The Second Ass Clown of the Month Award for June, 2014

I should have known that I'd presented the Ass Clown of the Month award too early this month ...

As I feared, another deserving candidate has appeared, and I'm reluctant to wait a whole month before dishonoring him with his own award. Therefore, because it's my blog and I can do what I want, I hereby present the second Ass Clown of the Month award for June 2014 to

Outgoing House Majority Leader Eric Cantor*

As you have surely heard by now, Mr Cantor was beaten like a cheap gong in last week's Virginia Republican primary election, losing in a flood of biblical proportions to economics professor David Brat, who was able to convince the Tea Party that he was even more rabidly conservative and less interested in governing effectively than Mr Cantor. But the real reason I have singled out Mr Cantor for this award is the report - broken by NBC News - that Mr Cantor spent more on 17 campaign dinners at two high-end DC steak houses ($168,637, or $9,920 apiece) than his opponent spent on his entire campaign ($122,793). You can read the entire story here, and in case you're interested, here's the dinner menu from BLT Steak**, one of the two eateries generously patronized by Mr Cantor.

For his display of solidarity with the dining habits of average middle-class Americans and dedicated focus on personal advancement in Washington rather than service to his constituents in Virginia, Eric Cantor is presented our second Ass Clown of the Month award for June, 2014.

Congratulations, Eric - you can show it to your former campaign contributors at your next steak dinner. Assuming you can still afford steak dinners if your campaign isn't paying for them.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

* This is Mr Cantor's second Ass Clown of the Month award ... you can read his earlier award, presented in June of 2011, here.

** $29 for Lemon-Rosemary Chicken? $11 for a bibb lettuce salad with mustard dressing? Don't go looking for Agnes and I there.

Poetry Sunday ... Today, on Monday!

Yesterday, of course, was Sunday, which is usually Poetry Sunday. But because it was also Fathers' Day, I moved your poetry fix to Monday for this week. Mike is probably confused, but I'm sure the rest of you will deal with it just fine.

My mother used to tell me that there was never enough time for everything, but that - nevertheless - it was all the time there is. Here's another take on the passage of time ...

Time Enough

by Dennis O'Driscoll

The tally of years
added up so rapidly
it appeared I had
been short-changed,
tricked by sleight
of hand, fallen victim
to false bookkeeping.

Yet when I checked
my records, each
and every year had
been accounted for,
down to the last day,
and could be audited
against old diary entries
(client briefings,
dental check-ups,
parent-teacher meetings,
wedding anniversaries),
verified with credit
card statements
(multi-trip insurance,
antibiotics, concert bookings,
mobile top-ups).

And, although
nagging doubts
remained—an
inkling that I had
been ripped off
in some way,
given short shrift,
made to live at an
accelerated pace,
rushed through
my routines with
unseemly haste—
nothing could be proved,
no hard and fast
statistics adduced.

I had, it seems,
unknown to me,
been living my
life to the full.


Have a good day. And have a good time ... after all, it's all the time there is.

More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Fathers' Day, 2014

If you were looking for Poetry Sunday, don't despair - because I have a special post today, your poetry fix for the week will appear in this space tomorrow. Come back then, but be sure to read on today as well ...

Today is Fathers' Day, the day we honor the man who contributed half of our chromosomes and many of the life lessons that shaped us into who we are.

Fathers don't always get the same degree of respect that mothers do. We work in design, rather than production, after all, and don't earn the credit that mothers do for going through nine months of pregnancy followed by months of sleepless nights and years of worry. And truth be told, many fathers don't earn that respect. For all too many men, fatherhood is an unfortunate side effect of good sex, and a child is an impediment to the enjoyment of life. For many men, fathering a lot of children by a lot of women is the imagined sign of a manly stud ... not of lives betrayed by a thoughtless ass who thinks with his manly hydraulics instead of his brain and heart.

Luckily, though, there are many good men out there trying their best to be good fathers. It's not an easy job, and not everyone does it successfully ... but fortunately, enough do.

I have often had occasion to reflect back on the course of my life, and to decide that I've been a much better grandfather than I was a father. This is probably normal. You've seen more of life, and had more experiences - good and bad - to share. If you're the grandfather, you get to be the gentle, wise, let-em-do-what-they-want fellow the children love to see, rather than the grouchy, tired father who has to put bread on the table, crack the whip, and enforce the discipline. You get all the joy of holding and loving the children with none of the negatives ... when the baby needs changing, for instance, there's none of that messy fuss - you just give her back to her mother. What's not to like?

I think that, from the father's perspective, we have our children too early in life. We're still learning how to be adults, and all of a sudden we're fathers, responsible for teaching our children all the lessons of life that we haven't even learned yet. Our children grow up as much in spite of our mistakes as because of our excellence in parenting.

