all Hobbes, no Calvin

Has enough time passed since the apalling Wal-Mart trampling death for me to publicly appreciate, or at least marvel at, the use of the word "Hobbesian" in the first news accounts of that horror?

As in, "A Wal-Mart employee in suburban New York was trampled to death by a crush of shoppers who tore down the front doors and thronged into the store early Friday morning, turning the annual rite of post-Thanksgiving bargain hunting into a Hobbesian frenzy." It's pretty much the perfect adjective, if a little obscure for the lede. Anyway. Just checking.

I'm not sure how much they'd have to pay me to be at Wal-Mart at 5 a.m. on any morning, let alone Black Friday, but at least I have the luxury not to go. It occurs to me that that thought extrapolates into, "at least I wasn't crushed to death by mindlessly selfish idiots while working at my crappy job," but them's the facts. Nasty, brutish, and short.

my gift to you

On this, the first big shopping day of the Depression, a free gift to those of us plagued by the less than self-sufficient. Click to make it readable.

In conclusion

at not quite 17

I've never been that teacher. It should be easy enough to do. Given that I don't have 150 students, acknowledging birthdays should be a snap. This year, the computerized gradebook program even alerts me that one is coming, so it wouldn't take much effort to recognize each kid's day in some organized way. Lord knows we celebrate mine. But every year by the time I think of it, I've missed somebody, and then it wouldn't be fair. At least that is my argument, at least that is my excuse.

I always wish I'd gotten it together, though. Monday there's a big one coming up. I hadn't remembered but when the gradebook did, I said something right away.

"Monday is your birthday!"

"No it's not." For once he shies away from attention.

"So you'll be 17?"

"That's the thing, Ms. P. You never know how old an illegal immgirant is." My response somewhere between an eye-roll and a sigh. "My ID says I'm 18." I am not scandalized.

I'm heartbroken, is what I am. Or something close to that. This kid is too aware of his situation, too cognizant of his plight. It's possible to overcome, and it's possible that he might. But at the moment he's seventeen, or nearly, and he doesn't have it in him to fight. He believes in predestination as much as any Puritan he just studied, he believes in That's The Way It Is. Odds are, he's not wrong, but I refuse to concede the point. Perhaps, in there somewhere, he's listening.

"Illegal immigrants don't go to college, Ms. P." That's his self-protective mantra. No reason for regrets or disappointment if the goal is empirically unreachable.

"Yes, they do. It's hard, but it's possible." I wish I had more than two examples.

We've had the conversation that starts that way a thousand times, in a thousand variations, though we each stick to our parts. A shame that the best I can offer him is, "You just don't know how things will turn out, what the law will be, where you will live; it's why you have to try." I sound more certain than I feel. Sometimes I ask if he wants to work as hard as his dad has, as hard as he is now, for the rest of his life. Sometimes he thwarts me with, "Yes."

The truth that lurks in that smart-ass answer always gives me pause. I don't really know if it will possible for him to make a different life; I just don't want him to give up. Not now, not at not-quite-seventeen, when it all should be beginning. One way or the other, he'll be fine; at work he's ridiculously conscientious. But unrealized potential is hard to take. Just ask either one of us.

What else?

Meldrick spans two stellar cop shows

I finally saw the final episode of "The Shield" tonight, thanks to YouTube (sorry for the wiki, but the FX Web site is either bombarded with traffic or already removed the show). My DVR handled the 90 minute finale ok, except for the sound. I knew I couldn't wait until it re-airs on Sunday, and I wasn't disappointed.

"The Shield" is, quite simply, the second greatest cop show on television. By second, I don't mean runner-up. Rather, the second show to earn "greatest cop show" honors. The first? Well that would be "Homicide: Life on the Street."

The common thread? Clark Johnson.

In 1993, Johnson became part of the original cast of Homicide, playing Detective Meldrick Lewis for all seven seasons and the reunion movie, as well as directing several episodes.

Johnson's directing credits include episodes of "The Shield" and he appeared in the finale. He was the guy who delivered Corrine and the kids to their federal witness protection future.

I leave you with this sample, while awaiting the next greatest cop show. I think I'll keep my eye on Clark Johnson.

greetings

I may or may not get a message tomorrow; I'm trying not to hope. I remember a Thanksgiving text last year, just two unanswered words, and I wonder about an encore. I haven't heard from him in a while, and my kids tend to fall into patterns. there's the one who always and only e-mails on my birthday, and never, ever responds to my reply. Until the next year, when the birthday wishes and vague update arrives exactly on the right day (it's easy to remember). There's the one who calls apologetically, always with some school-related question. The one who sends second-hand greetings and baby pictures. The pair of holiday callers. The handful who stop by randomly. The dozen who have disappeared from sight. That is the traditional route, graduate or quit, move on. But so many of them fail to cut the cord: just check my inbox from today: news of a job, congratulations, unsolicited advice. Arrangements made to have dinner with a girl whose lost her mother. It seems only right.

Most of the time these continued connections seem like a testament, that I'm doing what needs to be done. Sometimes I wonder if they mean that in some way I failed, that they see me as only a friend. I shrug and check my phone. Life's hard. There are worse things that I could be.

Until the game is won

My favorite overused football joke is -- "Why doesn't Iowa have a professional football team? Because Minnesota would want one too."

My favorite Iowa football memory is the 10-7 twilight win over Michigan in 1985.

That's really beside the point when it comes to this.

According to published reports I have no reason to question...

Iowa Fans Busted Having Sex in Metrodome Bathroom
Onlookers cheer and laugh to cheating lovers in bathroom stall

MINNEAPOLIS -- Two Iowa football fans were caught having sex in a bathroom stall at the Metrodome during Saturday’s Minnesota-Iowa game.

According to a police report, a Metrodome security officer saw two people having sex in a handicapped stall after noticing two sets of feet with underwear dropped to the ground.

Wait for it.

A group of 15 onlookers were gawking at the scene by the time officers broke the couple up and wrote them misdemeanor citations.

Wait for it.

The woman, 38, was turned over to her husband. The man, 26, was turned over to his girlfriend.

Oh, and Iowa won 55-0!

As God as my witness. . .

Yes, this is the Palin turkey-slaughter video redux-- BUT with commentary by Keith Olbermann AND bonus WKRP in Cincinnati Thanksgiving episode footage. It's totally worth the queasiness.

I missed two

Which means I got a 94% on this Civics test. How about you?

According to the outfit that made up the test, the average score of self-identified elected officals (out of the 2500 people in their sample) was 44%. Explains a lot right there.

milk money

"Do they expect me to read that little bitty print all the way at the bottom of the page?"

Well, yeah, honey, they do. I try, again, to teach her. Because the consequence of not following instructions, as she's learning, maybe, is not a zero in the gradebook but a blank spot in the refrigerator where the WIC-provided milk should be. An unnecessary crisis. A real-life lesson.

I state the facts but try not to scold. Chastising accomplishes nothing, at least not with her. And the baby needs milk. These are the things that I know. So I agree with her that her teen parent meeting is a good place to inquire, and we talk about food pantries, and I e-mail the nurse to try to ensure this girl follows through and gets help. Life is more expensive than her paycheck can cover. The baby needs milk. It seems the thing to do.

And then. And then today she's all excited. Something good has happened, or is about to.

"Guess what?" I play along with the query that usually makes me smile.

"I'm finally going to get an iPod!"

"You're going to what?!" I do not say.

As I consider my reply, she notices neither my silence nor the consternation I feel spreading over my face. She rattles on about her coming conspicuous consumption as I hesitate. She's a mother, but she's also a teenager. No excuse, but a reality. I know what to tell her; I have no qualms. But how to explain the obvious so she won't reject it? It's time for class, so I take the easy way, and I feel as if I'm playing hooky even as I teach. As if welfare reform is my job.

In her story I see the arguments against government help lining up to be counted, I see the appeal of snap judgment. I resist, even in my exasperation. She needs to learn about priorities and responsibility. The baby needs milk. They both need help, one way or the other. I need to find the words.

Working on a Dream

New Bruce sure does help to pass the won't-this-day-end time.

Talkin' turkey with Sarah Palin

Oh, the har. Goodbye and good riddance.

Five words or less

Stevens loses Alaska Senate race!

