Monetizing My Blog....a bust!

What I was hoping would become a major source of my retirement income has turned out to be a bust. That's right, faithful reader, monetizing my blog has turned out to be the empty pot at the end of the rainbow. After six weeks of the great experiment, I have netted a whopping $28.14. Put another way, at this rate after a year I will have earned enough money to pay 25% of one month's premium for my Obamacare health insurance policy! So, I guess my dream of retiring in three years will have to wait. In Google Adsense's defense...the process was quick and easy. But, fear not dear reader. Let not your heart be troubled. The purpose and therefore the motivation for The Tempest has never been financial. I write this blog for entirely mental health reasons, as in...maintaining mine!

Having a public forum for the purposes of self expression is about the coolest thing ever. The fact that people actually enjoy reading is even cooler, astonishing in fact. Having come up with something to write about 1,100 times in five years might suggest to some an unhealthy obsession with the written word. To others it might fairly be viewed as someone who perhaps values too highly his own opinions. But here's the thing...until you go to the trouble of writing down for public scrutiny your opinions of events, you don't realize how contradictory and biased they are! If anything, these past five years have illustrated the flaws in my thinking more so than the virtues. I have often contradicted myself. I find that my mind can be changed on a matter after reading an old, uninformed opinion. Keeping a record of one's opinions can be embarrassing and humbling, but it can also help reinforce the truth. Some truths are timeless, after all.

The fact is, there's a part of me that enjoys controversy. I actual like stirring the pot. If these blogs don't irritate at least one person, then where's the fun in that? Opinions provoke, and provocation can be great fun. But according to Google Adsense, fun will have to be my only reward. 

This is the day...

Dreary rain falling outside has melted yesterday's snow. It's a Tuesday and the clock is ticking. A man who lives to age 80 gets 29,100 days on this earth. After each one is done, they never come back. A man who is 57 has fewer days ahead of him than behind him, 20,000 already spent days stretching behind him obscured by the dust of the road. Today is what we have. Dreary, rainy Tuesday is the moment that counts. Tomorrow might be better. The sun might be shining tomorrow. But tomorrow might never get here. Today is the thing.

Most days carry with them no memories. The vast majority of them are uneventful, indistinguishable units of time on a calendar. Then something spectacular happens and a day becomes plated in gold, the birth of a child, a wedding, an anniversary. Others are marked in black, someone dear gets sick, an accident, someone beloved slips away unexpectedly. But most days lack drama, nothing of consequence happens and one blends into the next like water colors. 

But is this as it should be? Is life to be lived in long seasons of sameness interrupted by the spectacular and the heartbreaking? I think not. Maybe everyday should be gold plated, everyday an adventure. If our hearts could take it, wouldn't living everyday as if it were our last make a difference? Sure, it would be exhausting, but maybe each day should end with us collapsing in bed completely spent. Maybe we're all supposed to arrive at the end with scars all over us, battered by an energetic life, not as a well preserved corpse about whom people say, "Oh, he looked so good for his age."

"This is the day that the Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it."

Why President Obama is Not My Enemy

Writing a blog is sometimes fraught with peril, especially when the subject is politics. It is very easy to be misunderstood. My limitations as a writer can sometimes result in people jumping to conclusions that I never intended to convey. Today's topic might very well be one of those times, but here goes.

I'm not terribly fond of the Democratic Party, have never been a big supporter of the current President. This will come as no surprise to any of you. But what may surprise some of you is this truth...President Obama is not my enemy. 

In this hyper-polarized and divided nation, compromise and accommodation have somehow become synonymous with weakness. Any compliment paid to the other side feels to some like a betrayal. Well, in my opinion, this graceless, scorched earth style of politics is toxic and may very well eventually kill this country.

Over the weekend, after the sudden passing of Justice Scalia, social media almost immediately erupted into a volcano of bad faith, some on the right voicing accusations of assassination by dark leftist forces, some on the left positively gleeful at the death of such a powerful enemy. It was shameful and unworthy of us.

The thing is, I have no enemies in politics, I have opponents. Even Donald Trump isn't my enemy. Neither is Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders. They are politicians with whom I disagree, nothing more. Here's how it works:

President Obama is a good man. There are things to admire about him. We are human beings first, and as human beings go, there's a lot to like. He's a good father, for one thing, and by all accounts a fine husband. As the first family, they model all of the right qualities for our nation, a very good thing. As President, he has had some terrific moments. The speech he gave at the funeral of those killed in the attack on Gabby Gifford was beautiful. When speaking about the youngest victim of that tragedy he said, "I want us to live up to her expectations. I want our democracy to be as good as Christina imagined it. All of us, we should do everything we can to make sure this country lives up to our children's expectation." Those were beautiful words that put a lump in my throat, worthy of a President.  Although his gifts as a speaker were oversold, he has moments of brilliance, and the spoken word is one of a President's most valuable tools. The fact that I disagree with him about policy cannot and should not blind me to his gifts or force me to actively delight in his failure. 