When you're a father, you look at your own father differently. It was Mark Twain who supposedly once said, "When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years."

It's true.

A good father, as I came in time to understand, is a gift beyond all price. The gold standard for fatherhood is, of course, my own father. He fought the Nazis* in the skies over World War II Europe, ran his own business, raised four children and buried one, and cared for mom through the long years of misery as Alzheimer's gradually destroyed the mind of the dynamic and witty woman he loved. Today, partially crippled by a stroke and growing more confused by the day, he remains the man to whom I owe whatever shreds of honor, decency, and ... well ... manhood that I can claim.

This was the man who battled for our freedom in 1944 ...

Here he is at the Mount Vernon Wine Festival in 2002, surrounded by admiring ladies (from left to right: our friends Susan and Nadja, our daughter Yasmin, and Agnes) ...

Here he is with my brother Mark and I, on the occasion of Mark's retirement from the Navy (our brother Paul served in the Army, but wasn't able to be there) ...

And here he is last summer at our Fourth of July family reunion in Pittsburgh, surrounded by just some of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren ...

I'd like to think I've made him satisfied, if not proud.

It's politically correct (bordering on mandatory) nowadays to say that a child can grow up just fine in a household with same-sex "parents," but you'll never be able to convince me that it's the same as being raised by a father and a mother who love each other, treat each other with dignity and respect, set a good example, and subordinate their own dreams and desires to the momentous task of raising a brand new human being.

On Fathers' Day, this wonderful song by Dan Fogelberg sums it all up for me ...

Have a good day. Honor your father. And if you're a father, be a good one ... preferably a better one than I was. Your children ... and, indeed, the future ... are depending on you.

More thoughts later.

Bilbo

* The real ones, the ones that murdered millions of innocent people and destroyed most of Europe, not the imaginary ones to which stupid people in this country compare their political opponents.

Cartoon Saturday

Once more into the breach, Dear Friends ...

In the wake of the huge electoral upset in which Tea Party darling David Brat unseated House Majority Leader Eric Cantor, NBC News reported that Cantor's campaign spent more on dinners at two upscale steak houses than his challenger spent on the entire campaign; speaking of steaks, over 4,000 pounds of rib eyes and other beef cuts were recalled from stores in New England and Missouri over fears that they were contaminated with bovine spongiform encephalopathy (BSE - otherwise known as "mad cow disease"); declassified documents released this week by the National Security Archive revealed that two multi-megaton nuclear bombs that fell from a B-52 bomber that crashed in North Carolina in 1961 came close to detonating; forces of the so-called Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) continued to capture territory across Iraq as US-trained and supplied Iraqi army and security forces threw away uniforms and weapons and fled; and North Korean leader Kim Jong-Un berated his nation's weather forecasters for failing to properly forecast the weather.

Every day, in every way, we need the cartoons more and more ...

For this week's collection of theme cartoons, let's look at that traditional American hero - the cowboy ...

Modern cowboys use technology just like the rest of us do ...

It's important to understand right-of-way laws no matter what you're driving ...

Cowboy vacations aren't always fun for all concerned ...

There's trouble down at the Long Branch ...

I suppose he's technically a cowboy, but ...

Turning to other topics, Agnes is always trying to be proactive ...

Drill for what's commercially the most valuable ...

Some lobbyists and members of Congress are more successful than others ...

There's a difference in viewpoint that comes with age ...

And finally, this lineup ought to be interesting ...

That's it for another Cartoon Saturday ... I hope it helped you shake off the dust and drear of the past week. 

After a week of high heat, humidity, and strong thunderstorms here in NoVa, it look as if we're in for a pleasant weekend, with lower temperatures and less humidity. We can use it! Later today, our friends Ken and Nadja will be joining us for dinner, and tomorrow we'll celebrate Fathers' Day ... be sure to be here for my annual Fathers' Day tribute post. The regular Poetry Sunday post will appear on Monday.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Advice for Surviving Friday the Thirteenth

Today is Friday the Thirteenth. Do not do any of the following, all of which will compound your bad luck:

1. Allow a black cat to cross your path.

2. Walk under a ladder.

3. Light three of anything on a single match.

4. Break a mirror.

5. Spill any salt.

6. Open an umbrella indoors.

7. Say "What's the worst that could happen?"

8. Dial a phone number containing three sixes in a row.

9. Vote Republican.

10. Vote Democratic.

Be careful out there. You have Cartoon Saturday and Poetry Sunday to look forward to.

Have a good day. More thoughts coming.

