Janus

After the shootings in Connecticut this month, I suggested to my daughter that she consider moving abroad if our government fails to take subsequent action on gun violence.  I changed my mind about this recommendation once the NRA's Wayne LaPierre made clear the views of his organization.  As he advocated placing armed guards in schools across America, he spoke with a voice that I simply don't want representing my country anymore.  Rather than give up on America, I'd like to stand with those who wish to free us from the madness.

On this particular New Year's Eve, I'm thinking of the Roman God Janus, the god of beginnings and endings who's often pictured with two profiles facing in opposite directions.  LaPierre is the image facing backwards, gazing at a past that never should have been.

Whose face is gazing forward?  Michael Bloomberg's, Barack Obama's, yours, mine?  As the god of transition between primitive life and civilization, Janus calls on us to stand up to the NRA and become the civilized society that our Founders envisioned.  For surely they never dreamed that a "well regulated militia" entitled citizens to bear arms against school children.

The second amendment has been distorted by too many for too long.  This January I hope we can change the face of America so that Wayne LaPierre's image no longer dominates.

Failure to Perform

On the eve of the fiscal cliff dive, perhaps we should consider withholding pay from our legislators when they fail to do their job.  The House of Representatives is especially non-functioning.  What kind of evaluation would most of us receive if we didn't provide services to our customers--the very services we're paid to do?  We're stuck with a sorry lot on Capitol Hill.  The children's song "Did You Ever See a Lassie?" comes to mind:

Did you ever see a Congress
reneging like this one?
Did you ever see a Congress
reneging like this?

Right wingers, they dither,
They dawdle and postpone.
Did you ever see a Congress
reneging like this?

A Dog's Life: Sundance

From Emily Dickinson: "You ask of my companions.  Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself that my father bought me.  They are better than human beings, because they know but do not tell."

Christmas Eve

The stockings were draped on the usual chair,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

Over the F'Cliff

For some reason the fiscal cliff provides endless opportunities for spoofing.  Perhaps it's the unfortunate name we've given it.  At any rate, sing to the tune of "Over the River and Through the Woods":

Over the F'Cliff and down the tubes
To John Boehner's House we go.
His troops are extreme, they make up a team
That only ever says NO!

Over the F'Cliff and down the tubes
Oh how right wingers whine.
It's taxes they hate no matter the rate
Dumb pledges they did sign.

Disarmament

For those of us who've been holding vigil all these years--writing letters to the editor and sending checks to the Brady Campaign--this week's broken silence is hard to believe.  Judging from the groundswell of support around the country, our numbers are larger than we thought.  It's as if a dam finally broke, and the rush of anger, frustration, and sadness is taking over the country.

What will the NRA have to say on Friday?  If it's not an effort towards banning assault weapons and controlling ammunition purchases, I say good riddance.  The NRA has done more harm to this country than just about any other "law-abiding" group.

The president has finally spoken.  Some legislators seem to get it.  Our mayors have gotten it all along.  The time has come to shut down our dangerous, armed society.  For the first time in years, I'm hopeful.

But oh how sad that we had to lose such little children to get to this place.

More on Newtown

President Obama's visit to Newtown, Connecticut, last night must have been one of the saddest occasions of his life, made all the sadder because the American government failed to protect its most vulnerable citizens.  We know there are ways to protect ourselves from gun violence--we used to have an Assault Weapons Ban--but our leaders are chicken.

I sent an email to NC Senator Hagan last night urging her to take action on gun violence.  The drop-down menu on her website listed both "Second Amendment" and "Drug/Crime" as subjects I could select, but I clicked on "Terrorism" instead, for this most accurately describes these shootings.

Whenever they happen, we immediately hear news stories about how rare such incidents are.  But so was September 11, and our government sprang into action with new agencies, new commissions, new airport policies, and new warning systems.  Nothing comparable happens with gun shootings, even though the number of victims each month roughly equals the total number of those killed on September 11.  And not only does nothing happen, nobody even says anything, other than to offer big hugs to the survivors.

These hugs are becoming meaningless, I'm sorry to say, when we fail to DO ANYTHING to try to stop gun violence in the first place.  Solutions aren't easy, and some ideas will fail.  But worse than failure is silence--which has been deafening for too long.

President Obama spoke out last night, finally, and seems ready to take action.  To do so on his part is not to play politics with a tragedy, as some will charge.  Rather, it's what a responsible, civilized society does--take something that went terribly wrong and try to prevent it from ever happening again.

No Humor Today

The children and staff at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Connecticut should not have had to endure the terror that befell them yesterday nor should the children's parents have to live with such unspeakable grief.

We must resist Jay Carney's statement when he said that Friday was not the day "for the usual Washington policy debates."  Quite the contrary.  "The usual Washington policy debates" have been swept under the carpet too many times.  The discussion--and the need for action--began as soon as the gunman opened fire.

Is there no crime too heinous for us to act?