Listen, President Obama and I, by and large want the exact same things for this country. We both want a robust economy, more and better paying jobs, better and cheaper health care, a peaceful world. In other words, we share common goals. Where we part ways is over tactics, not strategy. He is of a political philosophy that values centralized planning. His default assumptions about the problems we face are that no problem is without a government solution. In his mind, government is a positive, transformative, benign force for all things good. I totally and completely reject that line of thinking. For me, central planning bureaucrats are not agents of progress, but obstacles to progress. In my opinion, a government large and powerful enough to provide for your every need is a government large and powerful enough to take from you everything you have, and if history has taught us anything it is this...centralized power in the wrong hands is the most dangerous thing on earth.

So, I try to vote for those least enamored with blind faith in the redemptive power of government. But, as is often the case in a democracy, sometimes my guys lose. When that happens, I don't immediately start praying for my political opponents to all suddenly die in their sleep! I have never wanted President Obama to be a failure, largely because if he is a failure, my country fails. My faith instructs me to pray for my leaders. It makes no exception for party.

In November, we will elect a new President. At this point, I have no idea who it will be, although at this writing, the favorites are Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, Bernie Sanders and Ted Cruz. None of them will be my enemy on innauguration day. We have a system of government that provides checks and balances on our worst instincts. I will trust that system of government to protect me from their worst policy prescriptions. Whoever the next President is will be the beneficiary of my prayers. I don't think this makes me naive or soft. I think it makes me a good citizen. Does it mean I am insufficiently partisan? I can only hope so.

Dogs Are Ruthless

On this Saturday morning, February 13, in Short Pump, Virginia, the sun is shining brightly. But it's only 21 degrees. The high will only reach the upper 20's. Tonight it will drop to 10. For my friends unlucky enough to live up north, you're probably thinking, "Wow! For February that's downright balmy! Let's have a picnic!" To which I say...bless your hearts.

For my Deep South and California friends, the mere idea of 10 freaking degrees is unfathomable. You guys don't own enough clothing to survive such a day as this. So, weather is a very subjective experience. When I was younger, I wouldn't have hesitated to bundle up and head outside on a day like today. I remember once playing golf with my brother in a snow storm. I was 13 years old and very much the idiot. He was 23 and without excuse. 

Sometimes my wife complains about the fact that I still do foolish things more appropriate and understandable for a teenager than a 57 year old man. Fair enough. But there is one thing that has managed to chasten my tomfoolery, one part of my arrested development that prudence has restored. I hate cold weather. Gone are the days of 35 degree rounds of golf. Three mile runs on frigid mornings? Not a chance. I look out the windows of my awesome new library at the bright sunshine, watching it have zero effect on the frozen, crunchy grass of my front yard and I'm thinking, "No way I'm going outside today."

Lucy, on the other hand, has other ideas.

She has already had a frantic, exhilarating, madcap adventure in the backyard which featured gnawing on an azalea branch that just happened to somehow fall off one of the bushes, several high speed figure-eight laps, and one epic bowel movement. Now she has cast her eyes into the front yard. She stands there at the front door gazing out longingly. Then she sits, turns towards me with her pink tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth looking like a complete lunatic, "So, wanna take me for a walk??"

So, after ten minutes of this expert human shaming campaign, I give in. I'm about to bundle up and take this crazy dog for a walk. Dogs are ruthless.

A Food Review

Ok...I'm very tired of writing about politicians and politics. So, this morning a review of some truly awesome takeout I had last night.

When my wife left the house yesterday morning, she informed me that she was going to make sausage and lentil soup for dinner last night. I was thrilled. Any dinner which features sausage as a main ingredient gets my vote, but this particular soup is fabulous. All day long thoughts of the meal that awaited me once the day was through gave me hope that the gyrations of the stock market would all be forgotten once I sat down in front of a that steaming bowl of awesomeness.

But then, at 5:30 my wife walked into the house loaded down with a strange white plastic bag and declared, "I know that I promised you sausage and lentil soup, but I've had a long and crazy day, I'm exhausted and too tired to make it tonight, but...I picked up a treat at Q!!"

For the uninitiated, Q is short for Q Barbeque, a fast food style Barbeque place less than two minutes from our house. Despite the fact that it is clean, has no hubcaps hanging from the ceiling, and isn't really a uh...restaurant, it serves up some incredible food. Anyway, just recently we discovered a new menu item called beef brisket chili. I am here to tell you, it is very good. How good? Let me try to explain.

It's Texas style chili with chunks of brisket swimming around in the bowl. Actually, not really swimming since it's much too thick for that. Sliced green and red peppers are in there too. But there's some sort of sause or spice of some sort that makes the dish. At first you don't think it's particularly spicy...just delicious. The chunks of meat as delectable as anything you've ever put in your mouth. But about five spoonfuls in you begin to feel the heat. It starts at the corners of your mouth, then makes its way into your nose, which begins to run a little, delicately, like your wife's nose runs during the makeup scene in one of those Lifetime movies. Before long, your eyes start to water. You are forced to pour a second glass of tea, then a third. But there is simply no way you're not going to finish this bowl of chili because it's the most delicious thing you've had to eat in months. You take a break, eat a corn muffin, drink some more tea, then pound the last spoonful. It's the kind of chili that should be eaten while listening to some 70 year old blues guitarist. You glance at the clock. It's after six. You ask yourself, "Where did I put that bottle of Pepsid??"