Bilbo

The Things We'll Miss Tomorrow

You will recall, Dear Readers, ... or, at least, I hope you'll recall ... that yesterday I shared with you a few nostalgia-type photos sent to me by my friend Ken, who managed to get off his motorcycle long enough to pass them on to me. As I'm a child of the 50's and 60's, I remember a lot of things that are long gone ... like filling up my parents' car with gas and getting change back from a five (and having the service station attendant wash the windshield and check the oil and tires), seeing lots of those duck's ass and flat-top haircuts held in place by Code 10 ("It's Invisible, Man"), and mailing letters for four cents an ounce.

Yes, it's been a while.

But in the comment she left on yesterday's post, Peg asked an interesting question: What do you think we'll miss from today?

Indeed ... when my grandchildren look back from their vantage point 50 or 60 years down the road, what are the things we accept and take for granted today that they will look back on with sepia-tinted nostalgia? I can think of a few ...

Kiribati - it sits in the South Pacific Ocean, and no part of it is more than six feet above sea level. The president of Kiribati predicts that in 60 years, as a result of global warming and the rapid rise in the sea level, his country - home to more than 100,000 people - will disappear.

Telephone Poles - as land line telephones disappear, so will the good old telephone pole. Of course, it's already being replaced by the cell tower.

Coral Reefs - climate change, pollution, and overfishing are killing off the coral reefs that are home to thousands of species of ocean life.

"Wet Signatures" - it won't be long before nobody signs their name in ink any more ... we'll "sign" documents* digitally by typing in a password or identification number, or biometrically with a fingerprint or a retinal scan. My youngest grandchild may not understand the expression "sign on the dotted line." And that brings up the pending disappearance of ...

Cursive - the need to master traditional cursive handwriting is rapidly vanishing in the age of keyboards. I find this particularly sad, and will have more to say about it in future posts.

The Black Rhinoceros - habitat loss and extensive poaching in the belief that their horns have medicinal or aphrodisiac value have driven the black rhino to the point of extinction.

Postage Stamps - if no one is sending personal letters and bulk mailers use meters, there won't be a need for postage stamps in the not-too-distant future.

Stunt Doubles - it will be cheaper and safer to use increasingly realistic computer animations of actors for dangerous scenes in action movies.

Privacy - between the government and big business, there's not much left now; I think it'll be extinct by the time my youngest grandchild, Ava, is old enough to worry about it.

And finally, for now ...

Books - the rapid growth and proliferation of digital readers is rapidly driving the traditional ink-and-paper book into obsolescence.

What do you think, Dear Readers? What are the things you think will be disappearing in the next half-century or so? Leave a comment and share your thoughts with the rest of us.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

* "Documents" are going away, too. Before long, it'll be all digital.

Nostalgia's Not What It Used to Be

My friend Ken sent me an e-mail the other day titled "The Way Things Used to Be." It contained a collection of interesting pictures of people and situations going ... well ... way back. Here are a few of the more interesting ones (with my commentary, of course) ...

It's comforting to look at price lists from years ago, compare them to how expensive things are now, and think about how cheaply we could have lived "back then." Of course, those prices need to be considered relative to what people earned at the time ... and when you look at them that way, they weren't nearly as low as they look now. But wouldn't it have been nice to get that top of the line Nash for less than $1400?

In the 1950's, there weren't any cell phones - the coin operated telephone was the pinnacle of communications technology, and you weren't likely to have one in your car. It was nice to have the occasional place where you could call from your car ...

Remember back when we "wrote letters" rather than "sending e-mails?" Well, Mike doesn't, but some of the rest of you might. I can still remember sending first-class letters home from college for 4 cents, although they weren't picked up by this fellow ...

Things were pretty hairy back in the 50's. Of course, they were a lot hairier in the 60's ...

Nostalgia. It's not what it used to be.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

The March of Progress

I saw this cartoon on Facebook the other day ...

... and it reminded me of a question that's been bothering me about the so-called "zero emissions" electric cars: where does the electricity that powers them come from?

Now granted, when the car is tooling along on full battery power, it's not burning fossil fuels or generating any nasty pollutants, and so its manufacturer proudly proclaims it to be a "clean" or "environmentally friendly" vehicle, and its owner whirs down the highway and looks down his nose at all the less environmentally responsible people who are driving gasoline-powered vehicles and pumping pollutants into the air.

But riddle me this, Batman: where does the electricity to charge those batteries come from in the first place?