Insult to injury

Having previously documented my possibly irrational feelings regarding the end of A-B as we know it, I won't revisit why the close of this merger is a sad day in these parts. It's just a St. Louis thing, same as toasted ravs and a gaping hole where a stadium once stood. But anyone with eyes can surely share my offense at what they have done to the logo!

<

1-800-@#$!%$!

I get it, dude. Seriously. While I have not had your specific crappy job, I have had one pretty much like it--just ask my friend here--and I know there's only so much you can do. You've got to answer the calls and you've got to resolve the calls and you've got to reserve at least a small fraction of your brain for pretending that you are not trapped in that particular headset-and-keyboard purgatory. I know how it is.

But, dude. I cannot express to you how helpful it would be if you would focus just enough to listen to what I am saying and read the words that I know are glowing on your screen, me having recited, again, my name and my address and my e-mail address and my phone number and my incident number if not, again, my laptop's serial number, being that said laptop is packed up in a box to send it back to you people, if only you would SEND ME THE LABEL necessary for said shipping. How many times do I have to explain?

Four, apparently.

It's not as if I launched into a rant-- at least not at you. I saved that for the bastards at Charter, lack of Internets on top of lack of laptop being more than I could stand. But try to sell me more services in the midst of blaming me for your company's problem, and I make no promises.

But speaking of which, stupid me for believing the part where you said, "we'll ship it out," and then the part where you said, "it was shipped out," depsite the fact that you could not tell me how or when. Since--this is my favorite part--it never happened. Once because you thought I didn't know what I was talking about and once perhaps just for sport. Silly me for just checking the mail day after day. Patience is not, after all, a virtue.

But persistence is.

habit

It's a football Sunday ritual, the quick switch over to CBS to see if Andy Rooney has stopped yammering yet: that's the signal that The Amazing Race is finally about to begin. If the clock is still ticking or there's anything on the screen but that annoying old man, it's back to football, straightaway. Except for tonight, when we happened upon Barack Obama sitting down with Steve Kroft; instead of flipping away, the girl and I waited to see what he had to say, and I marveled a little, again, that we're finally going to have a new president and that, of all people, it's him.

It's been a long, long time since the sight of anyone presidential inspired anything in me but a spike in my blood pressure or a dash in the opposite direction. The notion of listening on purpose? Unthinkable. The result was just too painful. Now this man talks, and I stop to listen, and mostly, I feel better: a new habit, Change number one. This new behavior is going to take some getting used to--I'm kind of a rut girl--but this time I think I can manage.

January 20th cannot arrive fast enough

by Arianna Huffington

So, $290 billion into his bailout plan, Hank Paulson is calling for a do-over. Now there is a confidence booster.

Providing "I-told-you-so" talking points to the what's-the-rush crowd, the Secretary of the Treasury announced yesterday that the government is no longer going to use any of the $700 billion Congress allocated to the Troubled Asset Relief Program (TARP) to buy, well, Troubled Assets from financial institutions -- the original centerpiece of the plan.

Instead, Paulson is looking to fortify the financial industry by continuing to buy premium stock in banks (aka the Warren Buffett approach). Unfortunately, instead of sending Paulson a thank you note in the form of increased consumer lending, the banks are depositing the government checks and taking a wait and see approach. (Among the things they've seen: another $40 billion handed over to AIG.)

This is not to say that Paulson's midstream direction change is a bad thing -- indeed, the lip service he's now paying to putting the focus on consumers is encouraging -- but it shows just how uncertain official Washington is about how to keep the economy from imploding.

In the meantime, oversight of the massive bailout plan remains a mirage -- undermined by White House inaction and Congressional turf wars.

Remember all the promises that the $700 billion in taxpayer money would be closely supervised? No blank checks here, we were told. A special inspector general was going to be picked by the White House and Congress was going to hand-select an oversight panel.

But despite over a quarter of a trillion dollars having already been doled out by Paulson, so far both the inspector general position and the five Congressional Oversight Panel slots remain unfilled.

The White House appears ready to nominate New York prosecutor Neil Barofky as inspector general, though it's up in the air how quickly Congress would confirm him (if they confirm him at all). Among the looming issues, a squabble between the Senate Banking Committee and the Senate Finance Committee over which would have control of the confirmation process.

"It's a mess," said Eric Thorson, the Treasury Department's inspector general, who has been doing fill-in oversight duty until the special inspector general is confirmed. "I don't think anyone understands right now how we're going to do proper oversight of this thing."

Bartender, another round of lack of confidence for everyone.

Unfortunately, while Paulson waffles, the White House dawdles, and Congress dithers, the economy continues to burn.

The number of Americans filing new claims for unemployment last week -- 516,000 -- was the most since September 2001, in the wake of 9/11. And the number of people continuing to collect unemployment -- 3,897,000 -- was the highest it's been in 25 years.

"The labor market is deteriorating more rapidly than previously thought," Andrew Gledhill, economist at Moody's Economy.com, told CNNMoney.

In the past week, Ford said it would cut salaried employment costs by 10 percent, global delivery company DHL said it was cutting 9,500 jobs and financial service provider Fidelity Investment announced 1,300 job cuts. The list goes on and on: Circuit City, Pizza Hut, Morgan Stanley, Condé Nast, Yahoo, US Steel, Cesna, and QVC.

According to the Department of Labor, 240,000 jobs were lost in October, bringing the total of 2008 pink slips to 1.2 million. The unemployment rate is 6.5 percent, the highest it's been in 14 years.

On the housing front, another 84,868 homes were lost to foreclosure in October; there have been 936,439 home foreclosures since August 2007. And the housing future continues to look bleak: in October, 279,561 borrowers received at least one foreclosure-related notice, including default notices, notices of auction sales and bank repossessions, according to RealtyTrac. One in every 452 housing units received one of these. Nevada, Arizona, and Florida had the country's top three foreclosure rates.

Despite the carnage in the housing market, the White House continues to offer what the New York Times labeled "pathetic responses" and inadequate "half measures." And much-discussed legislation allowing bankrupt homeowners to rework their mortgages in court remains in a holding pattern, awaiting action from the lame duck Congress. I wouldn't hold my breath.

January 20th cannot arrive fast enough for the American people.

Commutin' Music

In honor of the fact that this week is never. gonna. end.

Parenting for dummies

Oh, how I wish someone would write this book. Maybe I should. It seems I'm qualified.

I don't know quite when I got so dumb, though the transition to high school seems logical. Once best buddies, our relationship seems to have deteriorated to angry dad and brooding son.

"Why can't you just let me figure it out on my own?" he said for the second year in a row as grades that started out so promising continued their downward spiral as the trimester quickly draws to a close. If only you gave me some reason to think you could.

Much as I appreciate e-mail progress reports from teachers, they only add fuel to the fire. Less-than stellar grades I can accept. Missing assignments I can't.

"You yell too much." Guilty as charged. My intentions are pure, even if my methods are flawed.

"Sounds like a normal kid," said the youth pastor we consulted today. Also, "does he understand consequences?"

Yes and no.

Serious consequences like throwing away a free education or accomplishing a dream of playing college baseball don't seem to resonate. But trivial consequences like the threat of missing a high school football playoff game as a spectator? That's enough, apparently, to prompt the suggestion that he might just quit baseball.

He didn't mean it, I hope. He just knows how to get my goat.

Maybe I went too far with the academic contract, but it doesn't seem unreasonable to me.

--Meet with your teachers to discuss strategies for improving grades and/or submitting missing assignments.
--Meet with geometry or Spanish teachers after school for extra help, or attend study table.
--Spend 20 minutes each without distraction studying geometry and Spanish each night.
--Begin using your planner so you don't miss any more assignments.

Is that really so unreasonable?

Failure to comply results in grounding, including loss of cell phone, computer, television, IPod and video game privileges. Most of those things didn't exist when I was his age, so maybe I don't understand how dire the consequences are.

Or maybe I just don't understand teenagers.

Much as I'd love to have my buddy back, my first responsibility is to be your dad. Admittedly, I have much room for improvement. But so do you. What do you say we work on that?

stupid is as stupid does

So the magic phrase, if you want to get a rise out of me, is apparently, "But it's only a misdemeanor."

ONLY. a. misdemeanor. ONLY. As if. Somehow that newly coined phrase is filed in the same part of my brain as "a little bit pregnant. " Cross-referenced by "meaningless" and "difficult to escape," both only without consequence if they're prevented, not stopped.

I set out my ration of exclamation points and try to explain.

"A criminal conviction will follow you around forever; it doesn't matter how stupid it was."

"Do you think it will stay on my record?!?!" Genuine shock. My reaction, in turn, perhaps heard by the neighbors. Doesn't anybody learn anything, ever? I collect myself and go on.

"How old are you?" He's a legal adult. He's also claiming a mix-up with a self-checkout machine, but I don't buy it. I know his friend. And regardless, the truth matters less than the record. The criminal record. Which must be disclosed, I point out, on applications for jobs and, yes, NATURALIZATION. Irony of ironies, any theft triggers the government's morals clause. He'd tried to just plead guilty to avoid appearing. On the one hand, I wonder if that's a guilty conscience or shame and am satisfied by it; on the other, I think, "don't be an idiot!"

And to think my hopes are pinned here. Or were. I'd feel more hopeful if it weren't such a chore to make him believe that paying the fine won't instantly fix this. Some things actually do matter, and it's possible to screw up big accidentally. In life, one must pay attention. Oh, I'm all for consequence, and I want him to have one, but the first step is to recognize the trouble!

My friend asks, "do you you think they all need bracelets that say 'What would Ms. P. do?' "

How about, "'DON'T BE A CRIMINAL!' Wouldn't THAT be a start?"

I can't believe I even have to say it.

free therapy

"You know that day we stayed after school? We went over to that field and laid down and looked at the stars. I'd never done anything like that before."

I do not say, "so that's what you call it these days?" This time she's broken his heart.

And he keeps talking, now that we're alone in the hall, explaining and venting and asking questions that don't have an answer. He'd taken himself to his counselor, but finding her busy he'd wandered down to my room as he does six times a day. This time, at least he had reason. Good choice, to not assault his rival in the hall. Good choice, to try to cope with his feelings before he wrecks his quarter. If only he were capable of logic when she's within view. It's easy to see the attraction. She's beautiful. And she knows it. And she's been fifteen for a week. She's recognizing her powers. Next time this still will not end well, I promise him.

"I always went out with white girls before, but this was different, it wasn't just about making out. . . she knows how to treat a guy. " I do not say. . .anything, for a while. I just listen.

In the end I offer him some options, some guarantees that no one will know. I give up my afternoon appointment with his counselor so he can have it. This entire love triangle is one-fourth of my fifth block class; helping diffuse it is my business. The rest of it is just part of the job. It's hard to focus on learning when your head's in your hands. I'm not sure how anyone graduates.

vocabulary

So something useful came of that mess after all.

Arianna Again

I know she's Lonnie's girl, but I liked this:

Can Obama Pull Off a Historic Presidential Double Play?
by Arriana Huffington, on the HuffPo

''On or about December 1910," Virginia Woolf wrote, "human character changed.'' We can be much more specific: "On November 4, 2008, just after 11 pm Eastern, America changed" (human character remains rather intransigent).

The change was driven by two things: our country's remarkable capacity for regeneration, and Barack Obama's remarkable ability to tap into the better angels of our nature.


You know something extraordinary is happening when even Michele Bachmann, Sarah Palin, and Joe Lieberman trip over themselves -- and their hastily discarded invective -- to say nice things about Obama and the "tremendous signal" sent by his election.

Sure, it's easy to see their encomiums as purely tactical attempts not to be on the wrong side of history, but they are more than that. They also demonstrate how certain moments and certain individuals are able to bring the best out in people -- even people who have shown us some of the worst aspects of human character. Because, hard though it may be to accept, the best and the worst reside in each of us, side-by-side.

As Alexander Solzhenitsyn put it: "The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either -- but right through every human heart." And the greatest leaders are those who inspire us to reside on the good side of Solzhenitsyn's line.

Obama does more. As David Brooks wrote recently, Obama's fractured childhood "is supposed to produce a politician with gaping personal needs and hidden wounds. But over the past two years, Obama has never shown evidence of that."

Here is someone whose childhood could have easily led to a life in shambles. But Obama has somehow -- and without, as far as we know, thousands of hours of therapy --succeeded in not letting circumstances dictate his life and reactions.

During the campaign, Obama was an object lesson in equanimity. Insinuate he's Muslim or sympathizes with terrorists, and he brushes off the mud. Hammer him with trumped up charges -- "sexist," "socialist," un-American" -- and he rolls with the punches. He simply doesn't let it in. He demonstrates that we have the ability to master whether we allow setbacks and attacks to throw us off course.

A lot has been written about Obama's calm in the face of adversity over the course of the last 21 months. Less noted has been how he displays that same centeredness in the face of triumph.

On Tuesday night, he could have waxed transcendent, he could have wrung every last tear and every last cheer out of the adoring crowd at Grant Park. But he chose not to. Instead, his speech gracefully touched the clouds a few times then soberly came back to earth, focused, as always with Obama, on moving forward.

To their great credit, the American people have responded to Obama's example by remaining remarkably focused as well. Despite the seemingly endless parade of meaningless sideshows trotted out during both the primaries and the general campaign, the public refused to be distracted. These kinds of tactics had worked well in 2004 -- but not in 2008. Obama's focus, his sense of purpose cleared a path through the carnival of clownish attacks and chamber of horror scares. And voters followed.

After eight years in which it has felt like the very foundation of our country was under assault, it is a testament to our democracy's inherent capacity for regeneration -- our ability to course-correct -- that Americans responded the way they did to a campaign so premised on an appeal to our greater selves.

A country can change only to the extent that the individuals within it change (and some changes come slower than others, as evidenced by Prop 8 and the other gay marriage bans that passed on Tuesday).

So it's back to Solzhenitsyn: "If you wanted to change the world, who should you begin with: yourself or others?"

Our president-elect is obsessed with Lincoln, who changed the country both by changing government policy and by using the bully pulpit to help us change ourselves. And our president-elect is endlessly being compared to FDR, who gave us both the New Deal and one of the most famous life lessons in history: "The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself."

Now it's Obama's turn to pull off this rare presidential double play.

Once more, with feeling

It Still Felt Good the Morning After

By FRANK RICH
Published: November 9, 2008

ON the morning after a black man won the White House, America’s tears of catharsis gave way to unadulterated joy.


Our nation was still in the same ditch it had been the day before, but the atmosphere was giddy. We felt good not only because we had breached a racial barrier as old as the Republic. Dawn also brought the realization that we were at last emerging from an abusive relationship with our country’s 21st-century leaders. The festive scenes of liberation that Dick Cheney had once imagined for Iraq were finally taking place — in cities all over America.

For eight years, we’ve been told by those in power that we are small, bigoted and stupid — easily divided and easily frightened. This was the toxic catechism of Bush-Rove politics. It was the soiled banner picked up by the sad McCain campaign, and it was often abetted by an amen corner in the dominant news media. We heard this slander of America so often that we all started to believe it, liberals most certainly included. If I had a dollar for every Democrat who told me there was no way that Americans would ever turn against the war in Iraq or definitively reject Bush governance or elect a black man named Barack Hussein Obama president, I could almost start to recoup my 401(k). Few wanted to take yes for an answer.

So let’s be blunt. Almost every assumption about America that was taken as a given by our political culture on Tuesday morning was proved wrong by Tuesday night.

The most conspicuous clichés to fall, of course, were the twin suppositions that a decisive number of white Americans wouldn’t vote for a black presidential candidate — and that they were lying to pollsters about their rampant racism. But the polls were accurate. There was no “Bradley effect.” A higher percentage of white men voted for Obama than any Democrat since Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton included.

Obama also won all four of those hunting-and-Hillary-loving Rust Belt states that became 2008’s obsession among slumming upper-middle-class white journalists: Pennsylvania and Michigan by double digits, as well as Ohio and even Indiana, which has gone Democratic only once (1964) since 1936. The solid Republican South, led by Virginia and North Carolina, started to turn blue as well. While there are still bigots in America, they are in unambiguous retreat.

And what about all those terrified Jews who reportedly abandoned their progressive heritage to buy into the smears libeling Obama as an Israel-hating terrorist? Obama drew a larger percentage of Jews nationally (78) than Kerry had (74) and — mazel tov, Sarah Silverman! — won Florida.