February and F-Bombs

I am no stranger to the February Funk. A couple of years ago I wrote a piece about it entitled "The Curse of February." Every word of it was true and remains so today. But, this year feels different.

I suppose that when you endure February amidst the backdrop of a presidential campaign season, things feel worse. Even though elections are an essential part of living in a democracy, and for the most part a healthy exercise, there is a certain amount of silliness to them as well, and this year, a new level of vulgarity, a tawdry tinge to things not seen before. Most of it comes courtesy of Mr. Trump who recently has felt emboldened enough by his success to inject language into his speeches that heretofore had been considered toxic for serious politicians. Within days I'm sure we will all be treated to the first intentional F-Bomb drop by a Presidential candidate in U.S. History. If past is prologue, Trump's poll numbers will go up afterwards, especially among evangelicals!!

I don't know...maybe it's no big deal. Presidential candidates, I'm sure, use this sort of language in private all the time. If we say we want authenticity in our public servants, maybe a coarsening of their language is what we get. Listen, I'm no angel when it comes to the occasional salty word. Sometimes, when trying to express a difficult emotion, a well timed four letter one does quite nicely. But, I'm not running for President. I prefer a minimum standard of dignity from those aspiring to lead my country. I like to believe that the men and women running for the highest office in the land have the requisite vocabulary needed to communicate their thoughts to us without resorting to the lowest level of communication we share...the profane. But, now that pu**y and s**t are out of the bottle, something tells me they will never go back in. ( I use the asterisks here just in case my Mother might somehow be reading this in heaven...).

But, I digress. February is with us for another 17 cold and dreary days. There's Valentines Day to look forward to, and President's Day. But mostly, thin clouds, a small sky and a diminished sun, trying their best to simulate a real month. 

Thanks, New Hampshire.

It is now official. The folks over at Ripley's can go ahead and print it in their latest edition. Hillary Clinton is the worst Presidential candidate in history. Despite having more campaign cash than anybody, more name recognition than anybody, and the full throated support of most of the media, she just got...trounced, whipped, embarrassed, and dare I say, manhandled, by a 74 year old Socialist in New Hampshire. This after getting waxed in 2008 by a first term black senator with a thinner resume than Kim Khardashian. It would appear that Mrs. Clinton is the most overrated politician of this or any other age.

On the Republican side, it's becoming harder and harder to imagine a scenario that doesn't feature Donald Trump as the nominee. The only person who can beat him now is Ted Cruz, and I'm not sure even about that. Rubio, Bush and Kasich are finished. Although Kasich finished second, it was a very distant second in a state he had practically lived in for the past year. And now, he's broke. There is no reason whatsoever for Chris Christie, Carla Fiorina or Ben Carson to remain in the race. It will be a two man fight the rest of the way between two men who the Republican establishment truly despise.

So, the prospect of a fall election featuring dueling populists is starting to become more and more likely. Part of me thinks that if Hillary implodes, the big cheeses in the Democratic Party will step in and insist that Joe Biden get in the race. Despite the support of his enthusiastic supporters, Bernie Sanders isn't going to become the next President of the United States. Come one people. We aren't freaking Venezuela! Of course, in my lifetime the Democratic Party actually nominated Walter Mondale and Mike Dukakis, so anything is possible I suppose. 

But let's say for a minute that it winds up being Trump v. Sanders. We would have one candidate appealing to our fear, and another appealing to our greed. One guy promising to build a wall, and another guy promising to make health care and a college education a free entitlement. One guy who has never been elected to anything before, and another guy who has never had a real, private sector job in his entire life, surviving for over 50 years at the public trough. One guy who thinks a country can be governed by the sheer brilliance of his personality and another guy who thinks that the answer to every problem we face can only be found by expanding the power and reach of government. It will be Benito Mussolini v. Karl Marx redux. Instead of " It's morning in America', more like..."It's midnight in America. Do you know where your kids are?" Both of these men will be in their 70's if they get elected.

'Merica.

Good News and Bad News

I run a terrible risk in this space when I write about personal health issues. For one thing, my sister will get mad at me because if you even insinuate anything physically unpleasant around her, she gets the vapors. My wife might protest that I am offering too much information...that most of the people who regularly read this blog have their own health problems, so they don't need to hear about mine...an excellent point. So, instead of giving you a blow by blow account of the last 24 hours, I'll let Dave Berry do it for me.

A dear, sick, and twisted friend of mine sent me an email last week offering this observation: "As someone in the health field, I feel it to be my duty to let you know just what you're getting into with regards to your up-coming procedure. Let me know if this info changes your mind about going through with it."