That car may not be generating pollutants when it's running, but the electricity which charged its batteries in the first place obviously had to come from some source of generation. It may have been a coal-burning power plant that pumps its own pollutants into the air and depends on the environmentally problematic mining of coal. It may have come from a nuclear power plant, which generates waste that will be deadly for so long that we don't even have ways to warn people that far in the future that it's still dangerous. Or perhaps it came from a hydroelectric plant powered by a dam that blocks a river and causes environmental damage of its own. And let's not forget that the batteries in that car will need to be disposed of at some point in the future ... probably in a landfill that has its own environmental issues.

The bottom line is that there's no such thing as a free ride ... everything's a trade-off. We can build a car that may not directly generate pollutants on its own, but which comes at the end of a production and supply chain that isn't environmentally friendly at all.

If we want cars, there are limits to how green we can go and problems with just about every power option ...

We just need to decide what the tradeoff point is between our desire to drive and fly, and our desire for breathable air and drinkable water. Too bad we probably won't decide until it's too late.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Getting Hit By a Girl Can Hurt More Than You Might Think

The late comedian Rodney Dangerfield was famous for his signature line, “I don’t get no respect!” His entire professional image was built on his reputation as the downtrodden and disrespected fellow that nobody ever took seriously (“My psychiatrist told me I was crazy and I said I wanted a second opinion. He said okay, you're ugly too.”). But Rodney Dangerfield isn’t the only one who doesn’t get less respect than he deserves.

According to a study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, hurricanes with female names get less respect than hurricanes with male names. Here’s what the abstract of the study says:

“… We use more than six decades of death rates from US hurricanes to show that feminine-named hurricanes cause significantly more deaths than do masculine-named hurricanes. Laboratory experiments indicate that this is because hurricane names lead to gender-based expectations about severity and this, in turn, guides respondents’ preparedness to take protective action.”

In short, because we tend to associate feminine names with nurturing and gentleness and masculine names with strength and power, people are less likely to take seriously the danger posed by a storm with a feminine name. The study suggested that that changing the name of a hurricane from male to female could nearly triple its death toll.

Hurricanes were first given names in 1950, and the names they were given were exclusively feminine*. In 1979, partly because of pressure from women’s advocacy groups, the World Meteorological Organization began to alternate between male and female names for storms. It might be interesting to know whether there was a measurable difference in death rates among storms when only feminine names were used (for instance, whether hurricanes with more unusual or harsher-sounding feminine names - like Griselda or Beulah - were reacted to differently than those with softer-sounding names - like Mary or Donna), although I’m not sure how that might be measured now.

One suggestion for fixing the problem of under-respected storms has been to use the names of famous villains or monsters instead of men and women, the theory being that a hurricane named Godzilla, Voldemort, or Limbaugh would engender more fear and, thus, better preparation than a hurricane named Charity, Daisy, or Taylor Swift**.

No matter what we call them, though, devastating winds will continue to wreak havoc on defenseless populations. Such winds are particularly likely when Congress is in session, during election years, and when the GOP senses a juicy new potential scandal with which to bedevil the administration.

There's never any shortage of hot air and wind in DC, climate change or no.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

* Leading to the old children’s joke that asked “Why are hurricanes always named after women? Because otherwise they’d be himicanes!”

** Hurricane Gaga would be another matter entirely.

Poetry Sunday

I first read this poem when I was in high school, and it made a great impression on me. It's still one of my favorites, and makes for a great dramatic reading.

The Fool’s Prayer

by Edward R. Sill

The royal feast was done, the king

Sought some new sport to banish care,

And to his jester cried, ‘Sir Fool,

Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!’

The jester doffed his cap and bells,

And stood the mocking court before;

They could not see the bitter smile

Behind the painted grin he wore

He bowed his head and bent his knee

Upon the monarch’s silken stool;

His pleading voice arose, ‘O, Lord,

Be merciful to me, a fool!

‘No pity, Lord, could change the heart

From red with wrong to white as wool;

The rod must heal the sin; but, Lord,

Be merciful to me, a fool!

‘Tis not by guilt the onward sweep

Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;

‘Tis by our follies that so long

We hold the earth from heaven away

‘These clumsy feet, still in the mire

Go crushing blossoms without end;

These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust

Among the heartstrings of a friend

‘The ill-timed truth we might have kept -

Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?

The word we had not sense to say -

Who knows how grandly it had rung?

Our faults no tenderness should ask,

The chastening stripes must cleanse them all;

But for our blunders - oh, in shame

Before the eyes of heaven we fall.

Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;

Men crown the knave and scourge the tool

That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,

Be merciful to me, a fool!’

The room was hushed; in silence rose

The king, and sought his gardens cool,

And walked apart and murmured low,

‘Be merciful to me, a fool!’

There are a lot of fools nowadays who would do well to study this poem. And few of them should expect mercy at the polls.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo