Brexit!!!!!

I don't pretend to be an expert on the Brexit campaign in Great Britian, moreover as an American I would think that most citizens of the United Kingdom wouldn't welcome my opinion anyway...a lesson President Obama recently learned. However, while we slept, the good people of the U.K. voted to leave the European Union by roughly 52% to 48%. All I know is...this map tells me that the Scotts were having none of it! 

I have been following this issue for months now because of the impact it might have on my business, so I'm not completely ignorant of the basic issues involved. But reading a dozen articles and watching a dozen videos of David Cameron's town hall events doesn't make me an expert. Still, my reading of the thing boils down to it being a contest between the elites and the working stiffs...a fight for the soul of  Great Britian between the proud nationalists and the more cosmopolitan, urbane, smart set. Yes, yes...it's much more complicated than this, but although generalizations are not often fully accurate, they are instructive. I had a feeling in my bones that the leave side was going to win when in the last week or so leading up to the vote, the remain side resorted to a fear of the unknown strategy. The Mirror had a cover photo of a giant black hole with the warning, "Don't take a leap into the unknown" or some such thing. When your closing argument turns negative....usually a bad sign. It was as if they 

were admitting, Look, we know the EU stinks, but if we leave it might be much worse.

There are similarities between the Brexit campaign and our own Presidential contest. For one thing, there's this guy...

Look fimiliar? I think they have the same barber. Anyway, this is Boris Johnson, former MP and mayor of London who was a big supporter of the Leave campaign. There's also this guy...

Nigel Farage, a former commodities trader turned political gadfly, heads up the UKIP or United Kingdom Independance Party, a group steadfastly opposed to the EU. He has all the makings of a jerk...but I kinda like the cigar.

Listen, I'm not sure whether the UK made a mistake yesterday or not. Maybe the nationalism of the Leave movement winds up being nothing more than dangerous nostalgia. Maybe its stance against immigration finds its roots in simple racism. Maybe the economic fallout from their decision ends up hurting the country. But I know this...if I lived in a nation where rules were made for me by a parliament in a foreign capital...I wouldn't like it very much. We Americans are famous for our sometimes belligerent Independance in matters of sovereignty...just ask the UN. Well, from the looks of things this morning...we got it honest!

Why We Are In Debt.

Big storm rolling through Short Pump this morning which means that Lucy is a panting, exasperated mess, pacing around the house with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, ears pinned back, bracing for the apocalypse. Meanwhile, a bunch of politicians are lounging around on the literal floor of the House of Representatives in a fit of...something, eating donuts and singing songs. It's like summer camp for grown ups, Congress. Hillary Clinton would be right there with them except for the fact that she hasn't actually sat on the floor since that midnight seance back at Wellesley when her Fabian Society group tried to make contact with Che Guevara. Nobody on Hillary's advance team is quite sure  about the optics involved of getting her back on her feet...a chance that they were unwilling to take what with Instagram and all...

Yesterday was difficult. Every once in a while something happens which causes you to doubt yourself. We develope over time our own personal narrative. It's how we see ourselves, what we think our strengths and weaknesses are. Then something happens which calls into question a part of that narrative. Am I really as good at that as I thought I was? Do people really see me the way I think they do? It can be disorienting. But, I only allow a day or so to ponder such things, then I move on. Otherwise, I would live my life marinating in a stew of self doubt. Still, when failure comes, I suppose it is right and proper to step back and examine what went wrong. What did I miss? What incorrect assumptions did I make? 

This is a process that I wish our elected officials had the courage to undertake. "Hey guys..we are 19 freaking trillion dollars in debt. What did we miss? What incorrect assumptions did we make? Are we really as good at governing as we thought??" But, in Washington, self reflection is about as rare as humility. So all we get is doubling down on failed policies. Both sides do it. For the Republicans, the answer to every problem is tax cuts! For Democrats, it's always more spending! For Bill Clinton, it's always "let's get in the hot tub!!"

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we are 19 trillion dollars in debt.

You're welcomed.

The President and Loretta Lynch

The following is a transcript of a top secret conversation held in the Oval Office yesterday at 1:35 between Attorney General Loretta Lynch and the President of the United States...unfortunately, it too has been redacted...

LL: Mr. President, as you know, I did what you asked of me yesterday. Against my better judgement, I went on all of the Sunday shows and told them that we were planning to release heavily redacted transcripts of the 911 calls made by Omar Mateen during the Orlando workplace violence incident. I told them that the reason we omitted any reference to Islam and Allah was because we didn't want to further his hateful propaganda. I also told them that the reason we were releasing the transcripts in the first place was because of our commitment to transparency and accountability.

POTUS: Yes Loretta. I watched you on Meet the Press and thought you were amazing.

LL: Well...Mr. President, unfortunately we are getting hammered by the press today, and I mean HAMMERED. AND, it's not just Fox News, even our most reliable mouthpieces are turning on us. They're saying that by heavily redacting the man's words we look stupid. Everybody already knows what he said and the fact that we omitted key words just makes us look obsessed with political correctness and somehow disconnected from the reality of the situation.

