhood memories and my early heroes and the sort of sentimentality that makes non-baseball people roll their eyes. Well, this year I will dispense with sentiment and just get right down to it. What follows is an expert break down of all the pennant races of 2012, based on my superior knowledge of the game and renowned prognostication talents. It is for entertainment purposes only and is not meant to be used as a cheat sheet in Vegas.

National League

The National League will be dominated by pitching as it has been for many years now. It is clearly the weaker of the two leagues. The American League has more power, more star players etc..and consequently has dominated inter league play recently. However, the senior circuit can pitch and that counts for alot. Here are my picks:

National League East will be won by the Phillies...again. But the Nationals will give them a run for their money. That's right, the Washington Nationals have the potential to be quite good. It will depend on a healthy Stephen Strasburg, whether or not Jayson Werth is better and Michael Morse wasn't a fluke, and whether or not Bryce Harper learns how not to be a jackass. That's a lot of maybes but something tells me that this is their year to break out.

National League Central will go to the Cardinals, even without Pujols. For one thing, the division sucks, and the biggest threat was the Reds a few days ago, until their closer got hurt and will probably be out for the year. The Astros might be the worst team in the league since the 1962 Mets. That should be fun to watch.

The National League West goes to the San Fransisco Giants. Too much pitching for for the rest of that woeful division to keep up with. They will win lots of 2-1 games, which will make them really tough in a short series against anyone.

This is the first year of two wild card teams and that contest will pit the Nationals against the Diamondbacks.and the team from Washington will actually win, disproving the adage that nobody from Washington knows how to do anything right.  Then the Phillies will eliminate the Nationals in the Division series as will the Giants eliminate the Cardinals, setting up a League Championship series between the Phillies and the Giants. The Giants go to the World Series for the second time in the past three years.


The American League seems to have all of the exciting and most overpaid players in the game. Plus they have the coolest ballparks and the big marquee teams and generally they are more fun to watch. Now, if they would get rid of the ghastly Designated hitter rule, they'd be set. Here are my picks:

American League East goes to the 208 million dollar New York Yankees. Although I hate them and would love to see them implode in an ugly rash of injury-ridden mayhem, I believe they have one more run in them..damn it. The Red Sox will do the imploding in this division. They miss Theo, and Bobby Valentine is no Terry Francona.

American League central will be won handily by the Detroit Tigers who will have an incredible lineup and that guy from Manakin-Sabot..whats his name? Verlander, yeah Justin Verlander. Second place in that division will be my sleeper pick..the (gulp) Kansas City Royals. You heard it here first.

American League West is the property of the Texas Rangers until somebody takes it from them and I don't think the Angles, even with the great Albert Pujols can win it this year, although they will take the Wild Card along with the Tampa Bay Devil rays.

So, The Angels beat the Rays in the Wild Card match up. The Angels then beat the Rangers in the Division series, something they had trouble doing in the regular season. Meanwhile the Tigers beat the Yankees (hallelujah) and play the Angels for all the marbles and win the Pennant.

The Giants prevail in six games over the Tigers.

American League MVP will go to Robinson Cano
Cy Young goes to Justin Verlander..again

National League MVP will be Matt Kemp
Cy Young goes to Roy Halladay


So, there you have it. Can't wait.

Pat Robertson....Where's a Biblical Plague When You Need One??

This week, the cause of Christ and the advancement of his Gospel, took a severe body-blow when once again the Reverend Pat Robertson opened up his pie hole. What aspect of the human condition was he opining about, abortion, gay marriage, pornography, divorce? Nope. This time, the 700 Club founder was very angry about the evil ramifications of the Denver Broncos trade of Tim Tebow. Now, let that sentence peculate for a moment, let it sink in, contemplate the absurdity.

Pat was particularly upset that Tim was thrown overboard after such a remarkable run of games last season that took the Broncos to the playoffs. Even though Peyton Manning is an MVP, hall of fame quarterback, Pat adroitly pointed out that Peyton is one hard hit away from injury, and if that were to happen, the Broncos would find themselves without a quarterback. Then he added this nugget..."And if that happens, it would SERVE THE BRONCOS RIGHT!"