Heavenly Health Insurance

The absurdity of American health insurance arrived in my mail not long ago.  My friend Hildegard, who died recently and who would have howled with laughter at this nonsense, received a HIPAA certificate from her former insurance company.  No doubt she'd be glad to hear that she'll need this evidence of coverage--when she arrives in heaven--"to reduce a preexisting condition exclusion period under another plan, to help [her] get special enrollment in another plan, or to get certain types of individual health coverage even if [she has] health problems."

Health problems?  Does this include death?  I wouldn't be surprised to hear that St. Peter himself collects co-pays from every American who arrives at the pearly gates.

We've got an antiquated system of health insurance.  The HIPAA Portability Rights that Hildegard's certificate guaranteed were an important step in 1996, but this was 16 years ago.  We've got to join the 21st century.

Obamacare moves us in the right direction.  I'm interested to see what happens when the state and federal governments establish the newly-required exchanges.

In the meantime, don't worry if you're covered by insurance at work: if you die, your next insurer can't hold your death against you.

Bah, Humbug

It's too hot for Christmas.  Something's wrong when you hear "Sleigh Ride" and "Silver Bells" playing in the mall, only to step outside to a 70-degree day.  The inflatable penguins with scarves wrapped around their necks look sillier than usual, and the snow men should simply remain in the attic.

I thought I might find the Christmas spirit yesterday afternoon at Duke Chapel where the Choral Society of Durham performed its annual concert.  The music was beautiful indeed, but I couldn't help notice the aging white crowd, and I wondered about the fate of Christmas itself.  Not so much the secular Christmas, which long ago deteriorated into consumerism, but the Christian Christmas, with its fantastic story of angels, wise men, and a virgin birth.  It seemed quaint and out of touch.

Messiahs are hard to come by, I've decided, at least for now.  I'll set my sights a bit lower and hope that we mere mortals can chart a saner course.  After all, our wish for a messiah is part of our problem; thinking that someone will magically appear lets us off the hook.

Meanwhile the planet heats up, the rich are too rich, and the sick are still sick.  We've got work to do, messiah or no messiah. 

It's what Jesus taught, after all.

Just Two Guys

Thursday's news that President Obama and House Speaker Boehner will conduct fiscal negotiations alone (without Mitch McConnell, Nancy Pelosi, or Harry Reid present) reminds me of an old song by Grover Washington, Jr., and Bill Withers, "Just the Two of Us."  The breezy romanticism of the original song provides a nice contrast with the brinkmanship currently taking place.

I see ahead a fiscal cliff
That I want so hard to miss but I don't know if we will
To make a deal is hard to do when there's no one else to blame
And I must report back to the Hill.

Just the two of us
We can make it if we try
Just the two of us

Just the two of us
Building bridges in D.C.
Just the two of us
You and me.

We look for cuts, no time for tears
Deficits are all that is and they don't make no jobs to grow
Good things might come to those who wait, not for those who wait too late
We've got to generate more dough.

Just the two of us
We can make it if we try
Just the two of us

Just the two of us
Cutting deals across the aisle
Just the two of us
No more bile.

I hear the tax pledge signers sigh I am simply not their guy
It's Grover Norquist they prefer
And, Barry, when that date arrives and I see the cliff in sight
I want to be with you, dear sir.

Just the two of us
We can make it if we try
Just the two of us

Just the two of us
Trying hard to compromise
Just the two of us
Just two guys.

In the Garden: From Madeleine

Winter comes to Boston. . .

Within Eyeshot

At the Newseum last weekend I especially enjoyed watching videos of Pulitzer Prize-winning photographers describe the sequence of events that led to the shooting of their photos.  The first one we selected was the Kent State picture where Mary Vecchio, the young teenager, cries over the body of the gunned-down student Jeffrey Miller in 1970 (click here).  John Filo, the photographer, explains how he thought at first that he had the perfect picture when he captured a student waving a black flag in front of the National Guard.  It was only moments later when he understood that real bullets were being fired and turned unexpectedly to capture the iconic photograph of the student protest movement.

We also watched Sal Veder describe his photograph of returning American POW Robert Stirm whose family, in 1973, rushed to greet him on the tarmac at Travis Air Force Base (click here).  Veder, too, came upon the picture without much thought.  Initially he was taking pictures of the crowd when he saw "a little movement out of the corner of [his] eye," and turned quickly to photograph Stirm's family--an image of joy frozen in time.

Even Joe Rosenthal, who shot the raising of the flag at Iwo Jima, was going for a more posed picture that day in 1945 (click here).  When he came upon a group of Marines planning to replace a small American flag with a larger one that could be seen all over the island, he began calculating his angle and position to get the picture.  He spoke briefly to another photographer when, all of the sudden, the Marines began hoisting the pole.  He clicked and captured what may be the most famous picture of all.

These photographers all thought they were doing one thing when, in fact, they ended up doing something else--something far more significant than they understood at the time.  I wonder if life works like this more often than we realize.  When we spend so much energy focused on our children, or a job, or an illness, or despair, is it possible that something else--something hidden and not fully understood--is happening at the same time?