Attached was a column written by one of my favorite satirists, Dave Barry. He too had endured a recent colonoscopy, and unlike me had no reservations about writing of his experiences. I won't produce the entire article, but the following paragraph is, believe me, right on the money!! It captures the essence of what it is like to drink the four liters of swill, and what follows. His stuff was called MoviPrep. Mine was Prep335.

"MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic here, but: Have you ever seen a space shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink the second half of the MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not eaten yet!"

For me, this meant missing the entire half time show...from what I have read, this turned out to be a blessing. That's all I can say about the night without violating the admittedly lax internet decency laws. The actual procedure was a piece of cake. The last thing I heard was an exchange between my doctor and the anesthesiologist:

Doctor: Did you hear that they said that last night over 20 million chicken wings were consumed?

Anesthesiologist: Poor chickens...

The next thing I heard was an enthusiastic nurse asking me if I would like some ginger ale. Just like that, I was on my way home. Results to follow in a week or so, but so far, so good.

On a completely unrelated note...yesterday I received some bad news about a kid that I taught back in my youth group days. Every so often it happens. Kids lose their way sometimes. It's hard becoming an adult. Most of the news I get about the kids I taught is wonderful, someone got married, someone got a huge promotion, someone else is having a baby. But then, bad news comes, and it's devastating...still. I'm always surprised. No matter how troubled kids may have been, I suppose I always feel like they had enough potential to eventually figure it out. When the bad news comes, I think back to my encounters with him or her. I wonder why I couldn't get through to them, I ask myself whether I tried hard enough. Then regret sets in. But I remind myself that there's much more good than bad. 

And then, I want to hug my own kids a little closer.

So Pumped For My Fast

With the exception of the desk chair, the library is complete. Pretty cool. I will take great comfort from this room today as I subsist on jello, bottled water, black coffee, and the occasional Popsicle. It's 8:15am and I'm already starving. Might have had something to do with the stomach-expanding last supper I had last night at Glory Days...

Worth it though. That's one Chicago dog, six teriyaki wings, six onion rings, and three celery sticks slathered in blue cheese dressing. By the time I was finished, the only thing left was the sauce bespotted basket liner...and I had to fight the temptation to lick that clean. I believe it's called, "getting your money's worth." Alert readers will notice Pam's more balanced, nutritious meal in the background of this photograph. Yes, glazed grilled salmon and steamed vegetables are the perfect point, counter-point to my self-indulgent feast. However, it should be noted that she copped two onion rings off my plate...she's no culinary saint.

A friend on Facebook, when reminded of my predicament, asked this question..."Does this mean no Sunday lunch?" Not, "Oh dear Doug. I'm so sorry you have to endure this sort of thing on Super Bowl Sunday." Not even a, "Don't worry Doug, it will be over before you know it." No, my friend only wanted to know how my gastrointestinal troubles were going to inconvenience her after church plans! Well, I'm not going to name names here but, Leigh Ann Fort, don't worry. Pam and I will be going out to eat after church like always. I will drink my complimentary ice water while the rest of you pound that plate of nachos. I'm a big boy. I can take it.

Last night Pam and I Facetimed both of our kids. What an astounding age we live in. I touched one little button on my iPad, and twenty seconds later their bright, crystal clear faces appeared on the screen. We talked and laughed, and they got a guided tour of the new library. There were no glitches. It cost me absolutely nothing. It came to me courtesy of the boundless creativity and innovation of the private sector and free enterprise. If we weren't so jaded and entitled as a people we would be more appropriately amazed and grateful. I still remember what it was like communicating with Pam 35 years ago when we were dating and she was away at college. I had to wait until after 9 o'clock in the evening to call her...on my black dial up phone. If our conversation lasted more than fifteen minutes the would be hell to pay when the C&P telephone bill came in the mail at the end of the month. So, I seldom called. We wrote letters instead...love letters, some of them quite juicy as I recall. It's a lost art today, I think. Still, FaceTime technology is awesome.

In Praise of the First Amendment

The last piece of the library gets delivered today, a third bookcase. Then Pam and I will have a blast shopping at Hobby Lobby for all of the incumbent nicnackery required to give the room that finished look. I love that store. For not a whole lot of money, you can buy something that looks like it could have been salvaged from an antiques barn in Vermont, when in fact it was slapped together in some Taiwanese sweatshop two weeks ago. Nothing quite says  Early-Americana like a pair of wood grained plastic bald eagle bookends manufactured by Asian adolescents. But, such is the brave new world of global free trade.

Yesterday, I posted a couple of very irreverent photos/cartoons lampooning several Presidential candidates. I include them here for those of you who may not have seen them yesterday:

It's Paula Trump ya'll!!

Grandma, Grandpa...stop it!!

It occurs to me what a privilege it is to do this. How great is it that we live in a country where we are allowed to take cheap shots at those who presume to lead us? How wonderful is it to have First Amendment protections? How glorious a thing is free expression? Whenever I see something on Facebook ripping someone on my side over some hypocritical thing or another, I think to myself...that's actually pretty funny, and great. Of course the stuff ripping the other side seems even funnier and greater to me, but that's as it should be. The point is, for most of recorded history, Kings, princes and lesser petty tyrants took a very dim view of this sort of thing, and anyone caught making wisecracks about leaders met with a bloody and violent end. The Tower of London stands as the ultimate political oppression museum, a poignant reminder of what political life was like for 99% of human beings that have ever lived on this planet.

But not us. Thanks to an admittedly flawed collection of white men from the 18th century, we have the U.S. Constitution, and thanks to James Madison's bull-headed insistence on a Bill of Rights, I sit here at my desk spewing out opinionated venom at any politician who pisses me off.

God Bless America

My New Library

My new library furniture came yesterday, everything except the desk chair which had to be back ordered and won't be here until March, and one more bookcase which we didn't know we wanted until they put these two together. I couldn't be happier about how it all turned out. It's beautiful. I feel smarter just sitting here! Lucy isn't exactly thrilled. She tiptoes around, sniffing mightily, annoyed that the chairs aren't big enough for me and her. The first thing Pam did was rip down the window curtains because they didn't match the rug. I didn't even know that matching curtains with rugs was a thing.

Writing my first blog at this desk feels weird...like I should write something intelligent this time, with no fart jokes, and better grammar. We'll see.

I lost a cousin yesterday. John "Bubby" Dixon died after a long illness. He was a legend in my Mother's family. His father, my Mother's brother, was a tank driver in Patton's army during WWII. Bubby was awarded multiple Purple Hearts for his combat services during the Vietnam war. He was older than me, closer in age to my brother Donnie, who drove down from Maryland yesterday to be at his side. We weren't close, the Dixon's stayed in Nelson County, while the Dunnevants moved away. My most searing memory of him was when I was 8 years old at my Grandmothers funeral. She had been killed in a head on collision with a vehicle driven...by Bubby. He was devastated, distraught beyond description. For an 8 year old, it created an unforgettable image. Soon after that experience, he signed on to fight the Vietcong. Now he's gone. Donnie called last night with the news, his voice cracking with emotion. I regretted not going to see him...he was part of my Mother. I should have been there.

I have three more days of eating left before my Super Bowl fast. 

This jug seems to grow larger and more menacing with each passing day. On Sunday morning, I will fill it with lukewarm water and empty the handy lemon flavor pack into the mix. Between 5:00 and 10:00 pm I will need to somehow drink the entire gallon. This, after a day of eating nothing but jello and Popsicles. Seriously? We can put a man on the moon, but this is the best we can do in the gastrointestinal sciences? I read somewhere that some people throw a little vodka into the mix. Intriguing. But I want to be in full command of my facilities when this stuff kicks in...nothing would be worse than a stumble and fall on your way to the toilet!

Oh, great! My first library inspired blog, and I end up using the word toilet!! You can dress a guy up...but you can't take him anywhere!

My Weekend and a Movie Review

Spent this past weekend in beautiful Columbia, South Carolina visiting my daughter and her husband and their giant clown of a dog, Jackson Fitzgerald Manchester:

He is everything that our Lucy is not, afraid of nothing, a lumbering mass of fur and slobbering kisses, and about the most loving creature you'll ever meet. For now, Jackie-Jack is the closest thing we have to a grandchild, so I feel some primal urge to bore you with the above two pictures.

While we were there, we watched The Martian. Pam had wanted to watch it during last week's snowstorm, but I refused. I was suffering from acute cabin fever as it was, so there was no way I was going to make it worse by watching Matt Damon trapped on an entire planet by himself. Besides, I've never been much of a science geek. I mean, science is great, I benefit from its pursuit and all, but I've always been uncomfortable around its biggest fans. Something inside me is annoyed by the smug assurance of the science crowd, their presumption that everything can be explained by science, that anything that won't succumb to their calculations is nothing more than charming myth. Of course, that's just me. Everyone else in the world these days seems in awe of science and scientists.

So, I hadn't particularly wanted to see this movie. Many of the reviews were all about the mastery of science, the power of the mind of man unleashed on even the most intractable problems producing triumph after triumph. I half expected the film to have an intermission where a white-coated scientist comes out on stage and lectures the audience about global warming. But then, I actually watched the thing. Wow.

Yes, everyone involved in this story is super smart. The brain power called forth to keep a man alive on an inhospitable planet 125 million miles from Earth, is truly an awe-inspiring thing to behold. But what I took away from the movie wasn't the infinite capacity of the mind of man to solve problems. The hero of the movie wasn't science so much as ....work.

We see Matt Damon's character hauling wheelbarrows full of Martian soil for hours on end. We watch him using power tools of every description, we see him tending to his potatoe garden with the back breaking skill of a farmer. At every turn he works. Grinding, physical labor is his life, because his life depends upon it. Yes, his scientific training as a world class botanist is on display, and it is quite impressive. But what makes it all work...is work.