Let’s defend Hispanic-Americans, too, while we’re at it. In one of the more notorious observations of the campaign year, a Clinton pollster, Sergio Bendixen, told The New Yorker in January that “the Hispanic voter — and I want to say this very carefully — has not shown a lot of willingness or affinity to support black candidates.” Let us say very carefully that a black presidential candidate won Latinos — the fastest-growing demographic in the electorate — 67 percent to 31 (up from Kerry’s 53-to-44 edge and Gore’s 62-to-35).

Young voters also triumphed over the condescension of the experts. “Are they going to show up?” Cokie Roberts of ABC News asked in February. “Probably not. They never have before. By the time November comes, they’ll be tired.” In fact they turned up in larger numbers than in 2004, and their disproportionate Democratic margin made a serious difference, as did their hard work on the ground. They’re not the ones who need Geritol.

The same commentators who dismissed every conceivable American demographic as racist, lazy or both got Sarah Palin wrong too. When she made her debut in St. Paul, the punditocracy was nearly uniform in declaring her selection a brilliant coup. There hadn’t been so much instant over-the-top praise by the press for a cynical political stunt since President Bush “landed” a jet on the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln in that short-lived triumph “Mission Accomplished.”

The rave reviews for Palin were completely disingenuous. Anyone paying attention (with the possible exception of John McCain) could see she was woefully ill-equipped to serve half-a-heartbeat away from the presidency. The conservatives Peggy Noonan and Mike Murphy said so on MSNBC when they didn’t know their mikes were on. But, hey, she was a dazzling TV presence, the thinking went, so surely doltish Americans would rally around her anyway. “She killed!” cheered Noonan about the vice-presidential debate, revising her opinion upward and marveling at Palin’s gift for talking “over the heads of the media straight to the people.” Many talking heads thought she tied or beat Joe Biden.

The people, however, were reaching a less charitable conclusion and were well ahead of the Beltway curve in fleeing Palin. Only after polls confirmed that she was costing McCain votes did conventional wisdom in Washington finally change, demoting her from Republican savior to scapegoat overnight.

But Palin’s appeal wasn’t overestimated only because of her kitschy “American Idol” star quality. Her fierce embrace of the old Karl Rove wedge politics, the divisive pitting of the “real America” against the secular “other” America, was also regarded as a sure-fire winner. The second most persistent assumption by both pundits and the McCain campaign this year — after the likely triumph of racism — was that the culture war battlegrounds from 2000 and 2004 would remain intact.

This is true in exactly one instance: gay civil rights. Though Rove’s promised “permanent Republican majority” lies in humiliating ruins, his and Bush’s one secure legacy will be their demagogic exploitation of homophobia. The success of the four state initiatives banning either same-sex marriage or same-sex adoptions was the sole retro trend on Tuesday. And Obama, who largely soft-pedaled the issue this year, was little help. In California, where other races split more or less evenly on a same-sex marriage ban, some 70 percent of black voters contributed to its narrow victory.

That lagging indicator aside, nearly every other result on Tuesday suggests that while the right wants to keep fighting the old boomer culture wars, no one else does. Three state initiatives restricting abortion failed. Bill Ayers proved a lame villain, scaring no one. Americans do not want to revisit Vietnam (including in Iraq). For all the attention paid by the news media and McCain-Palin to rancorous remembrances of things past, I sometimes wondered whether most Americans thought the Weather Underground was a reunion band and the Hanoi Hilton a chain hotel. Socialism, the evil empire and even Ronald Reagan may be half-forgotten blurs too.

If there were any doubts the 1960s are over, they were put to rest Tuesday night when our new first family won the hearts of the world as it emerged on that vast blue stage to join the celebration in Chicago’s Grant Park. The bloody skirmishes that took place on that same spot during the Democratic convention 40 years ago — young vs. old, students vs. cops, white vs. black — seemed as remote as the moon. This is another America — hardly a perfect or prejudice-free America, but a union that can change and does, aspiring to perfection even if it can never achieve it.

Still, change may come slowly to the undying myths bequeathed to us by the Bush decade. “Don’t think for a minute that power concedes,” Obama is fond of saying. Neither does groupthink. We now keep hearing, for instance, that America is “a center-right nation” — apparently because the percentages of Americans who call themselves conservative (34), moderate (44) and liberal (22) remain virtually unchanged from four years ago. But if we’ve learned anything this year, surely it’s that labels are overrated. Those same polls find that more and more self-described conservatives no longer consider themselves Republicans. Americans now say they favor government doing more (51 percent), not less (43) — an 11-point swing since 2004 — and they still overwhelmingly reject the Iraq war. That’s a centrist country tilting center-left, and that’s the majority who voted for Obama.

The post-Bush-Rove Republican Party is in the minority because it has driven away women, the young, suburbanites, black Americans, Latino-Americans, Asian-Americans, educated Americans, gay Americans and, increasingly, working-class Americans. Who’s left? The only states where the G.O.P. increased its percentage of the presidential vote relative to the Democrats were West Virginia, Tennessee, Louisiana and Arkansas. Even the North Carolina county where Palin expressed her delight at being in the “real America” went for Obama by more than 18 percentage points.

The actual real America is everywhere. It is the America that has been in shell shock since the aftermath of 9/11, when our government wielded a brutal attack by terrorists as a club to ratchet up our fears, betray our deepest constitutional values and turn Americans against one another in the name of “patriotism.” What we started to remember the morning after Election Day was what we had forgotten over the past eight years, as our abusive relationship with the Bush administration and its press enablers dragged on: That’s not who we are.

So even as we celebrated our first black president, we looked around and rediscovered the nation that had elected him. “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for,” Obama said in February, and indeed millions of such Americans were here all along, waiting for a leader. This was the week that they reclaimed their country.

November 8, 2008

moving on

The blue plastic flaps in the stiffening breeze: Obama '08 now a souvenir, not a strong suggestion. It's time, I suppose, to pull the metal frame up out of the yard-- now, while chore's still easy, while there's still opportunity to retrieve it before it sails up the street. Instead I leave it where it's planted.

Although the calendar changed before the election was held, November didn't really arrive until the ballots were counted. Then the temperature dropped. The leaves scattered. Both warmth and color all drained away and left behind a mid-winter preview. It's temporary, of course--the Midwest is the Midwest--but I'd rather not face what's coming, not yet. I choose to loiter a little longer, savor the stunning Fall, look forward to what's left of it. For the first time in forever I harbor no dread, but my habit is to be wary.

I wonder what all those millions who celebrated in the streets--for a president, could you ever imagine?!--expect, and I think to brace for a let-down. But then I remember the flood of relief, the powerful feeling of hope, and I leave the sign up, as a reminder.

A long overdue cut-and-paste from Arianna

Tuesday's Second Biggest Winner: Democracy

by Arianna Huffington

Along with Barack Obama (and the other winners I've written about), there was another big winner on election day: democracy.

Based on initial numbers, it looks like over 133 million people turned out to vote on Tuesday -- 11 million more than voted in 2004 - producing the highest turnout rate in 44 years (62.5 percent). By way of comparison, the turnout rate in 1996 was just over 49 percent (that's right, less than half of those eligible to vote bothered to show up).

One of the most noteworthy trends was the makeup of the electorate.

In 2000, whites accounted for 81 percent of all voters. This year, that number fell to 74 percent, the result of an increase in both African American and Hispanic turnout. That is a huge demographic shift.

Those two groups, along with young voters, ended up having a tremendous impact on the outcome of the 2008 race.


Let's start with Hispanics, who accounted for the most dramatic swing. In 2004, Kerry outperformed Bush with Hispanic voters 59 percent to 40 percent. In 2008, the Hispanic vote went 67 percent for Obama, and only 31 percent for McCain -- a net improvement of 17 points.

Even more impressive was the shift in the battleground states with high Hispanic populations, particularly Florida. Four years ago, Hispanic voters in the Sunshine State went for Bush over Kerry 55 percent to 44 percent; this year Obama beat McCain among Florida Hispanics 57 to 42 -- a remarkable 26-point swing.

Hispanic voters made the difference in Colorado, Florida, and New Mexico. In Colorado, Obama's Hispanic support accounted for 12 percent of the electorate; he won the state by 7 percent. In Florida, Obama's Hispanic support accounted for nearly 8 percent of the electorate; he won the state by 2 percent. In New Mexico, Obama's Hispanic support accounted for 28 percent of the electorate; he won the state by 15 percent.

So much for the primary season conventional wisdom that Hispanics would be reluctant to vote for a black candidate.