Maybe we don't need to be as scripted as we think.  We need to show up, of course, and to pay attention, but maybe the high points of our lives aren't the ones we plan.  Maybe they're the ones that form in the corners of our eyes. 

Click.  That photo you took on the fly may turn out better than you expect.

Over the Cliff

Here's one for our feckless Congress.  Sing to the tune of "She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain":

We'll be jumpin' off the fiscal cliff, we will,
We'll be jumpin' off the fiscal cliff, we will,
We can't ask the rich to pay more
'Cause they'll end up being too poor
So we're jumpin' off the fiscal cliff, we are.

Prez is drivin' a hard bargain, yes he is,
Prez is drivin' a hard bargain, yes he is,
Boehner still wants all those tax cuts
Keep in line all his right-wing nuts
Prez is drivin' a hard bargain, yes he is.

And we'll go into recession when we jump,
Yes we'll go into recession when we jump,
'Cause our Congress made a bad deal
One we wish that they could repeal
So we'll go into recession when we jump.

Some will kill negotiations when they can,
Some will kill negotiations when they can,
That's the problem with our Congress
How it functions no one can guess
Some will kill negotiations when they can.

We'll be shoutin' Hallelujah when we jump,
We'll be shoutin' Hallelujah when we jump,
For we know no one can save us
So let's not create a big fuss
We'll be shoutin' Hallelujah when we jump.

On the Mall. . .

. . . the future Deputy White House Chief of Staff.

Color in the Capital

In Washington, D. C., this past weekend, we saw color everywhere.  The Matisse Cut-Outs at the National Gallery burst with color as did the neighboring sculptures and mobiles of Alexander Calder.  Works such as Crinkly Worm and Black Camel with Blue Head and Red Tongue made us want to laugh out loud.

But across the street at the Newseum, the displays were more muted.  There we saw a portion of the Berlin Wall, which, though covered with graffiti on one side, is blank and dull on the other.  Black and white Pulitzer Prize-winning photographs line the walls downstairs, and the horror of 9/11 is captured in a video where a NYC reporter describes the rubble of the twin towers as "monochromatic."

Life comes to us in many shades.  Sometimes black and white is all we can take.  Other times gray is forced upon us, as the East Berlin side of the Wall so vividly shows.  And other times, when life is really bleak, we can see only one shade.

If we're lucky, Matisse and Calder show up every so often, and whimsy and mirth take over for awhile.

A Farewell to Hostess

The news that Hostess Brands would close its doors shifted last week's news briefly away from General Petraeus and Paula Broadwell.  We managed to cram two of our greatest loves--scandals and junk food--into one week.  Sing to the tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star":

Twinkie, Twinkie, sugar high,
Must we really say good-bye?
Hostess cupcakes up for sale
Baby boomers weep and wail.
Twinkie, Twinkie, sugar high,
Must we really say good-bye?

Yodels, Ring Dings, SnoBalls, too,
They were never good for you.
But we ate them anyway
Now we'll buy them on eBay.
Yodels, Ring Dings, SnoBalls, too,
They were never good for you.

Blessed are the Merciful

Sometimes it's hard to feel thankful when friends and family are sick, and loved ones have died.  It's wearing dealing with illness and death, even when illness is treatable and death is expected.  I'm tired of doctors' offices and emergency rooms.

A few people have made these weeks easier, however, and I thank them for their kindness:

The woman who picked me up in her car 3 weeks ago when I was running to the Duke Emergency Room, afraid that I'd be too late to see my friend Hildegard one last time.

The nurse at the Forest at Duke who, when she saw me the next day and learned that she and I and Hildegard had all grown up near Philadelphia, showed me with delight a large, framed photograph of the city.

The dermatologist I saw Tuesday who is simply the nicest doctor I've ever had.

The receptionist at the Pediatric ENT Clinic who shares my sense of humor and thanked me yesterday for making her laugh.

Our pharmacist Nancy--who I also recognized last year at this time--who is unfailingly kind, professional, and conscientious.

The Messy Way Forward

Each year the Durham County Library sponsors a series of events surrounding one book chosen for the community to read, called "Durham Reads Together."  I propose a variant of this, called "USA Watches Together," where we all watch Steven Spielberg's new movie Lincoln. 

For to watch this movie is to be reminded that both vision and horse-trading make democracy work.  In it, we see vividly that passage of the 13th amendment--to abolish slavery in the United States--required manipulation and compromise on the part of its main players.  The "My way or the highway" thinking that dominates our current political discourse simply didn't work in 1865 and it won't work today.

What will work is a president who has a vision, legislators who can make a deal, at least a few people who vote their conscience, and everyone willing to get their hands a little dirtier than they'd like.

Scandalous Isle

My favorite TV song from childhood is the theme song from Gilligan's Island.  It captures the spirit of growing up in the suburbs in the 1960s, when adventures seemed to come effortlessly.  Moreover, the opening line--"Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale"--suggests endless possibilities.  So when the story broke about General Petraeus, I knew I had my song.  Sing to the tune of "The Ballad of Gilligan's Island" (first-season version where the Professor and Mary Ann are referred to as "the rest").