Pat Robertson has been making it harder for me to be an unashamed Christian for over 30 years now. He's got to be 90 by now. Whenever I see him on television now he looks like what Howdy Doody would look like by now if marionettes aged like humans do. Christianity soldiers on for months at a time, nobly striving to spread the Gospel and be salt and light in a dying world, and then...BAM!!!, this imbecile makes some stunningly ignorant statement, which the media then amplifies to the rafters. Then, Christians  spend weeks answering sneering questions from our friends(and enemies) like, "So, you're a Christian right? You like Pat Robertson?"

Pat is fond of attributing God's judgement to natural disasters, like his famous claim that hurricane Katrina was God's judgement on the sinful city of New Orleans. Well, I say, where is a good biblical plague when you need one? When a "Christian leader" starts openly wishing for a season-ending injury to befall an athlete as pay-back for trading Tim Tebow, I submit that its time for Pat to walk off into the sunset of his retirement. I mean, everyone and everything has a limited shelf life. There's no shame in growing old. Besides, if he leaves now, he will still have productive years left to devote to his other interests...like energy shakes that make it possible for 70 year olds to leg press 2000 pounds.

I'm aware that all religions have had imperfect representatives, but it seems that Christianity in the United States has had more than it's fair share. So, please Pat, for all of us who want to represent our savior in as authentic a way as possible, I beg you....shut the hell up!!

A Conversation About Trayvon Martin

Trayvon Martin. All of the chattering classes in America are constantly imploring us to have a "conversation about race".  What they really want is not a conversation, but rather a lecture. Any such conversation that doesn't result in a resounding guilty verdict of white America isn't what the chattering classes have in mind. Be that as it may, I do believe that the murder of this young man is as good a time as any to discuss race in America, and I will do so honestly. Most of you who read this blog know me so you can judge my views accordingly, measuring them against the full story of my life and work.

The facts of this story, as I know them raise only one serious question, why hasn't the shooter, Mr. George Zimmerman been taken into custody? A 17 year old, unarmed kid has been murdered by a 28 year old man, vaguely identified as a member of some neighborhood watch group, who had nothing better to do than roam around with a gun looking for trouble. Mr. Zimmerman's attorney is claiming self-defense, and since nobody knows precisely what happened in the 60 seconds prior to the shooting, perhaps it was. But, that's something for a jury to decide after a complete examination of the facts in a court of law. Since when does a police officer let a man walk free who just killed someone with a firearm on the shooters explanation that it was self-defense? I simply cannot imagine a similar outcome if the shooter was black and the dead teenager was white. And this contradiction is at the root of the anger felt among black Americans. For the first time in my lifetime I actually find myself agreeing with words flowing out of the mouth of Al Sharton. The fact that Zimmerman wasn't arrested on the spot is damning evidence of a cynical double standard that exists in our justice system. Black friends often tell me of the fear of being stopped by the police for the crime of "driving while black". I listen to them and a part of my heart breaks.

But this is where it gets tough. Crime statistics are stubborn things. The percentage of violent crimes committed by blacks is staggering. A study conducted and published in 1993(highlights of twenty years of surveying crime victims) stated that of the 1.3 million inter-racial violent crimes committed that year,75% involved white victims.  Why is it that nobody in their right mind would dare be caught walking around in any predominately black neighborhood in America after dark? If I am walking with my wife, from a restaurant to my car downtown after dark and I see a group of three black teenagers in baggy pants, hoodies, smoking cigarettes on the corner, is it racist of me to be scared? If I cross the street to avoid having to go near them, am I guilty of a hate crime? Actually, in my mind, if I saw three white teenagers similarly dressed on that same corner I would experience the same fear, however if the instinct for self-preservation means anything at all, it means that my fear isn't racist, but rational.

When I read the story of Trayvon Martin, I feel nothing but shame that the local police valued his life so little that they would let his killer go. But I also feel great confusion at how this particular case has been magnified beyond recognition, while everyday, black on black crime claims victim after victim and we hear not a word from Al Sharton, Jesse Jackson or any of the other racial saboteurs. Why is it that the black community glorifies the violent thug culture of Hip-Hop when the vast majority of victims of that pathology are black? Instead, in too many black neighborhoods and schools if a kid decides that he wants to rise above his circumstances by applying himself in school, he is derided as an Uncle Tom sell-out? Really? When is the black community, the majority of whom are hard working, law-abiding citizens going to reject the terrorists in their own ranks who are destroying the black family? Perhaps the local police in Sanford value Trayvon no less than his own community values the other Trayvons in their midst.