Next up, young voters. Around 2.2 million more young people voted on Tuesday than did in 2004, accounting for 18 percent of the electorate -- a slight uptick from 17 percent in 2004. But they overwhelmingly voted for Obama: 66 percent to 32 percent - a 34-point spread. That's 25 percent more than the 9-point youth vote advantage Kerry had over Bush.

Patrick Ruffini at The Next Right drills it down further:

Had the Democratic 18-29 vote stayed the same as 2004's already impressive percentage, Obama would have won by about 2 points, and would not have won 73 electoral votes from Florida, Ohio, North Carolina, or Indiana. So, to clarify here: Obama's youth margin = 73 electoral votes.

We are witnessing a tremendous ideological shift among young voters - one that could reshape our politics for decades to come. From 1976 through 2004, young voters basically supported the same candidate as older voters in most elections. During that time, the average gap in presidential choice between young voters and the overall electorate was only 1.8 percent. In 2008, that gap was 28 percent, with Obama winning by 6 percent -- but carrying the youth vote by 34 percent.

And Obama's appeal to young voters cut across racial lines. Among voters 18-29, he got 54 percent of white voters, 76 percent of Hispanic voters, and 95 percent of African American voters.

Overall, over 2 million more African American voters turned out this time around. And they favored Obama over McCain 95 percent to 4 percent - a net 14-point increase from Kerry's 88 to 11 win over Bush.

Some other numbers:

Obama won among both women (56/43) and men (49/48). Whites favored McCain (55/43), but blacks gave Obama percent of their vote, and Hispanics went for Obama 66/31.

Obama carried voters 18-29 (66/32), 30-44 (52/46), and 45-64 (50/49). The only group McCain carried was voters 65 and older (53/45). This oldest group accounted for only 16 percent of the electorate.

Obama won among all education levels carrying 63 percent among voters without a high school degree, 52 percent among high school grads, 51 percent among those with some college, 50 percent among college grads, and 58 percent among those with postgraduate degrees.

Obama also won in almost every size city. He carried big cities 70/28 (home to 11 percent of voters), small cities 59/39 (home to 19 percent of voters), and the suburbs 50/48 (home to 49 percent of voters). McCain won in small towns and rural areas 53/45 (home to 21 percent of voters)

Lastly, Jewish voters favored Obama 78 percent to 21 percent -- so much for the Lieberman bounce or the Khalidi smears!

All in all, a great election for democracy.

Mr. Rosenthal

"And YOU are THERE!"

I'll never forget that booming phrase jarring a classroom full of wandering 8th grade minds. I'm sure we rolled our eyes. But we, or I, did not forget. I think back on those days, and him, fondly. I remember what he taught.

He was a character. The kind of teacher they don't make anymore, the one in bad ties and, occasionally, I swear, unfortunately colored saddle shoes. To a thirteen-year old he didn't look smart, but he was. He was also my friend's father. And last night, as we waited to attend history, we spoke of him and what he might have thought. We couldn't ask him, couldn't know how he'd voted. He had dropped dead on a golf course one day.

I wasn't in touch with my friend when that happened a couple of years back, but when I heard that awful news, I mourned some for myself. Through the magic of the Internets, she and I reconnected this year. We chatted, and we played games, and we smarted off, just like old times. Nothing serious. But when I told her that I remembered him, that I thought of him often, that I was sorry for her loss, that's when we again became friends. Friends enough that I could say, "Hey, wanna go?" and, "Hey, got a couch?" Friends enough to share an adventure.

So I went to Chicago. So we went to see hope and change and promise come to life. It was something no one had ever experienced before. And WE were THERE.

Livin' In The Future

Come Saturday, this blog marks its second anniversary. Born on the promise of a resounding mid-term victory by the Democrats and the appeal of a venue for personal expression, my first post was titled "Out of the dark ages, into a brave new world."

As enthused as I am about incredibly positive outcome of Tuesday's election -- which I hope Al Franken will be added to -- I'm reminded that none of this has happened yet. All hopes of progression were dashed by recession.

"The Republicans have destroyed this country over the last six years and Democrats should not be criticized if it takes a little time to clean up after them," I wrote then. "If nothing else, taking away Bush's rubber stamp and preventing the nation from deteriorating further is a step in the right direction."

Two years later, it seems we've only marched in place.

Meanwhile, the economy is in the tank, our government is an international and domestic disgrace, we're waging two wars badly and flexing for more, and so on. I'm sure glad gas prices had dipped below $2.20/gallon locally when I learned of Exxon-Mobil's record quarterly profits.

I've spent this day grasping for words to describe my feelings. I still haven't found them, but I did find this from American story teller Bruce Springsteen. God bless America!

Cheers!

And I was there!

So, meet you there?

a bad plan

"You have to swear not to tell anybody." He's standing in front of four people.

I raise an eyebrow and look, guessing what's coming. I make no promises. The story bursts out, regardless:

"So we got pulled over yesterday and I had beers under my seat."

"You understand how many things are wrong with that sentence, right?"

"I know! My whole life flashed before my eyes!"

"I guess so! Were you driving?!" Seventeen and unlicensed, he says no, and gives me the name. His partner in would-be crime is equally familiar. "Was he drinking in the car?!" I exclaim some more at the wrong, wrong answer. He doesn't object but rattles on, compelled to give me the blow-by-blow of the run stop sign, and the tickets, and the maybe-not-idle threats of the cop, until he gets to the very best part:

"And then he said, 'Let's call Ms. P!"

"What?!"

He said, "She'll get us out of this!" I laugh, and I laugh, and I laugh.

Oh, to have the power these typically idiotic boys wish I had. I'd have locked them up myself.

Anybody home?

I never answer the door.

Oh, if I know you, that's different, but if you're a Mormon or Jehovah's Witness, a politician's proxy, or a creepy white-slave trying to sell magazines "for college money," I am traditionally never home. I figure it saves us both from one more awkward conversation, one more failed conversion of whatever type. I really don't want any. No matter what it is.

So of course I spent my Saturday afternoon walking through some one else's neighborhood, knocking on dozens of doors. Can't say that I minded that most the addresses I'd been provided were coded "hanger" and not "knock." That meant I was only obligated to leave an Obama/Biden door-hanger complete with polling places and times. I got to feel as if I were contributing without having to bug anybody, and the residents got their information without having to pretend not to be home. Perfect.

But, the quick conversations I did have were pleasant; I would have enjoyed being out even if it hadn't been such a beautiful day. Many people are perhaps less anti-social than I. Then again, it was a heavily prObama neighborhood, so my presence was not exactly unwelcome. Unnecessary, maybe, but who knows. A yard sign is no guarantee of an actual vote, and the names we had were new or sporadic voters, so maybe it did some good. In Missouri, a few tallies here and there will make the difference, no doubt.

My neighborhood, on the other hand, will never be canvassed. Illinois is safely blue, and even if it weren't, my precinct and city and county are. But now, after Saturday, I ponder, and I think maybe if some rogue volunteer were to make it to my street--highly unlikely; the campaign has this down to a science--I think maybe I just might be home.

Thank you, Mr. Pitts

Unity, hope must conquer division, hate
By LEONARD PITTS JR.
The Miami Herald

The killers would have worn top hats. Having already murdered 102 African Americans, 14 by beheading, they would have driven at top speed toward Barack Obama, leaning from the windows of their vehicle, dressed in top hats and white tuxedoes, firing guns.

That was the plan, according to law enforcement officials who disrupted it a few days ago. Now the alleged conspirators -- white supremacists Paul Schlesselman, 18, and Daniel Cowart, 20 -- are in federal custody, an appropriately bizarre coda for the presidential campaign of 2008.

I mean, it's fitting, isn't it, that the campaign end with yet another appeal to fear, yet another portrayal of the Illinois senator as Not One of Us? It makes sense, after two years of viral e-mails, blog postings, talk radio rants and Fox News reports depicting Obama as a Communist socialist radical Christian secret Muslim black militant-marrying atheist-raised terrorist fist-bumping America-hating Manchurian candidate trained to subvert the United States from within.

Well, if that's what some folks think he is, let me tell you what I hope he is.


I will preface with a line from Gil Scott-Heron. The singer and poet used to say that people often asked him what he thought of the 1960s. His reply: I personally think the '60s are over.