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale
A tale sordid and crass
That started with a socialite
Who liked to hang with brass.

The socialite was getting stalked
On cyberspace, no less
If not for the entrance of the FBI
We might not have this mess.
We might not have this mess.

The shirtless agent found some mail
Of scandalous content
A general was compromised
By emails stored and sent.
By emails stored and sent.

The story has engulfed a few notorious people
Like Jill Kelley
John Allen, too,
Paula Broadwell
and her spouse
Petraeus, yes
And the rest
Are here on Scandalous Isle.

The women's arms were toned and firm
The men were fit and strong
But when you head the CIA
You simply can't go wrong.

The general he had to quit
Because of poor judgment
He should have done a better job
Of hiding evidence.

So here we go again, my friends,
Another one brought low
Tune in next month to watch anew
This never-ending show.

Autumn: In the Garden

You find a flower half-buried in leaves,
And in your eye its very fate resides.
Loving beauty, you caress the bloom;
Soon enough, you'll sweep petals from the floor.
Terrible to love the lovely so,
To count your own years, to say "I'm old,"
To see a flower half-buried in leaves
And come face to face with what you are.

- Han Shan

Oh What a Tangled Web We Weave

It wasn't just Mitt Romney who was defeated last week.  It was also the lies he told.  Lies about his record, lies about his policies, lies about Jeeps made in China.  He and his Republican Party couldn't stop lying, so much so that they even lied to themselves--denying facts and polls and evidence that left them stunned by their defeat on November 6.

They have only themselves to blame.  The false bubble they created grew so big that it burst, like a child's bubble blown into the wind.

I hope they chart a more truthful course for the future.  Sure, there will always be politics and spin and exaggeration, but day after day of outright lies does no one any good.  Cynicism and ignorance abound, and intelligent disagreements are impossible.

Let's hope that the so-called "Party of Lincoln" decides going forward to follow the advice of Honest Abe.

Winners All

What a triumphant week!  Let's join together with President Obama to sing Queen's great song "We Are the Champions" and enjoy the moment.  These are the real words:

I've paid my dues -
Time after time -
I've done my sentence
But committed no crime -
And bad mistakes
I've made a few
I've had my share of sand kicked in my face -
But I've come through.

We are the champions - my friends
And we'll keep on fighting - till the end -
We are the champions -
We are the champions
No time for losers
'Cause we are the champions - of the world -

I've taken my bows
And my curtain calls -
You brought me fame and fortune and everything that goes with it -
 I thank you all -

But it's been no bed of roses
No pleasure cruise -
I consider it a challenge before the whole human race -
And I ain't gonna lose -

We are the champions - my friends
And we'll keep on fighting - till the end -
We are the champions -
We are the champions
No time for losers
'Cause we are the champions - of the world -

Enthusiasm Gap? I Don't Think So

Any campaign that signed up volunteers to work in a storage unit on election day did something right.  Here we are inside Unit 10 of Ample Storage on Tuesday:

Yes, this was a temporary field office in Durham, staffed by hearty Obama enthusiasts.  The working conditions were terrible: it was cold, loud, and dreary.  But there we were, making phone calls and driving voters to the polls.

I guess we've learned something.  This kind of energy really can beat millions of dollars.

In Memoriam

Hildegard S. Ryals
July 17, 1931 - November 1, 2012
With love and admiration

Ain't It Good to Know

I still can't get over the images of Barack Obama and Chris Christie together this week.  What an improbable duo.  Governor Christie seemed smitten with his new friend, which brings to mind James Taylor's lovely song "You've Got a Friend."

When you're down and troubled and you need a helping hand
and nothing, whoa, nothing is going right.
Close your eyes and phone me at any hour of day and I will be certain that FEMA's there.

You just call for Barack at my special White House number
And I'll cut through all the red tape.
Political opponents no more, we're joined together now at the core
And I'll be there yeah, yeah, yeah,
You've got a friend.

If the sky above you should turn dark and full of clouds
and that old north wind should begin to blow,
Wrap your fleece around you and call my name out loud.
Soon I'll be walking along your shore.
You just call for Barack at my special White House number
And I'll cut through all the red tape.
Political opponents no more, we're joined together now at the core
And I'll be there yeah, yeah, yeah.

Hey, ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?  Romney can be so cold. 
He'll hurt you and desert you.  He'll take your soul if you let him.
Oh, but don't you let him.

You just call for Barack at my special White House number
And I'll cut through all the red tape.
Political opponents no more, we're joined together now at the core
And I'll be there yes I will,
You've got a friend.
You've got a friend.
Ain't it good to know you've got a friend?
Aint' it good to know you've got a friend?
Oh yeah, yeah,
You've got a friend.

BFFs

The skinny black intellectual from Chicago and the big white guy from Jersey make quite a pair.  Who could have predicted the unlikely camaraderie that has developed between Barack Obama and Chris Christie?  Just last week the Governor trashed the President here in the south, in both North Carolina and Virginia.  Now he's Barack Obama's best friend.