Do I believe that blacks get a fair shake in the legal system in this country? Absolutely not. Our criminal justice system too often favors the connected and wealthy at the expense of those who are neither. Do I believe that racism still exists in this country? Of course I do. The great sin of slavery and oppression in our nations legacy is not something easily overcome. But do I believe that the systematic destruction of many black communities can all be laid at the feet of white racism? Certainly not. At some point black Americans will need to exorcise their own demons, and take responsibility for years and years of self-inflicted wounds.

If I were King for a day, Mr. Zimmerman would be in police custody charged with first degree murder. He would be bound over for a jury trial and given the opportunity to prove his innocence. Further, every police officer involved in the decision to let him go free after shooting a 17 year old boy in cold blood would not only be fired immediately but persecuted to the full extent of the law. But even if I were King, nothing I could say or do would be enough for the parents of that young man. Today, that is where my heart is, praying for comfort in this the hour of every parents' worst nightmare.

Dealing With Anger

I leave for Boston in the morning to hear several prominent speakers from my profession. The purpose of the 36 hour event is to bolster one's enthusiasm level for the business. It's promoters have given it the rather odd name of "The Coaching Forum". I have chosen to go for three reasons. First, my enthusiasm level for this business is in dire need of bolstering. Second, the list of speakers includes two that I actually want to hear, and third, all my expenses are being paid.

This has been an odd day. It started well.  I got a lot done at the office, set several appointments for next week, and although I did lose a case that I had worked on back in February, I also managed to open a new case during an annual review with an old client. Then I went home to eat some lunch and saw that the weather forecast for Saturday in Richmond was for a 70% chance of rain. Instead of lunch I decided to cut the grass and get it done before Boston. Afterwards, I took a shower and headed out to Mom and Dad's to pay some bills for them. Once there, I learned that their plans for breakfast at Debbie's with some church friends had been cancelled because Dad had fallen on his way to take out the trash. It seems that he was left laying on the ground for over twenty minutes since he could neither get up unassisted, nor get Mom's attention. Mom finally saw him through the window and immediately called a nearby friend to help. The friend arrived about the time as the church friends showed up to take them to breakfast. Thankfully Dad was not injured in the fall, but it was all a bit too much for one day, so the breakfast outing would have to be rescheduled.

Although Dad looked fine physically when he was telling me the story, I noticed a trace of embarrassment on his face. How awful it must have been for him to be found laying helpless in the yard in front of his friends, unable to get up under his own power. Mom had brought a blanket to wrap him in since the grass was heavy with dew and dad was cold. As he told me the details, I felt a familiar anger rising up in my heart. How could God allow my father to get to the point where  every other day brings some fresh visitation of physical decay. Why would God not spare his faithful servant the indignity of it all? Of course, I know the answer, I know what all of my spiritually mature friends would say to me, if I shared my anger and frustration. And, they would be right. I'm quite aware of the mysteriousness of God's ways. I know about Job. I have committed to memory all of the verses about how in our weakness he is made strong. Still, I look into my Dad's eyes and see the frustration, and because I love him, the anger rises.

When I left them, they seemed fine. I returned to the office and finished up a few things, then went home for the day. Pam had bought a two pound pork loin home for dinner. It was nice out so I cooked it on the grill, 35 minutes at 425 degrees. As I sat next to the grill listening to it pop and sizzle, the anger began to recede. Soon it was all gone, replaced by simple melancholy. Tomorrow in Boston even that will be gone, until the next time.

Downton Abbey. Why Do I Love It?