I remember one time my Dad telling me that there wasn't any such thing as work that was "beneath you." If it was important enough for somebody to do, then it was important enough for you to do. He would usually launch into this speech when I was spreading cow manure in the garden. I suppose I took him at his word since my first paying job was mucking horse stalls at the State Fair of Virginia.

Anyway, The Martian was a fine film, worth the nearly two and a half hours it took to watch the thing. It was about the triumph of the entire human spirit, everything that makes us who we are...our mind and it's limitless capacity to solve problems and the miracles that come when we couple intellect with hard work.

Iowa Observations

So, maybe Donald Trump isn't invincible after all. Ted Cruz went into Iowa, came out against the most sacred cow of all times-the ethanol subsidy gravy train- and WON. If Marco Rubio had had one more day he would have knocked Trump out of second place. Amazing. I'm thinking that Donald Trump's Twitter feed is going to be the center of the middle school universe over the next several days.

On the Democrat side, it was like kissing your sister...a tie. Really?? Of course, Hillary declared victory. Bernie was having none of it, thrusting his tight fist into the air in front of his frenzied supporters, looking for all the world like what Che Guevara might have looked like had he survived into old age.

Poor Jim Gilmore. He's having a difficult time connecting to voters. By difficult I mean...impossible. The one person in all of Iowa who stood up at a caucus site in support of the former Virginia governor won the night with this great line..."slow and steady wins the race...and nobody has had a slower start than Jim Gilmore!"

Well, as a Virginian, it's high time that I stepped up and came to his defense. Might I suggest a few campaign slogans for the Gilmore team?

# Expect Less

# Charisma is Overrated

# Time For a President We Can All Forget

# It's Time For Millard Filmore's Second Term

# Hope. Change, and a really cheap suit.

On to New Hampshire!!

How I Would Vote if I were an Iowan.

If I were an active, engaged citizen of Iowa, I would have a very difficult decision to make. How to vote?

That's right, I said how to vote. This early in the Presidential nominating process, its more about how than who. Let me explain.

If I were a Democrat, the choice would be...do I want to finally reward Hillary for paying her dues, putting up with all of Bill's philandering all these years? Do, I want to make it up to her for leaving her in the lurch for Barack back in 2008? Or do I want to go with my heart and reward the only guy in my lifetime who has run for the highest office in the land as a Democrat who had the guts to admit his Socialism?

If I were a Republican, the decision would be harder. Do I vote for who I believe would make the best President, or do I vote for the candidate who I believe stands the best chance to defeat Trump? Here's how that process would work for me:

First, I would eliminate everyone from the lower tier of candidates who have zero chance of winning.

Goodbye Huckabee, Santorum, and Gilmore.

Then I would nix all those candidates who just rub me the wrong way. Its not their fault really, its just something weird about them that I can't quite get passed...nothing personal.

Goodbye Jeb Bush and John Kascich.

I think that leaves me with five alternatives to the Donald. At this point, I will temporarily eliminate Ted Cruz in favor of the four candidates who I believe would actually make decent Presidents. All of them have flaws, none of them are perfect. But as I trudge through the snow storm, through the corn field to the Caucus site, I remind myself that the choice I have to make very much requires me to not let the perfect be the enemy of the good. I must balance the good against the bad to make the best out of what are my available alternatives. Therefore, I reason thusly...

Rand Paul. The only candidate from either party who seems totally committed to smaller government.

Carly Fiorina. She has actual business acumen, rather than the inherited kind. I like her intelligence.

Chris Christie. Tough gig, being a Republican governor of a state like Jersey. Like his style and the way he handles himself in a debate.

Marco Rubio. Like his youth, vigor, and intelligence. LOVE his back story and how his deep love and appreciation for this country always shines through.

Of these four, today, Feb. 1st, 2016, as an Iowan who is voting for who I think would ultimately make the best President, I would go with Marco Rubio.

But, if my primary motivation was doing whatever I had to do to end the Trumpian nightmare, on this night...I would vote for Ted Cruz. He seems best positioned to win...tonight.

I'll deal with the potential Ted Cruz nightmare later!

February 7th. the Toilet Bowl...

If I were tasked with coming up with a list of the all-time worst opening sentences for a blog, this would surely be at or near the top:

".......Today I had an appointment with a Gastorintestinal Specialist."

So, I apologize in advance for what follows. Yes, it's true, I did have an appointment with a Gastrointestinal Specialist, a Dr. William Brand, or GI Bill, for short. Nice guy. Knowledgable and pleasant, in a Dr. Rodgers sort of way. I found that he spent a lot of time finishing my sentences for me, as if he knew that the subject at hand was difficult to talk about, so part of his job was helping me talk through the gross parts...and all of it are the gross parts. But GI Bill got me through it with my dignity intact. 