In a piercing New York Times column, "The 'I' of the Storm," Maureen Dowd explores the political advantages both men gain in their new relationship.  With biting wit she points to Governor Christie's presidential ambition as the driving force in his fawning praise of the President.  While her argument is compelling and astute, I suggest another less Machiavellian motive for Chris Christie.

The responsibility that governors must feel in these disasters has to be overwhelming.  To whom do they turn?  Other states may be in the same situation and, if not, they have their own problems.  Enter the federal government, whose role--as FEMA administrator Craig Fugate said yesterday morning on NPR--is to "support the states when the disaster exceeds their capabilities."

As Chris Christie is seeing first hand, the federal government offers a lift up to those in need, which is precisely the message President Obama has repeated throughout this presidential campaign.  Mitt Romney, on the other hand, would turn over many essential functions either to the states or to private enterprise.  A diminished FEMA, as Romney has endorsed, wouldn't have much to offer Chris Christie right now.

Best friends have a way of being there when you need them.  No wonder Chris Christie has a new BFF.

Control Freaks

How interesting that in the midst of this contentious campaign--where Republicans seek to control women's bodies, voter identification, immigrant rights, and definitions of marriage, patriotism, and the Constitution itself--along comes a monster storm over which no one has control.  Will the control freaks take note?

Probably not.  But I wish Mitt and his minions would quit trying to impose their narrow view of America on those of us who don't fit their mold.

Time Out

I'm putting the election aside today and thinking instead about my yard.  Fall has arrived for sure, and earnest gardening has come to a close.  Finally, I can wind up my hose, which no matter how hard I try always drags through the yard, unsightly--a reminder of my gardening shortcomings.  So instead of "The Long and Winding Road" by the Beatles, we sing "The Long and Winding Hose":

The long and winding hose that leads to my door
Will never disappear
I've seen that hose before
It always leads me here
Leads me to my door.

Many times I've been at home and many times I've cried
Anyway you'll never know the many times I've tried
To wind this hose back up in a neat coil so flat
Just like my neighbors do, whose yards are always clear
Don't leave me standing here
Help me wind this up.

But still the hose resists any tries to get it right
You left it tangled up a long, long time ago
Don't keep me waiting here, put this hose away
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

And the Winner Is. . .

The final presidential debate this week gave us a look at both the professor and the student.  President Obama's tendency to lecture stood him well; you could follow him and take notes easily.  Governor Romney, on the other hand, played the part of the earnest, but mediocre student trying to remember the notes he so laboriously copied each day in class.  He sounded wooden and rote, as in this example: "Syria is Iran's only ally in the Arab world.  It's their route to the sea.  It's the route for them to arm Hezbollah in Lebanon, which threatens, of course, our ally, Israel."  B-?

Anyway, we give geopolitical awards this time:

The "We're Finally on the Map" Award: Mali, which received two Mitt mentions for its northern region having been taken over by Al Qaeda.

The "Huh? Could You Elaborate?" Award: Latin America, which according to Mitt, "is a huge opportunity for us--time zone, language opportunities."

The "Kick Us When We're Down" Award: Greece, for being the country you don't want to be.  Said Mitt, "[Businesses won't want to] invest in America if they think we're headed on the road to Greece."

The "Most Apt Metaphor" Award: Barack Obama, for saying, "Governor, the problem is. . . you've been all over the map."

The "Can We Talk About Something Else?" Award: Mitt Romney, for the following foreign affairs observations--"I like American cars," "Research is great," and "I love teachers."

"My little dogs. . .

. . .heartbeats at my feet."

- Edith Wharton

Lucy Ledbetter

Mitt Romney's debate comments about women in the work place went viral this week, especially his priceless metaphor of women in binders.  Our series--adapted from the Beatles' Sgt. Pepper album--continues with a song based on "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."

Picture yourself as a talented woman
With briefcase in hand and MBA skills.
Mitt's office calls you, you answer quite slowly,
Is this where you want to end up?

Governor Romney, he says he wants gals,
And they can go home at 5,
'Cause hubby's waiting for dinner to eat,
And there's kids.

Lucy in a binder for Mitt
Lucy in a binder for Mitt
Lucy in a binder for Mitt
Ahhh.

Follow her down to the office in Boston
Where other gals sprang from a binder like her.
"Gosh, we found women to serve in my cabinet,"
The governor gushes aloud.

"I am for women as much as Barack,
They can have birth control, too.
Abortions, whatever, I'll say what I must
To win gals.

Lucy in a binder for Mitt
Lucy in a binder for Mitt
Lucy in a binder for Mitt
Ahhh.

The Ghost of Republicans Past

Though his name is rarely invoked these days, George Bush hovers over our politics and over our presidential campaign like a flitting Halloween ghost.  One of the questioners in last night's debate noted W's absence and posed a telling question to Mitt Romney: How are you different from our last Republican president?  Romney's answer rambled on--the times are different, he'd crack down on China, he'd balance the budget (how?)--but it was President Obama's response that brought the ghost to life.