I stumbled upon the British production of Downton Abbey about six months ago. Pam and I watched the second episode of season two first and were at first thoroughly confused. Being American, we didn't know the difference between a house maid and a lady's maid, hadn't a clue what a footman was, let alone a valet. Nevertheless we instantly were mesmerized by the stunning beauty and mystery of the estate house, and even more the richness of the story. Before long we were hooked. After the end of season two, I immediately went out and dropped $30 on the complete season one DVD collection with the bonus DVD about the making of Downton Abbey. Season three doesn't air until September so we have been reduced to watching reruns whenever we can. Its been quite awhile since I have been so invested in a television program. So, the question becomes, what's the attraction? Why do we love Downton Abbey so much?

First of all, even though the setting is grand, half of the show is actually filmed on location at the grand house itself, and it's a period piece, taking place in the years leading up to WWI, it is after all a glorified soap-opera. What American show can it be fairly compared with? Well, that's just it. There IS no American equivalent. Our soap-operas are things like Parenthood (very good) and 24 (awesome). But those shows are present day dramas which we can all identify with. Downton Abbey is about a time and place lost in dusty history books. It's pre-war Great Britain at it's peak of power. The Lord of Grantham presides over an inherited estate. He is a member in good standing of the aristocracy. The servants live in the big house but are employees, and in most every way that matters, are second class citizens. But, unlike Hollywood where all rich people are devious and all poor folks are virtuous, Downton Abbey presents all characters in all of their very human dimensions. Some of the "help" are indeed virtuous, but others are back-stabbing opportunists. The Grantham clan has a bit of everything from noble and dignified (Lord Grantham and Matthew Crawley) to petty and vicious (Ethel) to charmingly hilarious (the Dowager Countess). In other words, class and standing offer no guarantee of virtue. The servants in the house also run the gamut from treacherous and conniving( O'Brien and Thomas ) to sweet and noble(Anna) and everything in between. The producers of the show even present a gay character who isn't a 100%, gold-plated saint. In fact, this particular character is one of the biggest jerks in the entire cast, something that never happens in anything produced in Hollywood.

But there's something else. Downton Abbey exists in a time that didn't extend basic human rights to many of it's citizens. Women couldn't vote, workers had few of the protections of the modern welfare state, and the very rich had a far easier time navigating the justice system than did the working classes. I don't wax nostalgic for everything from Britain in 1914 by any means...and yet..There is something about the show that stirs in me a feeling of loss. In that day, there were a great deal of things that both classes shared, primary among them an understanding of the essential value of personal character. One's word, and one's honor were valued beyond price. There were clearly understood rules of conduct that if violated amounted to a indelible stain on one's character. To see such agreement of the importance of character throughout the many varied characters on the show is refreshing. The lack of any such agreement in today's culture is glaring by contrast.

I eagerly await season three and will soon become lost in the twists and turns that will surely buffet the great house. Even though its all about a past that is long gone, it does save me from the present nightmare of Jersey Shore, The Bachelor, and Celebrity Apprentice.

My Ghostly Family Tree

My octogenarian parents no longer drive themselves around much anymore. So, on the weekends we kids try to plan things for them to do. Last night I called my Mom to invite her and Dad over to the house today for an Irish lunch of Soda Bread and Potato Soup. I added that it would give them a chance to see Kaitlin before she heads back to school, and I even offered to come pick them up. No sale. They had plans. Something about a visit from Bobby and Bill, Aunt Pinky's two surviving sons coming over to catch up. Not to be denied, I inquired as to what their plans might be for lunch after church on Sunday. Wouldn't it be nice to go out to O'Charleys with them and Kaitlin? I offered to pick them up and take them back home afterwards. Too late. Apparently, an earlier invitation from Dad's two sisters had been too good to pass up. They would be dining at Debbie's with Emma and Nancy. So much for their empty social calender.


My mother was disappointed that I had no earthly idea who "Bobby and Billy" were. Evidently, both men live here in Richmond and are actively involved in performing music in nursing homes. They called out of the blue the other day and sat a date with Mom and Dad to catch up. "Don't you remember them Douglas?" Mom pleaded."They were your Aunt Pinky's two sons." Ok, first of all, Aunt Pinky was not MY aunt. She was my Grandfather's sister, making her Mom's aunt. The last time I laid eyes on her was probably some time in the late sixties. However, I do remember her. Who could forget Pinky, her of the hot, florid face, wreaking of moth balls, and constantly pinching my cheeks with those white-gloved hands? She was a Dixon, one of many colorful members of that loud and dramatic clan.