Me, I'm not so sure. Indeed, when I consider the four presidential campaigns preceeding this one, it's hard not to regard them as an extended debate over that era. Those campaigns, after all, turned largely on questions of drug use, feminism, Vietnam, draft dodging, anti-war protests and other issues Richard Nixon or Hubert Humphrey would have found instantly recognizable.

I'm reminded how a young man told me a few years ago that he loathed Bill Clinton because the former president was -- and I quote -- ''a hippie.'' I was floored. Love Clinton or loathe him, that is, putting it mildly, an unlikely description of a man who spent the hippie era as a Rhodes Scholar and Yale University student of law.

But it makes sense if you buy the premise that we have been re-litigating the '60s here, seeking a balance of values between the freedom some of us won and the ''good old days'' others of us lost, between the whispered promise of change and the shouted, strident threat.

Indeed, if you buy the premise, then John McCain's recent attempts to conflate Obama with William Ayers are hardly surprising.

Whatever you think of the '60s, though, one thing is undeniable: They tore us apart, ripped American society to pieces and threw those pieces in the air so they rained down like confetti, falling into new configurations, nothing where it used to be. It was an angry time, those who found stability -- identity -- in the old configurations fighting those intoxicated by the possibilities of the new.

Which is why some regarded the presidential candidacy of Robert F. Kennedy with such ineffable hope. His was a promise to reconcile the shredded pieces, to make them -- make us -- whole again. Then he walked through that hotel kitchen, and we lost everything that might have been.

Forty years later, we are still angry, still sifting through confetti pieces, trying to find a way to make them whole. And here comes Barack Obama wanting to be president.

He has an economic plan, sure. He has a healthcare plan, yes. He has a promise to end the war in Iraq, fine.

Those are important matters, certainly. But when I look at this guy and reflect on the hate I see in my country, the lack of purpose I see in my country, the division and fear I see in my country, those concerns feel distinctly secondary.

You know what I hope Barack Obama is? I hope he is reconciliation -- the end of the 1960s at long last. And the beginning of something new.

BARACKY

BARACKY II

What can I say? I'm on a roll.

The New Jersey Devil

And to think I once rolled my eyes when Lonnie posted pages full of video.

Wilco The Song

Debuted and retired on The Colbert Report, 10/30/08

Happy Allison's Least Favorite Holiday

Though the sugar skulls for el dia de los muertos are kinda cool.

I'm totally serious, dude.

"Seriously. "

It's my verbal tic of the moment. Along with the throw-back of "totally" and the perennially popular, "dude." Seriously. As in, "I am not kidding," as in, "Can you believe that?" as in "What the hell is he/she/it thinking?!" as in, "I am completely sincere," as in "Dude, I totally spend too much time around high school kids. "

Seriously.

It's getting quite a work-out this week as I keep wading into conversations that would otherwise leave me speechless.

"Obama scares you? Seriously?" The straightforward question.

The power of inflection: "She said no one is that perfect and it makes her uncomfortable."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."

The buffer against the literal exploding of my head:

"You seriously are telling me that you take the word of a website that refers to him as a 'damned, sneaky bastard,' as unvarnished, straightforward, truth?" SERIOUSLY?!

Those are four damn useful syllables.

I am totally not kidding.

Dude.

Land of Lincoln

Five minutes East of my house lies the fairly wide-open prairie: the edge of the cornfield that separates us from Chicago, bisected by I-55. From that angle I seem to live in the country, but that's not my reality. I never think of it until I'm bracing myself to face the tedium and begin some long-ass drive. Life faces West around here, to the neighborhoods, to the downtown, to the maze of big box stores, to the river and city beyond. Still, this bank of the Mississippi does have its advantages, even if it is, techncially,the right. Among them I count the sight of seeming octogenarians, retired farmer-types in jeans and button-shirts, proudly wearing brand new Obama caps.

Or, think about it this way

the polls

Last time, I missed the turn.

The long drive that outlines the edge of the property isn't marked, isn't lit, or barely, or except by the light of the moon. After a handful of visits spread across five years, it's familiar, but not quite enough, or not at that hour of the morning. So last time, I missed the turn.

But I doubled back and pulled in, following behind the tail lights of one pick-up truck or another down to the cramped parking lot, glad to have trouble finding a space. I'm here for the community, the random collection of probably-strangers; I'm here to join the line of laborers and commuters that need to get to work near dawn-- but only after voting.

Last time, there was a hopeful buzz. Despite the dark, despite the chill, despite the traffic growing heavier. It felt as if we were doing something. Good thing for the moment we couldn't have known. This time, I hope and pray it's different even as I look forward to it being exactly the same. Small talk with apparent neighbors. A few minutes of diligent marking. A glance at the counter. A smile and a sticker. Anticipation and satisfaction all at once. And this time, please baby Jesus, change.

This week I've been making a few calls for Obama; tonight I reminded folks--really old folks, mostly-- they could vote early. I could have, too, but I didn't, not wanting to miss it. I know that's silly. But heck, when one is 89 missing it might have a much different meaning. And as the time before last showed, in Florida, we need to use every strategery.

Creative campaigning

I wouldn't find this nearly as amusing if I hadn't already voted.

"Don't think for a minute that power concedes." -- Barack Obama

Obama's closing argument, tonight in Canton, Ohio:

In this election, we cannot afford the same political games and tactics that are being used to pit us against one another and make us afraid of one another. The stakes are too high to divide us by class and region and background; by who we are or what we believe.

Because despite what our opponents may claim, there are no real or fake parts of this country. There is no city or town that is more pro-America than anywhere else – we are one nation, all of us proud, all of us patriots. There are patriots who supported this war in Iraq and patriots who opposed it; patriots who believe in Democratic policies and those who believe in Republican policies. The men and women who serve in our battlefields may be Democrats and Republicans and Independents, but they have fought together and bled together and some died together under the same proud flag. They have not served a Red America or a Blue America – they have served the United States of America.

It won’t be easy, Ohio. It won’t be quick. But you and I know that it is time to come together and change this country. Some of you may be cynical and fed up with politics. A lot of you may be disappointed and even angry with your leaders. You have every right to be. But despite all of this, I ask of you what has been asked of Americans throughout our history.

I ask you to believe – not just in my ability to bring about change, but in yours.

I know this change is possible. Because I have seen it over the last twenty-one months. Because in this campaign, I have had the privilege to witness what is best in America.

I’ve seen it in lines of voters that stretched around schools and churches; in the young people who cast their ballot for the first time, and those not so young folks who got involved again after a very long time. I’ve seen it in the workers who would rather cut back their hours than see their friends lose their jobs; in the neighbors who take a stranger in when the floodwaters rise; in the soldiers who re-enlist after losing a limb. I’ve seen it in the faces of the men and women I’ve met at countless rallies and town halls across the country, men and women who speak of their struggles but also of their hopes and dreams.

I still remember the email that a woman named Robyn sent me after I met her in Ft. Lauderdale. Sometime after our event, her son nearly went into cardiac arrest, and was diagnosed with a heart condition that could only be treated with a procedure that cost tens of thousands of dollars. Her insurance company refused to pay, and their family just didn’t have that kind of money.

In her email, Robyn wrote, "I ask only this of you – on the days where you feel so tired you can’t think of uttering another word to the people, think of us. When those who oppose you have you down, reach deep and fight back harder."

Ohio, that’s what hope is – that thing inside us that insists, despite all evidence to the contrary, that something better is waiting around the bend; that insists there are better days ahead. If we’re willing to work for it. If we’re willing to shed our fears and our doubts. If we’re willing to reach deep down inside ourselves when we’re tired and come back fighting harder.

Hope! That’s what kept some of our parents and grandparents going when times were tough. What led them to say, "Maybe I can’t go to college, but if I save a little bit each week my child can; maybe I can’t have my own business but if I work really hard my child can open one of her own." It’s what led immigrants from distant lands to come to these shores against great odds and carve a new life for their families in America; what led those who couldn’t vote to march and organize and stand for freedom; that led them to cry out, "It may look dark tonight, but if I hold on to hope, tomorrow will be brighter."

That’s what this election is about. That is the choice we face right now.

Don’t believe for a second this election is over. Don’t think for a minute that power concedes. We have to work like our future depends on it in this last week, because it does.

In one week, we can choose an economy that rewards work and creates new jobs and fuels prosperity from the bottom-up.

In one week, we can choose to invest in health care for our families, and education for our kids, and renewable energy for our future.