Mitt Romney and George Bush peddle the same failed economic policies, Obama indicated, but they differ in social policy: "George Bush didn't propose turning Medicare into a voucher," Obama said.  "George Bush embraced comprehensive immigration reform.  He didn't call for self-deportation.  George Bush never suggested that we eliminate funding for Planned Parenthood."

Social policy often gets lost in this campaign's rhetoric, but it ought not to.  The current Republican party headed by Mitt Romney is so extreme that George Bush looks reasonable.  If undecided voters can't figure out which candidate is going to move the economy forward, then they should look at social policy.

The backward movement of Mitt Romney is clear. . . and scary.  It's not a place most of us want to go.

Eat, Pray, Martha

Several years ago my aunt gave me a subscription to one of Martha Stewart's magazines.  When the gift announcement arrived, I didn't know anything about the magazine or about Martha Stewart.  I thought maybe she was a religious figure.  Now, all these years later, I know she's a religious figure.

You see, even though that old subscription ended, we got a new one last year--this time, a freebie from a Stonyfield Yogurt contest.  The magazine, Martha Stewart Living, is filled with beautiful food, beautiful decor, and beautiful people--perfection, of a sort.  My favorite feature is called "Martha's Month," a one-page calendar that highlights Martha's daily activities.  Next month, for example, she will "Replace any expired spices" on November 2; "Polish silverware on November 20; "Stargaze with telescope" on November 27; and "Get blades sharpened on ice skates" on November 30.

Tell me, does anyone live like this?

Nowhere on her calendar does it ever say "Sort through piles of paper stacked throughout house" on November 6; "Water dying houseplants" on November 15; "Delete 200 emails" on November 21; or "Gather 10-year-old 35 mm film for developing" on November 28.  Only then could I relate.

Martha Stewart a religious figure?  In a way.  She's developed a set of precepts for living; they're clearly spelled out; and she tries to teach you how to live up to them.  And, like most religious precepts, they're impossible to follow!

Debatable Demeanor

The over-the-top reaction to Joe Biden's debate smile strikes me as silly and diversionary.  If you listened to what he said, he made a lot of sense.  With the Itsy-Bitsy Spider as our guide again this week, here's a toast to the Vice President:

Candidate Joe Biden he kept his smile bright,
That's 'cause he knew his views were in the right.
Passionate, committed, he made his case just fine
And he sat back in his chair and let his smile shine.

Water Wonders

The water lilies at Duke Gardens look like flying saucers

Some resemble fancy plates with red rims

This one reminds me of a heart

Rose-colored fans swirl nearby

 And hot pink blossoms keep the memory of summer alive.

And the Winner Is. . .

Given that the 3 main characters in last week's debate were all losers--Romney for lying, Obama for dithering, and Lehrer for missing in action--we turn elsewhere for winners:

Most apoplectic response: MSNBC's Chris Matthews, who let Obama have it (now if only the President would watch cable TV. . .).

Kindest (and greenest) response: Al Gore, for citing Denver's high altitude as possibly responsible for the President's weak performance.

Best analysis of Obama's Achilles' heel: Matt Bai in "Obama's Enthusiasm Gap"--an explication of the President's maddening passivity over the past 4 years.

Most understated headline: The New York Times for "Axelrod Says Obama Will Review Tape of Debate."

Most in-the-hot-seat: Vice President Biden, who's got no room for error on Thursday night.

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

I wonder what President Obama thought of his debate performance Wednesday night.  Perhaps the Beatles' song "I Should Have Known Better" ran through his mind the next morning:

I should have known better with a guy like him
That he could show up and not be so dim
But I lost
Hey, hey, hey
At a cost.

Oh, oh, I didn't realize how often Mitt would lie
Or that Jim Lehrer would sit back and sigh
But they did
I don't kid.

That when I came to the debate floor, oh
I should have made sure not to bore, oh
I should have shown Mitt to the door
Instead I wimped and that's for sure.

That's for sure
That's for sure
That's for sure.

Big Yawn

I fell asleep watching the presidential debate last night, missing about 20 minutes of tax talk.  While I was awake, I must have heard Barack Obama say "middle class" more than any other word and Mitt Romney say "business" more than any other word.  I guess we know where their priorities lie.

Did this debate advance anyone's understanding of the issues before us?  I can't imagine that it did.  Full of fact-challenged wonk, it left me bored and frustrated.  Perhaps some voters will feel more confident about Mitt Romney's candidacy--as he appeared more comfortable than he usually does--but if you were looking for a cogent presentation from either candidate, it wasn't there.

Let's see what the vice presidential hopefuls have to say next week.

Just Another Armed Robbery

One of the teenaged thugs who robbed my neighbor at gunpoint Friday morning hid his face behind a scarf.  The other one--the one who pointed the gun at her head--may or may not have concealed his face.  She can't remember all the details that greeted her that morning shortly after she arrived at work.