I could regale you for hours with the fables of  Dixon family history. First of all, there were the marvelous names, from Aunt Pinky, and Aunt Rosalee to Bubby, Bootsie, Admire and Montague. With names like these, drama was sure to follow. Montague's story was the stuff of legend. He was a lawyer who practised in Charlottesville during the week and returned to his farm in Buckingham on the weekend. Montague had a soft spot for the downtrodden and was always hiring the saddest of his clients to work for him on his farm, until one of them shot him in cold blood upon his return one dark and stormy night. Although his loss caused quite a stir, his contribution to Dixon family lore did not end with his untimely death for it was the ghost of Montague who appeared at my Grandmothers bedside on June 6, 1944 to reassure her that her two sons, Harry and John, both involved in the fighting that day, were in fact alive and well. But this appearance wasn't the first, last, or even most bizarre ghostly tale associated with the Dixons. One day when my mother was very young, all the men in the family were away, leaving only Mom, my Grandmother and Mom's very sick brother Lloyd. As fate would have it, Lloyd passed away and Grandmother was reduced to tears on the steps of the back porch. As she held my mother tightly and let out her tears, suddenly there appeared a small white Scottish Terrier at the bottom of the steps. Then a man with a white suit and a panama boater hat appeared beside him. My mother remembers to this day the gentleness of his eyes as he asked Grandma what was wrong. He stayed and comforted her and then left right before the men returned. None of them recalled seeing any such man or dog before, and no one ever saw him again. Mom has no doubt that he was an angel sent to comfort Grandma in her hour of grief. Just another day in the rich history of the Dixons.


No wonder, I suppose, why Mom seems so put out with me when I don't remember some random distant cousin three times removed. To her, its all part of the wild story of her life. To me its just people with awesome names.

Once Again, Shocked by Washington

I was shocked to learn today that the Congressional Budget Office revised upward the cost projections for ObamaCare. Back when the legislation was passed, the President had assured us that the total cost of the bill would come in under the magic number of 1 trillion dollars. In his State of the Union speech he had told us that the total cost, all in, would be 940 billion over ten years, or about what we had spent fighting Iraq and Afghanistan. The bean-counting, green eye shade, penny pinchers in Congress had accused the administration of accounting gimmicks. They pointed out that the ten year projections conveniently counted only 6 years of actual spending, while counting ten years of tax receipts, made possible by delaying full implementation until 2014. Obama countered that there would be so much savings wrought by the genius of his reforms that any future costs would be offset by the brilliance of his cost reduction strategies. Today, the CBO begs to differ. The revised costs of ObamaCare is now estimated to be 1.74 trillion over the next ten years, or roughly double what we all were led to believe.

Imagine that. A government program coming in severely over budget. I'm stunned. These are, after all, the best and brightest minds that academia has to offer. The president famously stacked his governing team with professors, career government employees, community organizers, and public policy advocates of every size, creed and ethnicity. No more would we be held back by men and women from the fever-swamps of commerce, finance and business, especially businesses that exist to earn evil profits. No, this administration would be manned( and womanned?) with only the best minds in the public sector. Surely, there weren't any problems we faced as a nation that couldn't be solved if only we rid ourselves of the insidious influence of the merchant class.

Actually, who could blame them? The kind of business leaders that have helped shape public policy under previous administrations had been the type who were highly skilled at promoting their own interest instead of the nations' interest. The knuckleheads that gave us subsidies for ethanol, farming, green energy, were all businessmen. Maybe once you're successful enough in business to become interested enough in government, you're already too far gone. The new definition of Crony Capitalist should be any businessman who travels to Washington, without the aid of a subpoena. All the great businessmen I have ever known have never shown the slightest interest in getting tangled up in politics. Even the great Warren Buffet had the wisdom to wait until he had already made his bones before trying to become the Democratic party's favorite billionaire.

It occurs to me that the one era in American history that produced the greatest economic growth happens to be the era from which no one can name a President. Here's a quiz. Without resorting to Google, name any three Presidents from the period between 1870 and 1900. (Jeopardy music playing). Hint, there were a total of 7 and one of them actually got elected despite tipping the scales at a robust 310 pounds..clearly before television. ( More Jeopardy music). Times up. Yeah, I thought so. You know the reason you don't know those guys? Because back then all of the smartest, most gifted and capable men went into business, not politics. Ever heard of Andrew Carnigie? You know, the guy who started as an immigrant with less than nothing and became the richest man in the world since Solomon, then spent the last half of his life giving it all away, building not only the finest concert hall in the country but over 1400 libraries in city after city across the country...THAT Andrew Carnigie. He was the brightest light this coutry produced during those years, and I dare say, we as a nation are better for it.

I  am not distressed at the lack of great men and women in politics. I rather long for the day when great men and women are not required to be in politics. Sure, there are times when we need greatness, but most of the time we need mere competence, let the greats go elsewhere. We will all be better off when they do.

The Education of Andrew Hemby

Your Honor, I would like to submit as Exhibit A in my case against public education in the United States, Mr. Andrew Hemby. Andrew is a fine young man, bright, eager and capable, but has somehow managed to graduate from Virginia Tech with an appalling lack of even entry level knowledge of the history of his country. However, what young Hemby lacks in knowledge, he makes up for in energy and a keen desire to learn. Inasmuch, he has asked me to prepare a reading list for him to introduce him to the grand story of this great Republic. I submit the following list as Exhibit B. It is not meant to be a comprehensive, complete survey of all of our history, just the basics, to give him just enough information so that he can hold forth intelligently when in a crowd of his peers.( I believe he wants to enter politics. )

1. Founding Brothers by Joseph Ellis                                     Revolutionary Period

2. American Lion, A Bigraphy of Andrew Jackson               Early 1800's


3.The Civil War: A Narrative by Shelby Foote                      Civil War

4. American Colossus by HW Brands                                     End of Civil War to 1900

5.The Forgotten Man by Amity Shales                                    Great Depression

6.The Gathering Storm by Winston Churchill                         1930's, leading up to beginning of WWII

7. Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William Shirer                                              "

8.Franklin & Winston by Jon Meacham                                  World War II to FDR's death

9 Witness by Whitaker Chambers                                             1950's and the Cold War


It is my hope that Mr. Hemby will actually read these books, not merely Google their reviews. I am confident that he will avail himself of this opportunity at self-improvement, and ultimately may one day mention me as a mentor in his first inaugural address.

A Great Party

Patrick is heading back to Nashville this morning after a successful recital and graduation party. The recital program went very well, but then the audience demanded an encore and Patrick made the critical error of not having anything prepared. But after an awkward pause he sat down at the $150,000, 9 foot grand piano and started to play an old jazz standard,"If I Had You", singing the lyrics with the help of his smart phone, and the entire atmosphere of the hall was transformed. Patrick's soft touch and unique flair was in sharp contrast to the highly technical, pounding style of his hired accompanist, and suddenly he had the whole room in the palm of his hand. Unfortunately, Patrick doesn't have a repertoire of such songs readily available for performance. If he had, we all would have set there, mesmerized for another hour. Great stuff.

Then everyone came over to the house for the party that Pam had planned. There was a Chick-fila party platter of nuggets and scores of homemade pies and desserts. Soon the place was filled with family and friends eating and laughing and enjoying the occasion. There's a sound that fills the place when friends are gathered to celebrate. It's a unique sort of hum, much like music, that communicates something profound. It's the sound of comfort, the sound of life well-lived. In between serving coffee, and picking up half-empty paper cups, I would hear familiar laughs from other rooms and think of how many years now I have heard those voices. These are the sounds that life long friends make, sounds that are irreplaceable.

My parents were there. It's a labor for them to be a part of a night like this one anymore. It takes Bill and Linda to pick them up, accommodations to be made for their seating and care, but there they were on the front row soaking everything in. What thoughts must go through their heads watching their Grandson, in a tuxedo singing songs in French and German? What a life to have lived that has taken them from the tobacco farms of Buckingham county to a house filled with their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, in the most uppity suburb of the state capital? I can't imagine what they must think of it all, but I suspect it's something between pride and astonishment, with a little exhaustion thrown in for good measure.