In one week, we can choose hope over fear, unity over division, the promise of change over the power of the status quo.

In one week, we can come together as one nation, and one people, and once more choose our better history.

That’s what’s at stake. That’s what we’re fighting for. And if in this last week, you will knock on some doors for me, and make some calls for me, and talk to your neighbors, and convince your friends; if you will stand with me, and fight with me, and give me your vote, then I promise you this – we will not just win Ohio, we will not just win this election, but together, we will change this country and we will change the world. Thank you, God bless you, and may God bless America.

Crazy talk

I was shocked, nearly fell off my chair even, to read these words: "there is no rule barring felons from serving in Congress." Go figure.

a private talk

"You're here."

"I am."

"I'm glad."

"Me, too."

"You look all right." A nodding once-over.

"Everything's normal today."

"I'm keeping an eye, just between you and me."

"I know. It's okay. Thank you."

A chance meeting before school in the bustling commons. Our paths not quite crossing, but almost. We smile small, quiet smiles as our eyes meet and hold. We say it all without uttering a word. Nobody else is the wiser.

Sure I make fun of my brother for taking pictures of food. But sometimes you just gotta.

Meet our new KC friends

Oh, my. har.

Ok, NOW you can click this link. Right now!

Click everywhere you can on that page, and for baby Jesus' sake make sure the sound is on.

What Kansas City has taught us. Or, It's Deja MO All Over Again

Kansas City is indeed on the border. The border between Washington and Texas.

A Residence Inn is a Residence Inn is a Residence Inn. But what happened to the Alamo view?

Bread pudding is to KC as doughnuts are to Seattle.

There's no full like barbecue full.

Lamb ribs. Seriously.

Coffee-flavored beer has it all over coffee.

Peace and tranquility can be found sleeping in the middle of the street.

Nothing is more exciting than Pottery Barn Kids.

$68 can buy a Hall(mark) ornament that you actually want.

Everything isn't bigger in Texas.

You say shuttlecock. We say cockrocket. We laugh a lot more than you.

The Electric Light Parade is a lot longer than we thought. Either that or Cinderella's happily ever after has fallen on really hard times.

A Halloween Story

Fear has profoundly changed us
By LEONARD PITTS JR.

Meanwhile, back at the War on Terror . . .

You remember the War on Terror, don't you? It was in all the papers. Back before presidential politics sucked the air from the room and your 401(k) shrank till it was worth maybe dinner and a movie, it was considered quite the important news story. Abu Ghraib? Extraordinary renditions? Fight 'em over there so we don't have to fight 'em over here? Surely you recall.

I only ask because of a news story that broke last week to a yawn of media disinterest. The Washington Post reported on two secret White House memos explicitly endorsing the use of waterboarding -- simulated drowning -- on so-called high-value terrorism suspects. This is, says The Post, the first time the still-classified memos have been disclosed. They were written in response to requests from then-CIA Director George Tenet, who worried his agents might be hung out to dry if the practice were discovered and the people or their representatives demanded someone's head.

According to The Post, the White House issued written authorizations in 2003 and 2004. Yet in 2006, President Bush told the nation, ``The United States does not torture. It's against our laws, and it's against our values. I have not authorized it -- and I will not authorize it.''

Which was, of course, a lie.

You'd think the latest proof of that lie -- yet another smoking gun to stack with all the others -- would merit attention. But a computer search Thursday turned up only seven newspaper stories mentioning the memos. Searches of the CNN and FOX news websites also came up dry, though the story did appear on MSNBC's site.

If you think my point is that the media missed an important story, it isn't. No, the point is that normal is not where we thought it would be.


You remember how it was just after Sept. 11, 2001, right? Some of us vowed we would never enter a skyscraper again. Some of us didn't want to leave our houses again. The minutiae of popular culture became staggeringly unimportant. Humorists like David Letterman and my colleague, Dave Barry, wondered if they could ever return to the business of laughter.

We were scared dry. And some of us said: Get used to it. This was the new normal.

But skyscrapers did not close from lack of use. We did not become a nation of agoraphobics. We did not lose our interest in singers and movie stars. Letterman and Barry went back to work.

Fear, which had cut through us like a hot poker, became instead a low-grade fever, ambient noise, wallpaper, something you feel without feeling, hear without hearing, see without seeing.

Then you look up one day and realize how profoundly that fear has changed your world. People are imprisoned without charges or access to attorneys, and it's routine. People are surveilled, their reading habits studied, their telephone usage logged, and it's commonplace. People, including children, end up on a secret list of those who are not allowed to fly, nobody will tell you why, there is no appeal, and it's ordinary. We swallow lies like candy, nod sagely at babblespeak, and it's unexceptional.

Torture is inflicted with White House approval, the president lies about it and it's just another Tuesday.

Once upon a time, Americans were fond of looking upon backward nations, upon places where law was whatever the king said it was, and noting with pride that we do things differently in our country. But that was a day long ago and a country long gone.

If we miss the one or mourn the other, you'd never know it to look at us. We live through what feels evermore like a Joe McCarthy fever dream. We feel without feeling, hear without hearing, see without seeing and do not protest what we have become.

Because this is normal now.

The Real Plumbers of Ohio

By Nobel Laureate Paul Krugman

Forty years ago, Richard Nixon made a remarkable marketing discovery. By exploiting America’s divisions — divisions over Vietnam, divisions over cultural change and, above all, racial divisions — he was able to reinvent the Republican brand. The party of plutocrats was repackaged as the party of the “silent majority,” the regular guys — white guys, it went without saying — who didn’t like the social changes taking place.

It was a winning formula. And the great thing was that the new packaging didn’t require any change in the product’s actual contents — in fact, the G.O.P. was able to keep winning elections even as its actual policies became more pro-plutocrat, and less favorable to working Americans, than ever.

John McCain’s strategy, in this final stretch, is based on the belief that the old formula still has life in it.

Thus we have Sarah Palin expressing her joy at visiting the “pro-America” parts of the country — yep, we’re all traitors here in central New Jersey. Meanwhile we’ve got Mr. McCain making Samuel J. Wurzelbacher, a k a Joe the Plumber — who had confronted Barack Obama on the campaign trail, alleging that the Democratic candidate would raise his taxes — the centerpiece of his attack on Mr. Obama’s economic proposals.

And when it turned out that the right’s new icon had a few issues, like not being licensed and comparing Mr. Obama to Sammy Davis Jr., conservatives played victim: see how much those snooty elitists hate the common man?

But what’s really happening to the plumbers of Ohio, and to working Americans in general?

First of all, they aren’t making a lot of money. You may recall that in one of the early Democratic debates Charles Gibson of ABC suggested that $200,000 a year was a middle-class income. Tell that to Ohio plumbers: according to the May 2007 occupational earnings report from the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the average annual income of “plumbers, pipefitters and steamfitters” in Ohio was $47,930.

Second, their real incomes have stagnated or fallen, even in supposedly good years. The Bush administration assured us that the economy was booming in 2007 — but the average Ohio plumber’s income in that 2007 report was only 15.5 percent higher than in the 2000 report, not enough to keep up with the 17.7 percent rise in consumer prices in the Midwest. As Ohio plumbers went, so went the nation: median household income, adjusted for inflation, was lower in 2007 than it had been in 2000.

Third, Ohio plumbers have been having growing trouble getting health insurance, especially if, like many craftsmen, they work for small firms. According to the Kaiser Family Foundation, in 2007 only 45 percent of companies with fewer than 10 employees offered health benefits, down from 57 percent in 2000.

And bear in mind that all these data pertain to 2007 — which was as good as it got in recent years. Now that the “Bush boom,” such as it was, is over, we can see that it achieved a dismal distinction: for the first time on record, an economic expansion failed to raise most Americans’ incomes above their previous peak.

Since then, of course, things have gone rapidly downhill, as millions of working Americans have lost their jobs and their homes. And all indicators suggest that things will get much worse in the months and years ahead.

So what does all this say about the candidates? Who’s really standing up for Ohio’s plumbers?

Mr. McCain claims that Mr. Obama’s policies would lead to economic disaster. But President Bush’s policies have already led to disaster — and whatever he may say, Mr. McCain proposes continuing Mr. Bush’s policies in all essential respects, and he shares Mr. Bush’s anti-government, anti-regulation philosophy.