We don't hear much about the people who survive guns pointed at their heads day after day in America, but they're everywhere--at grocery stores, banks, quick stops, ATMs, just about any place where money changes hands.  Fortunately, they live to tell their stories.  But they're victims of terror, a home-grown terror that's allowed to flourish unchecked.  We spend all kinds of money and time and Congressional hearings on international terror--subjecting ourselves to wand searches and shoe removal at airports--while we allow practically anybody at home to buy a gun and carry it wherever he wants. 

If we can take on terrorists who hide in caves in Afghanistan, can't we take on terrorists who walk down our streets?  It's time to disarm these people and time for our presidential candidates to tell us how they're going to do it.

Up the Water Spout

Mitt Romney's efforts to stay competitive--especially during these recent weeks when he's lost ground--remind me of the itsy bitsy spider's persistent climb.  Sing to the tune of this favorite nursery rhyme:

Candidate Mitt Romney just couldn't get it right
Down came the polls and made the race less tight.
Out came Obama and all that he stood for
And candidate Mitt Romney remade himself once more.

Insincerity

Mitt Romney re-invents himself every week.  Last week he was the rich guy in loafers, wearing no socks, commiserating with fellow Boca Ratoners about the 47% of us who mooch off the government.  This week he's in working-class Ohio feeling the pain of the same 47%: "My heart aches for the people I've seen," he said.

Holden Caulfield, the protagonist in J. D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye, would have no trouble understanding Mitt's latest caricature.  Caulfield tells his readers, "I am always saying 'Glad to've met you' to somebody I'm not at all glad I met.  If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff, though."

It's pretty easy to spot someone who's doing everything he can, however contradictory, to stay alive.  Perhaps this is why Mitt Romney is plummeting in the polls.

Cousins

Wouldn't Morgan and Marion be proud. . .

. . . of their youngest and oldest grandchildren?

Bumbling Mitt

What a week for Mitt Romney!  Sing to the tune of "Both Sides Now" by Judy Collins:

Olympic games, the Middle East,
I spoke my mind, I made my peace.
But no one thought I made much sense,
They said I made things tense.
And now old friends have turned away,
"You're losing ground" is what they say,
But something's lost and not much gained
In speaking every day.
I've tried to lead from both sides now
As corporate man and governor,
It's talking big that I recall,
I don't know how to lead at all.

Slouches, slugs, they don't work hard,
I told it straight to the old guard.
I said exactly what I meant
About the forty-seven percent.
But Mother Jones unearthed the clip,
And now I'm getting lots of lip
From folks on both the right and left
They all think I'm tone deaf.
I've looked at life from both sides now
From rich and rich and still somehow
It's life as privilege I recall
I really don't know life at all.

And the Winner Is. . .

The videotape released this week by Mother Jones is so priceless and revealing it's hard to know what to say.  Instead, I'll make some awards:

Best supporting actor: James Carter IV for discovering the footage and shepherding it towards publication--and for making his granddad proud.

Best critical review: David Brooks of The New York Times for his withering critique.  Click here if you missed it.

Best graphics representation: Andrew Morgan and Katy Waldman from Slate for their funny flow chart.  Answer questions like "Do you believe you're entitled to food?" and the chart will direct you to your preferred presidential candidate.

Best Gatsby-esque feature: The tinkling and clinking sounds of fine glassware, china, and silver that reverberate throughout the tape, as a backdrop to Mitt's ambling remarks.

Best (and most unusual) cinematographer: Deep Throat, whoever she or he may be, for shooting footage that makes you feel like a spy.

A Dog's Life: Another Girl and her Dog. . .

. . . are friends forever.

Sgt. Romney's One-Man Show

Mitt Romney has spent much of this campaign re-introducing himself every few weeks.  We met a new Mitt not long ago at the Republican National Convention, and this week he presented himself as a foreign policy chief--and pretty much blew it.  These never-ending introductions remind me of the Beatles' song "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band."

Well it was 20 years ago today
Willard Romney finally found a way
He’d been changing in and out of styles
Hoping he would generate some smiles
So may I introduce to you,
The act you’ve know for all these years
Willard Romney’s latest one-man show.

We’re Willard Romney’s latest one-man show
We hope you will enjoy what’s new
We’ve changed our minds on everything we could
So far from where we all once stood.
Health care, taxes, immigration and you name it
We’ll support whatever you say so.

It’s wonderful to be here,
It’s certainly a thrill,
You’re such a lovely audience, we’d like to take you home with us
We’d love to take you home.

We don’t really want to stop the show
But we thought you might like to know
That the man you’re all here to see
Is as changed as he can possibly be
So may we introduce to you
The one and only Mitt Romney
And Willard Romney’s latest one-man show!

In the Garden: Mushrooms

It's that time of year when warmth and moisture conspire to breed some of our yard's most interesting creatures.  These gilled fungi often look like extraterrestrial beings

or like they belong in a zoo.

Still others look like buttons and parasols:

When I googled "Mushrooms that look like coral," I learned that there's a type called Coral Mushrooms:

Once I saw a TV show that featured a guy in the mountains who grew his own morels.  They looked like this:

He encouraged viewers to follow his lead.  It didn't sound too hard.  I briefly entertained the idea, imagining how cool it would be to harvest my own morels, but soon realized that the grocery store was easier.