GI Bill stressed the importance of scheduling a colonoscopy as soon as possible. I agreed and promised to sit down with his scheduler on my way out. Before I knew what was happening, I had a 6:30 AM appointment penciled in for Monday the 8th of February, compete with explicit instructions of what I needed to do in the 24 hours prior to my big day. From daybreak on Sunday morning, the 7th, I am to have an all-liquid diet consisting of water, coffee, jello, Popsicles, chicken broth and the like. At 5 pm on Sunday, I am to start drinking one 8oz. glass of PEG 3350 every 15 minutes until half of the gallon jug is gone. I was assured by GI Bill that the lemon flavoring that comes with the concoction makes the experience, "not nearly as horrible as it used to be." I thought of the great line from Julius Caesar, " damning with faint praise..."

Then the instructions take a sudden, darker turn with this beauty..."at 10pm, resume drinking one 8oz. glass every 15 minutes until the gallon container is empty...if you experience nausea, slow your intake! No way! If I start experiencing nausea, I'm gonna pound the rest of the jug all at once!! Morons...

As disconcerting as all of this was, I had made my peace with the inevitable when I got back to the office and called Pam to fill her in on the plan. It was then when she reminded me that my appointment was Monday, Feb. 8th. The day after the Super Bowl!! That's right, sports fans, my 24 hours of all liquid hell will be taking place on one of the most delicious days of the year. While the rest of you will be throwing back nachos, pizza, Italian sandwiches, meatballs, bacon, cheese, bratwurst, hot sausages,  and washing it all down with beer, I'll be chowing down on six different flavors of jello. About the time all of you will be enjoying the Super Bowl...Ill be getting intimately acquainted with the Toilet Bowl!

But, GI Bill assures me that this procedure can't wait until the Spring. No no...it must be done right away. So, looks like I'll be having an all liquid diet Super Bowl experience.

That's just how I roll.

Falwell Endorses Trump?

Alright kids, the 2016 Presidential election has now entered the Twilight Zone. I mean, it's been weird for quite a while already, but today the weirdness quotient went through the roof. The President of Liberty University, Jerry Falwell Jr. endorsed Donald Trump for President of the United States of America.

That's the rough equivalent of saying something like, "Billy Graham announced today from his deathbed that back in 1955 he had an inappropriate relationship with Fidel Castro," or "Famous leftist actor Sean Penn today gave his enthusiastic endorsement to Mike Huckabee's candidacy."

Ok, Liberty University is the largest Christian University in the Cosmos. It's core mission is to provide quality education to young skulls full of mush with a biblical worldview. That particular perspective takes a dim view of stuff like divorce, and abortion, vices like gambling and pornography, and encourages it's students to askew the lure of money and materialism as the be all and end all of life. So...the school's President comes out with a full-throated endorsement of a man who is on his third wife, has been pro-choice all of his natural life, has made his living building casinos, and has carefully crafted for himself an unparalleled reputation as the very definition of materialistic excess. Wait...what?

Now listen, I understand that Christians can disagree when it comes to politics. Heck, I disagree with my own kids about politics all the time, so I get it. And I also know, that when we as citizens enter the voting booth, we are not electing a Sunday School teacher. We often have to make a pragmatic choice between two flawed candidates, neither of whom we would want anywhere near a Sunday School class. Many times it comes down to...who will do the least harm?

But, as a Christian, a man's character has to enter into the calculus, does it not? The things that this man has said over the past six months of this campaign have been staggering. How can someone who claims to live by Christian principles fail to hear the thinly veiled racism in his remarks about Mexicans? Shouldn't any self-respecting Christian cringe when they hear a candidate for the Presidency mocking the disabled? What should go through the mind of a Christian father and husband when they hear Mr. Trump talking about how smoking hot his daughter is and how if he were a little younger and, you know, NOT HER DAD, maybe he would date her? More importantly, how should someone like Jerry Falwell Jr. feel when he hears a man who has been a party to two failed marriages and four bankruptcies say that he can't ever remember asking God for forgiveness for anything since he doesn't think he's ever done anything that required it?

One more thing that bothers me about not only the Falwell endorsement, but the many other evangelical leaders who have warmed to Trump...since when did "Making America Great Again" become a project of Christianity? Don't misunderstand me, I love my country, and like any other American, I want it to be better. But the primary focus of the Christian faith is not to make America better, it's to make people better, by introducing them to the person and teachings of Jesus Christ. Hopefully, properly discipled Christians will become better people, more caring, more courageous and  better citizens. But if Making America Great involves chasing after some nationalistic renewal built upon hatred, envy and ego, then count me out.

Sure, when I vote, I try to elect people who share my spiritual ethics. Sometimes it's easier than others. But generally speaking, I don't go out of my way to vote for someone who's entire life has been a living, breathing rebuke to biblical Christianity. Especially when there are still so many other alternatives from which to pick.

So, when I see someone as influential as Jerry Falwell Jr. endorsing Donald Trump, I wonder...how much money did the Trumpster promise Liberty University?