What about the claim, based on Joe the Plumber’s complaint, that ordinary working Americans would face higher taxes under Mr. Obama? Well, Mr. Obama proposes raising rates on only the top two income tax brackets — and the second-highest bracket for a head of household starts at an income, after deductions, of $182,400 a year.

Maybe there are plumbers out there who earn that much, or who would end up suffering from Mr. Obama’s proposed modest increases in taxes on dividends and capital gains — America is a big country, and there’s probably a high-income plumber with a huge stock market portfolio out there somewhere. But the typical plumber would pay lower, not higher, taxes under an Obama administration, and would have a much better chance of getting health insurance.

I don’t want to suggest that everyone would be better off under the Obama tax plan. Joe the plumber would almost certainly be better off, but Richie the hedge fund manager would take a serious hit.

But that’s the point. Whatever today’s G.O.P. is, it isn’t the party of working Americans.

Wow.

We stood on the sidewalk and watched. And the people just kept coming. And coming. And coming. "This line does have an end, right?" said some guy as he headed past. We would have smiled at him, but we already were. We knew we were part of something amazing. (And we were glad to be at least a little ahead.)

Retirees with beauty-shop hair stood with tough-looking workers who stood with college kids who stood with polo-and-khakis-yuppies who stood with old guys in ball caps who stood with couples of all combinations who stood with thousands and thousands of families in a line that stretched for at least a mile's worth of blocks until we all poured through the abandoned security gates to the sloping lawn under the arch. My, "Wow," was not a solo, and I can't be alone in saying it was like nothing I've ever experienced. Oh, I've been in that crowd in that spot, for a concert or a fireworks view, but the attitude was entirely different. It was peaceful anticipation and by God, it was hope. It was seeing the phenomenon for ourselves. Feeling the possibility. It was a great day, a great memory for a girl and her mom. Now here's hoping all those folks go VOTE.

Ha!

Like mother

"Who do you think did it?" asks my daughter in the middle of my parking lot rant.

"Some. . . REPUBLICAN!" I sputter, refraining from repeating the other descriptors that are going through my mind. She is, after all, impressionable. Proof of that perhaps being her eagerness to spend half a Saturday with her mother and sixty-thousand others listening to the next president under the Arch.

But in the meantime, I'm ticked, and I can't stop gesturing at the circle of dust left behind where some. . . REPUBLICAN . . . stole the Obama magnet off my car.

I try to focus and finish loading the groceries.

"Don't worry," says my helper. "I'll give you a pillow to punch when we get home . . .and," she giggles, "I'll put John McCain's picture on it." I'm surprised only that she didn't say Palin.

A joke

No, not the joke of the Republican ticket-- this one is harmless. And it makes me laugh every time. In person, I'm a fairly terrible joke-teller, so I figured I'd write it down, why not:

You are on a fast-paced horse. There is a giraffe beside you and an angry lion behind you. What do you do?



You get your drunk ass off the carousel.

I love Keith

at the funeral home

"It's not like I have a choice," she says, staring off into the future. She's done what she had to do, and she'll keep doing it. For her father, for her sister. For her mother, lying still in the next room. She looks younger than nineteen. She looks like the kid she'll never be again, except no kid should be that weary. No mother should pass from life at the age of not-quite-forty-two. It's not that others don't have it worse, not that it won't be as right as it can be in the end. It's not that anyone said life would be fair; we just wish it would be, anyway.

The rented chapel is crowded but silent, the custom not quite familiar to the two blondes in the back. We are all just being there for them, quite literally. At the moment, it's all that we can do.

message

RIP. A name. A date. Tragedy reduced down to a text. If only it were really that small.

The buzz of homecoming recedes as I type out my reply, say either nothing or everything. I can't tell. I can't help but think of my mother. And being nineteen. And all that's ahead, or what might not be now, for the girl on the other end of the line.

I tell a girl who needs to know. We sit quietly.

"At least she's at peace now," says my teenage companion. I wish that and more for the daughter.

Kid gloves

I'm among the many who keep waiting for the answer. The right hook to the nose. Some fighting spirit already from Barack Obama.

I mean, really, how much Swift Boating can a presidential candidate take? Plenty, apparently, although this forthcoming response -- while lacking the intensity I crave -- tells us all we need to know about the next president of the re-United States.

http://link.brightcove.com/services/link/bcpid1274008686/bclid1842745270/bctid1844687171

Bailout Math

or, Ma and Pa Kettle on Wall Street

listening

And now I sit holding the phone. Wondering and waiting. Debating, though there's no real question about what I can do.

Nothing.

Nothing except wait and wonder and be ready to reply. Nothing except try to find the words for the girl who is losing her mother. The weeks have passed, have become days, maybe hours. She sent a message to let me know. I tell her I'm sorry. I tell her she's strong. Shake my head and sigh at what she's been through. She tells me yesterday was her birthday.

I ask after the family she's been holding together. The conversation ends.

It will start again, I know, though maybe not with that question. It will start again when when she needs to, when she wants to. When she needs a break. Or maybe when she's gone.

Actual Mavericks

The word geek in me, who is also a lefty/liberal/progressive/Democrat, got a kick out of this.

Who You Callin’ a Maverick?
by John Schwartz
from NYTimes.com

There’s that word again: maverick. In Thursday’s vice-presidential debate, Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska, the Republican candidate, used it to describe herself and her running mate, Senator John McCain, no fewer than six times, at one point calling him “the consummate maverick.”

But to those who know the history of the word, applying it to Mr. McCain is a bit of a stretch — and to one Texas family in particular it is even a bit offensive.

“I’m just enraged that McCain calls himself a maverick,” said Terrellita Maverick, 82, a San Antonio native who proudly carries the name of a family that has been known for its progressive politics since the 1600s, when an early ancestor in Boston got into trouble with the law over his agitation for the rights of indentured servants.

In the 1800s, Samuel Augustus Maverick went to Texas and became known for not branding his cattle. He was more interested in keeping track of the land he owned than the livestock on it, Ms. Maverick said; unbranded cattle, then, were called “Maverick’s.” The name came to mean anyone who didn’t bear another’s brand.

Sam Maverick’s grandson, Fontaine Maury Maverick, was a two-term congressman and a mayor of San Antonio who lost his mayoral re-election bid when conservatives labeled him a Communist. He served in the Roosevelt administration on the Smaller War Plants Corporation and is best known for another coinage. He came up with the term “gobbledygook” in frustration at the convoluted language of bureaucrats.

This Maverick’s son, Maury Jr., was a firebrand civil libertarian and lawyer who defended draft resisters, atheists and others scorned by society. He served in the Texas Legislature during the McCarthy era and wrote fiery columns for The San Antonio Express-News. His final column, published on Feb. 2, 2003, just after he died at 82, was an attack on the coming war in Iraq.

Terrellita Maverick, sister of Maury Jr., is a member emeritus of the board of the San Antonio chapter of the American Civil Liberties Union of Texas.

Considering the family’s long history of association with liberalism and progressive ideals, it should come as no surprise that Ms. Maverick insists that John McCain, who has voted so often with his party, “is in no way a maverick, in uppercase or lowercase.”

“It’s just incredible — the nerve! — to suggest that he’s not part of that Republican herd. Every time we hear it, all my children and I and all my family shrink a little and say, ‘Oh, my God, he said it again.’ ”

“He’s a Republican,” she said. “He’s branded.”

Bruce for Barack

10/4/08 in Philly

How sweet it is!

My fantasy football team is 4-0 and on a serious scoring binge with no signs of stopping. My Dodgers have all-but crushed the souls of Cubs fans and are poised to win their first playoff series since magical 1988. And someone I know, who is only the best against-all-odds story in the NFL, scored his first NFL touchdown Sunday for the Buffalo Bills as they rolled over the hapless St. Louis Hams. I wish someone would post his 22-yard run to paydirt on YouTube. For now, this will have to do.

Now if I could only diagram her sentences

Change you can't believe in

The proof, as they say, is in the pudding. And tonight's batch was burnt.

I refer, of course to the $700 BILLION financial industry bailout bill -- which I will henceforth call Wall Street Welfare. It's not like they've never been hypocrites before.

I expected McCain's vote -- especially after he staged the white knight coming to save the day non-event. Obama's disappointed me. This was a chance for him to stand up and show that he won't be a business-as-usual president. That fear and deception will be replaced by hope and truth.

He should have listened to Michael Moore. More people should.