POTUS: (inaudible clanging noise)...Well, I don't give a flying (omitted) what (omitted) thinks about (omitted)!! If we publish the man's actually words, every redneck (omitted) in America will try to make this perfectly fine crisis about (omitted) terrorism instead of (omitted) gun control!!

LL: You might be right about that Mr. President, but...if we've lost CNN, well, we have to think about some sort of in-course correction here.

POTUS: (omitted)!!!!!!!!!!!

(Inaudible crashing sounds)

POTUS: Ok, (omitted...omitted), here's what we do. We put out a statement saying that the press has made the redacted portions of the transcripts an unnecessary distraction. Then we lay blame for this whole thing on the State Department.

LL: But, Secretary Kerry didn't have anything to do with...

POTUS: I don't give a (omitted) about Secretary (omitted) Kerry. Just get it done!

LL: Yes Sir Mr. President. By the way, is there any particular reason why you are so fond of sending highly competent, professional African-American women from your administration out to be humiliated by the press? First, Susan Rice...and now me?

POTUS: (inaudible breaking of glass sound)

Father's Day Thoughts

Father's Day is weird without Dad. I have no one to call. Now, I'm the one who gets called. Weird.

I often wonder what the day is like for people who have or had really horrible fathers. After all, there are lots of men out there who don't fit neatly onto a Hallmark card. In this regard I am fortunate. For all of my life I have been surrounded by men for whom fatherhood was their crowning achievement. My Dad. My uncles. The men who married my two sisters. My father-in-law. And now I see Facebook pictures of young men from my Sunday School classes from years ago holding infants in their arms, delighted and amazed. Then there are the men I've known who never had kids of their own, but instead became surrogate fathers to hundreds of other people's kids, those sainted teachers, coaches and encouragers without whom parents would be lost. I think of them on this day too.

Yesterday, my wife had her family over for a Father's Day picnic in the back yard. Despite the calendar, it was a perfect day to be outside...blue skies and no humidity. Because it was Pam, there was a theme...western bandanas with Slim Jim party favors! I grilled up beef and chicken kabobs on the grill with some teriyaki chicken thrown in for good measure.

After everyone left, I get an email from my daughter. She sent me a Barnes & Noble gift certificate so I could buy some books for my month in Maine. Then my son called to inform me that I must drive over to Havana Connection before 7:00 o'clock to pick up a package that was waiting for me.

After all of this, Pam and I were both exhausted. We had made plans earlier in the day for the Forts to come over to teach us some games to play while we are in Maine...something called Farkle, and the indelicately named dominoes game called Mexican Train. We hadn't seen them in a while and they would be spending a couple of weeks in Africa soon, and we wanted to see them before they left. We were so tired, we almost cancelled, but...it was the Forts, the easiest people in the world to hang with. So glad we didn't wimp out. Had a great time!

Now begins the sprint to the finish. Our preparations for Maine are officially on the home stretch. The finish line looms. Lucy knows that something is in the air, an ill wind is blowing. She looks at us suspiciously as if to say...What is this Maine of which you speak? Will there be trash cans and ceiling fans? If so, I must protest!

I'll keep you posted...

Peace and a Storm

It's easy to fall into despair as an American in 2016. Not because we aren't rich and powerful enough, not because we lack for anything, but because of the hash that those who presume to lead us are making of our country. The amoral, self-promoting narcissists at the top of the major party tickets remind me of what it must have been like in the waning days of the Roman Empire. Frankly, it's a national disgrace. Then, a storm rolls through and my despair is swept away with it.

All day Thursday the radio, television, Twitter, Facebook and my cell phone kept warning me that powerful storms would be passing through Short Pump beginning around 9:00 pm. There would be high winds, perhaps a tornado. Precautions should be taken. For me that meant securing my deck furniture and the administration of doggy Lorazepam to Lucy. For the longest time, nothing happened. But I could see the swirling green and red colors of the creeping storm on my weather app radar. It was close. I walked out onto my deck and gazed into the western sky.

It has always been this way with me and storms. Thunder and lightning have always drawn me like moth to flame. When I was a kid, I would stand at the screen door of the back porch when the thunderstorms came until I was damp from the rain, each flash of lightning filling me with both fear and delight. When my kids were little, I would take them out on our front porch and watch the storms roll through, holding them close and marveling at the raw power around us.

Thursday night, as I stared westward, waiting, I thought of our presidential candidates, with their monumental egos, Trump with his semi-literate rants about "winning" and Hillary with her smug, confidence, convinced that she's going to get away with it. That despite her habitual corruption, she will probably become the first female president, all her Rasputian scheming finally about to pay off. Then I hear the rumble.