The Fridge of Fame

First day back at the office aft the big snow weekend was super busy. By 3:00 I was tight as a drum so I went to the gym for a workout. When I got home, I noticed that my wife had spent part of the day updating and organizing the Fridge of Fame. What am I talking about? It's an entire side of our refrigerator that's full of pictures in little magnetized clear frames. It looks like this...

It's a long story. Many years ago, I was involved in the youth group at my church. I taught boys Sunday School, and other coed bible studies for the better part of ten years. Along the way, Pam and I got close to quite a few of those kids. Somewhere along the way, I started collecting senior pictures from some of my favorites whenever they graduated. I set up a little competition among them to see which ones could earn a spot on the coveted Fridge of Fame. When large, unruly mobs of them would descend upon our house on summer nights, they would fight with each other about where they were in the lineup. There's almost 70 senior pictures up there now, along with pictures of their children now. It's an amazing sight. Every so often Pam reorganizes it, because it gets messy. But we've never considered taking it down. 

When I go downstairs to get something to eat late at night, I often stop and look at this kids. I say a quick prayer for some of them who are struggling, I thank God for their successes. But mostly, I just feel grateful that I was given the opportunity to share life with them when they were all just kids trying to figure things out. I hope I was able to help some of them.

I know that they helped me.

Snowmageddon...Part Six

Sunday, January 24, 8:24am. 

Officially tired of posting this picture. As soon as I'm done with breakfast, Pam and Lucy and I will venture out to walk and play and measure the stuff. Then it will be time to shovel for the second time. Around 11:00 yesterday I cleared the front steps and sidewalk. Last night at 10:00 it looked like this when I opened the front door:

No church today. Got the email last night. 

I posted this photograph on my Facebook wall this morning. It moved me more than I can express. Here we all are making snow angels and sipping hot cocoa while at the tomb of the unknown soldier, this is happening. This soldier, with a thin pair of wool gloves and nothing covering his ears from the brutal wind and snow, keeps watch. In this age of celebrity worship, reality television presidential candidates, and abject national silliness, there are still men and women like this. Duty, honor, respect still have the capacity to inspire, don't they?

The greatest thing about this storm has been the fact that every meal I've eaten since lunch on Friday has contained sausage. My wife is amazing. She knows that one of the few tools she has in the battle against my antsiness and cabin fever is...food. Wise woman, she is. However, delicious sausage not withstanding, I have informed her that I will be driving out of here today. She sighed heavily and smiled. 

Snowmageddon...Part Five

Saturday afternoon, January 23, 4:09 pm.

Around 5 hours ago I shoveled a lane from my back door to the patio so Lucy wouldn't have to trudge through a foot of snow on her way to do her business. Now all that work is covered by a foot of freshly fallen snow and the drifting of a thousand winds. Although I haven't ventured out with a tape measure, my eyes tell me that there is over a foot on the ground.

Many of you know me quite well, and for those who do, I'm sure you're wondering how I am managing my well-known cabin fever attacks. An excellent question. The truth is that it hasn't been too bad so far. I can, however, feel it coming on. At some point I will insist on taking Pam's car out to Martins for something that I will convince myself we desperately need. Why Pam's car? Well, I may be antsy, but I'm no idiot!

Up to this point I have fought off my cabin fever with stuff like this: 

Yes, I think I may have had just a bit too much fun with this one!

I took a nap earlier and while I was asleep my wife embarked on another one of her tidying up campaigns. She completely reorganized the cookware cabinets to accommodate her new cast iron skillets. Then she had time left over to set a "snow table" overlooking our front yard: 

Rumor has it that she is planning some sort of afternoon dessert consisting of the left over waffles from breakfast and vanilla ice cream. 

So, yeah, everything is positively idyllic around here. But all of this lovely vibe will vanish into thin air the very second we lose power, so I guess I better relax and enjoy it while I can!

Snowmageddon...Part Four

Saturday morning, January 23, 8:04am.

Looks like about 9 inches out there. Overnight the snow became sleet...lots of sleet. There's a 20 inch deep pile of it at my front door where it gathers after it slides down the roof. The Donald Trump of weather forecasting, DT Tolleris of Wxrisk.com, has been forced to issue a mea culpa this morning. Apparently, all of the local TV weather guys who had been warning of the sleet transition all week...the very same guys who DT was calling "losers and idiots"(sound familiar?) ended up being right. So, we will not be getting two feet of snow after all. 

We learned something new about Lucy last night. To the long and tortured list of things which she is deathly afraid of can be added...sleet tingling against windows.

So, last night she's laying at our feet on the bed like normal when all of a sudden a gust of wind blew a sheet of sleet against the windows of our bedroom. Immediately she jumped off the bed and ran into the closet. Eventually she made her way back on the bed during the night, when in the midst of a rather loud hail of sleet, we were awakened by a shivering puppy trying to burry her head under our pillows! 

This morning, the sleet has stopped and the old girl has had a romp in the backyard and all is well. Waffles and sausage links are cooking for breakfast, and at some point I'm going to have to venture outside to dig us out.

Be safe everyone.