For the next week we will have Kaitlin home for spring break. Jon will be here with her. We will watch season two of Downton Abbey with them and Jessica and Katy. It will be great fun. Then spring break will be over and Kaitlin will head back to Wake, and Pam and I will resume our other life. That's the life that we live on the installment plan, two, three, four weeks without our kids. It's actually a great life. Just about the time I'm getting on Pam's last nerve, one of the kids comes home for a visit. Then, after a weekend of doing their laundry, cooking for them, and essentially waiting on them hand and foot, they leave, and we relax back into being with each other, astonished that we ever had the energy to be full-time parents. "Really?? We actually had two kids, full-time for twenty years??", we think as we collapse on the sofa.

We glance at the calender and notice that Easter is only four weeks away. Better buy Patch his plane ticket now before they get too expensive. We're already psyched.

Me, Molly, and Timing

Timing is everything. Bad timing is even more than everything, like when you were ten and caught a stomach virus on Christmas Eve. Bad timing is where bad luck becomes mysteriously connected with cosmic justice, like when you skip church to play golf only to throw out your back putting the clubs in the trunk.

So yesterday my kids are all home and everybody is getting all excited for the big wedding of a friend last night. Kaitlin is one of the bridesmaids and Patrick is singing a duet. All of our dearest friends will be there. We're all dressed up. Can't wait! Then on the way to the church I am visited by the same intestinal issue that has plagued me for months now, like that annoying person who always shows up at your door wanting to talk at the worst possible time. As we get closer and closer to the church it becomes clear that I will have to miss the festivities...no way I can sit in a pew for an hour in my rapidly deteriorating condition. So I drop off the family at the blessed event and drive back home for a night of misery. Its ok though, Patrick's duet was captured on video by Pam's cell phone. Patrick was amazing, and I got to see Kaitlin in her beautiful dress and up-do in the background of the video. She was about a quarter of an inch tall and looked stunning.

This morning I feel better. Tonight Patrick performs his senior recital at Richmond Piano for family and friends and then his belated graduation party follows back at the house. As if on cue, Molly jumps up on our bed at 2:30 in the morning, then immediately jumps down and throws up the only food that she has put in her stomach for the last 24 hours. She is not well, won't eat, can hardly navigate the stairs, and has laid around completely listless for the past two days. So, this morning I will take her to the vet to see what's wrong. Many scenarios run through my mind. Everything from, she just has a bug and will be fine in a day or so, to maybe she has some sort of intestinal blockage that is life threatening unless we spend $2,000 for immediate, emergency surgery, payment required in cash, upfront. Timing.

Kids coming home and a new hire at Grove

I will be enjoying a full house this weekend. Tomorrow my son will be arriving, along with my daughter and her boyfriend. There will be a wedding to attend, and Patrick will recreate his senior recital for family and friends at Richmond Piano. Then there will be the graduation party he never had back in December. With all the blur of activity, there won't be much time to just crash on the sofa and chat for a few hours, which is really what I'd rather do. Nevertheless, it will be wonderful to have the whole family sleeping under the same roof for the first time this year.


Strange, unsettling news received last night. After the spring preview concert at Godwin, Sherri Matthews informed the audiance that this will be her last year as the choral director of the most decorated music program in the State of Virginia, perhaps on the east coast for all I know. It seems that God has called her to become the Music Ministry coordinator or some such thing at Grove Avenue Baptist Church, which happens to be the church I attend. Within minutes of her announcement, Facebook was abuzz with the news, and I got a breathless call from my sister who was at the concert and witnessed the whole thing. Honestly, the first thing that raced through my mind was...the only profession with more back-biting, small-mindedness and Glee-like drama than public education is church work!! Poor Sherri is going from the frying pan to the fire, I thought. Then a flood of emotions hit me, feelings of loss and regret. Sherri had such a profound impact on Kaitlin and Patrick, and countless other kids who have been in her choirs over the years. She taught them not only to appreciate fine music and to perfect the craft of singing, but she also taught them the greater lesson of the joy of striving to be the best, of not settling for good enough. All that will end for future students at Godwin and for a moment, sadness came over me. Then I thought of the impact she will have a chance to have on the members of Grove Avenue. All of us could benefit from lifting our sights a bit when it comes to worship. An infusion of the manifold talents of Sherri Matthews on the music program of any church could have an incalcuable impact. If, in fact, she feels called by God to make this move, who am I to disagree? Who knows, maybe the big shots at Grove will put her in charge of the Christmas Eve service. God knows that trainwreck could use a dose of excellence!