A sound not unlike the sound that a Mack truck would make if it overturned it's load of gravel on a tin roof, violent and rushing. Heat flashes, still miles away, lit up the western horizon. The canopy of trees that line the fence at the back of my yard suddenly were parted by the wind, the limbs of the stately pines and mighty pin oaks thrashing about like Kansas wheat. The cold wind slapped my face, staggering me a bit. I felt the first drops of rain. Then a streak of lightning, closer now. Leaves began to swirl around me, small sticks ripped from the trees began dropping on the deck. My heart was pounding, but I couldn't look away. Directly above me I saw the front edge of the storm creeping across the heavens, a surging gray line like spilled paint, thick and milky. Then the first peal of thunder. Too close now. I must go inside, Lucy will surely be a mess by now...but I stay and watch until the rain comes harder. Oddly, it calms me, this storm. I watch how quickly my peaceful sky has been transformed into a maelstrom and I am assured in my heart that we control...nothing. There is a God in heaven and he will not forever abide our foolishness and vanity. This realization should be sobering. Instead, I am reassured. Strange.

This morning I will clean up from the damage, lots of limbs and debris everywhere. I will enjoy it. Things seem better.

My Pending Escape

In 15 days I will begin a month long sabbatical from reality. I will retreat to a lake house in Maine where cell phone coverage is spotty, Internet access is limited and air conditioning is non-existent. My days will begin early with coffee in a rocking chair on the front porch with the elegant warble of loons drifting across the water. I might take my coffee down by the dock. I might read a newspaper, the Camden Herald or the Courier Gazette. Whenever Pam gets up, we will take our breakfast on the

round table in the corner of the porch, overlooking Hobbs Pond.

For thirty days and thirty nights I will disengage from the pursuits of modern life in America. I will check in from time to time on the dumpster fire that is my country's politics, but only briefly, only with fleeting glances. The only deep internal argument I intend on having with myself while in Maine will center on that most contentious of debates...sausage or bacon, fishing or swimming, lobster or steak?

I plan on being a regular at the Hope General Store. They brag of their award winning pizza and their 142 different beers, and their continued, uninterrupted operation since 1832. I fully intend on getting my fill of blueberry pancakes at the Camden Deli, and clam chowder at Cappy's. I will eat lobster rolls. I will eat whoopie pies. I will enjoy more than one Allagash Coolship Red.

I will hike to the top of Mount Battie, pick blueberries and stare at the glistening harbor below. I will climb the stairs of the war memorial and take pictures.

I will set out from the dock in my rented kayak before the sun goes down for an evening trip around the lake. The water will be still and the color of stainless steel and so clear I will be able to see the mossy green edges of thousand year old rocks on the bottom.

In the evenings I will listen to the hiss and crackle of the fire. We will tell stories of the time when the kids were little and rolled each other down the beach at Dummer's curled up on the inside of giant tires. We will laugh at the memory.

I worry that the country I leave behind will intrude on me with some ghastly act of violence or stupidity. If some seventh century Islamic psychopath shoots up a bus load of seniors headed to Disneyworld, it will be difficult to know how to react while eating a fluffer-nutter. I will feel guilty that my countrymen are once again dealing with the disintegration of America while I am trying to decide between whoopie-pie or raspberry pie for dessert.

But, the truth is, I'm exhausted by America right now. It's all just too much. I need some time away from the drama of Obama-Clinton-Trump. A human being can take only so many gun control debates. At a certain point, the plight of transgendered bathroom access gets jumbled up with university safe spaces and too much money in politics and before you know what has happened, your entire world looks like the bar scene from Star Wars.

So, in 15 days the world will stop and let me off. My hope is that while I am away, a portion of my sanity will be restored. If the rest of you will somehow get your act together while I'm gone, it would be greatly appreciated.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 15, 2016

My Pending Escape

In 15 days I will begin a month long sabbatical from reality. I will retreat to a lake

Orlando. What a Difference a Day Makes.

What a strange....

So, it turns out that upon further review, the shooter with the Middle Eastern-sounding name who mowed down 49 of his fellow Americans in a gay club Sunday, might not have been solely motivated by his professed allegiance to ISIS after all. He may have been gay himself?

Apparently, our killer was a frequent customer at the Pulse, where he was known to mostly drink by himself and when sufficiently liquored up would complain about the wife and kid back home. Odd behavior for such a devout Muslim, one who went to the trouble of making not one but two pilgrimages to Saudi Arabia, and regularly attended mosque. Further, it would seem that he was a frequent visitor to gay dating websites where he used the name Aries.

Does this new information change the story of Orlando? Should it? If it turns out that he used the ISIS 911 phone call as a giant head fake to hide his real motivations, then yes, it changes an awful lot. If he wasn't motivated by radical Islamist ideology, but rather was a self-loathing closeted Muslim gay man tormented by the profound contradictions of his life, then yes, everything changes.

No matter, the dude should never have been able to buy a gun. No matter, slaughtering 49 people is still an unspeakable crime. But maybe now we Americans will view the killer through a different lens. Most of us cannot in any way identify with a radical Islamist jihadist. But practically all of us can identify with a religious hypocrite.