Change, all around me. Nothing is forever. But change can sometimes bring energy and excitement, and in this case I think it will. Actually looking forward to hearing what Ken and Sherri have planned Sunday.

Obama Wins Reelection in 2012

       " To take from one, because it is thought that his own industry and that of his fathers has acquired too much, in order to spare to others, who, or whose fathers, have not exercised equal industry or skill, is to violate arbitrarily the first principle of association, the guarantee to everyone the free exercise of his industry and the fruits acquired by it."

                                                                                                    Thomas Jefferson


" When the people find that they can vote themselves money, that will herald the end of the Republic."

                                                                                                    Benjamin Franklin


 Tomorrow is Super Tuesday for the Republican Presidential race. As such, it is the day when some measure of clarity will come to that race and the probable nominee will be more certain. At this hour it still looks to be Romney's race to lose, as I predicted in a post from several months ago. But I am at the point now where I believe that absent some sort of catastrophic , unseen event, President Obama will win reelection in 2012, and there's virtually nothing that the Republican party can do about it. Let me explain...

I ran across a batch of statistics the other day from several different sources that reaffirmed one of my powerful gut instincts. I checked the figures to be sure that they weren't some slanted, agenda driven pseudo-statistic from some party think tank. They weren't. These were numbers derived by census bureau data and information from the IRS. Two statistics in particular made me see how hopeless is the cause of conservative, small-government politics.

First of all, back in 1968 when I was but a boy of ten, still dreaming of being a short stop for the New York Yankees, only 12% of the citizens of the United States of America paid no federal income tax. By the time the year 2000 rolled around, and I was an exhausted father of two adolescents, 34% of my fellow citizens paid no federal income tax. As I write this, that number has reached 49.5%, and I am a worn out 53 year old who reads everyday in the papers about how I need to pay more in taxes, not necessarily because raising my tax rates will bring more revenue to the treasury, but rather because of some Orwellian notion of "fairness".

The second set of numbers is I believe directly related to the first. In 1968, roughly 18% of the population was dependant on the federal government for at least some portion of their income. Today that number is 29.5% and growing more rapidly than ever owing to ageing baby-boomers who are now retiring in ever increasing numbers.

Lest you think this is just another rich guy "blaming the poor", think again. I acknowledge freely that we were placed in this mess by members of both parties and Presidents from both sides of the aisle. After all, the Earned Income Tax Credit that took so many people off the tax rolls was introduced by Nixon and enhanced by none other than Ronald Reagan. When I say dependant on government I'm not just talking about people on direct welfare assistance payments. I'm also referring to big shot bankers, insurance company and car company directors who mismanage their companies and then lobby the government for bailouts. I'm talking about public employee unions who have the sweet deal of negotiating with bought and paid for politicians for generous benefits where nobody in the room is representing the tax-payer. I'm also talking about anybody out there who believes that anything from the government is free simply because they're not paying for it themselves,  free health care, free contraceptives, free education, etc.

The bottom line is that this country has now crossed the Rubicon, statistically speaking. There are now officially more people who have a vested interest in a powerful leviathan government, than there are people who want the government to leave them alone. The Democratic party caters to that citizen, and there are much more of them, and will be in the future. There have always been fewer Peters to borrow from and more Pauls to pay.  Relaxation of immigration laws will admit more people more likely to vote for the party of government. Young people, freshly graduated from our institutions of higher learning, with notable exceptions, will generally buy in to the view of government as wealth-redistributor. An older and older citizenry will look askance at anyone in Washington dumb enough to want to reform Social Security. So, there you have it. People like me better get used to paying more and more. Additionally, I better get used to complaining about it less and less.

Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson were so right all those years ago. But what do they know...just a couple of rich, dead white guys.