Survivors

In the midst of an otherwise stirring and inspiring convention, I found one moment unspeakably sad: when Gabrielle Giffords, the former Congresswoman from Tucson, led attendees in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.  If you didn't see it, you can click here for a video replay; however, you may not wish to.  For you will be reminded of the painful fallout from gun violence.  Ms. Giffords, once a leader and thinker in her community, struggles like a child to get through her performance.

Perhaps not coincidentally, The Washington Post ran an article on Saturday about D.C. survivors of gun violence.  These are the lesser well-known, largely African-American men confined to wheelchairs for the rest of their lives.  In the support group they attend, they may learn from each other what it means to survive: "How a good day now might mean opening a soda bottle without help, or dialing a phone number on the first try, or putting a gun to [their heads] and not pulling the trigger."

Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick said in his speech on the convention's opening night, "It's time for Democrats to stiffen our backbone and stand up for what we believe."  He may not have been talking about gun violence, but I am.  While I'll reluctantly accept that it may be political suicide to tackle this problem in the midst of a presidential campaign, I won't accept silence from Democrats once re-elected.

Our party's platform states that "We can focus on effective enforcement of existing laws, especially strengthening our background check system, and we can work together to enact commonsense improvements--like reinstating the assault weapons ban and closing the gun show loophole--so that guns do not fall into the hands of those irresponsible, law-breaking few."

Is it too much to ask our elected officials to follow through?  I don't think so.

A Little Help from Ol' Bill

In his speech at the convention this week Bill Clinton made a better case to re-elect the President than anyone else did--including the President himself.  In the weeks ahead Barack Obama would do well to remind himself daily of the power of this key ally.  Here's a song he could sing, to the tune of "With A Little Help From My Friends," by the Beatles:

What would you think if I stood up with pride
And recited everything that I've done
Lend me your ears and I'll give you that list
And I'll try not to hide and run.

I get by with a little help from ol' Bill
I get high with a little help from ol' Bill
Gonna try with a little help from ol' Bill.

What do I do when Bill Clinton's not here
(Does it worry you to be alone?)
How do I feel by the end of the day
(Are you sad because you're on your own?)

No I get by with a little help from ol' Bill
I get high with a little help from ol' Bill
Gonna try with a little help from ol' Bill.

Do you need anybody?
I need Bill Clinton to win.
Could it be anybody?
It's got to be Mr. Bill.

Would you believe there's a living ex-prez
Who communicates with talent and skill?
(What should you do to make sure that you win?)
Guess I better make the best use of Bill.

I get by with a little help from ol' Bill
I get high with a little help from ol' Bill
Gonna try with a little help from ol' Bill

Do you need anybody?
I need Bill Clinton to win.
Could it be anybody?
It's got to be Mr. Bill.

I get by with a little help from ol' Bill,
I get high with a little help from ol' Bill
Oh I'm gonna try with a little help from ol' Bill,
With a little help from ol' Bill.

Honor Thy Blue-Collar Parents

For all of you working-class parents out there, it's your time to shine.  And the poorer you are, the better.  At least this is the message I take from both parties' political conventions.  Speakers are knocking themselves out to boast the humblest, most self-sacrificing parent on earth:

Ann Romney's father started working at 6 years old cleaning bottles in a small village in Wales.

Mitt Romney's father, born in Mexico, began as a carpenter.

Marco Rubio's father was a bartender, and his mother worked the overnight shift at K-Mart.

Paul Ryan's mother rode 40 miles on a bus each morning to earn a college degree.

Chris Christie's father grew up in poverty and worked at the Breyer's Ice Cream factory.

Michelle Obama's father was a pump operator at the city water plant.

Elizabeth Warren's father was a maintenance man, and her mother answered phones for Sears.

All of these people have in common the gift of unconditional love for their children, a good thing of course.  But you gotta wonder.  When did parents become so fashionable?  You didn't used to acknowledge even having parents, let alone brag about them--especially if they toiled away in low-paying jobs.

Blue-collar parents are cool, I guess, especially if you turned out OK.  If you didn't, well never mind, you won't make it to a speaker's podium anyway.  Besides, with all of the money flowing through these two campaigns' coffers, you won't matter a whole heck of a lot. 

Talk is cheap, after all.  Isn't that what Paul Ryan's father used to say?*

(*Actually he used to say, "You can be part of the problem, or you can be part of the solution"--but who cares about facts?)

War on Fathers

It seems as though Ann and Mitt Romney, in their speeches last week, decided to shift the Republican attack on women to an attack on fathers.  It was weird, I thought.  Ruth Marcus, writing in The Washington Post, dissects Mrs. Romney's patronizing remarks.  Marcus rightly calls Mrs. Romney's speech "objectifying and demeaning" in citing quotes like these: "It's the moms who always have to work a little harder, to make everything right.  It's the moms of this nation--single, married, widowed--who really hold this country together."

Mitt picked up on the theme Thursday night when he said, "I knew that [Ann's] job as a mom was harder than mine.  And I knew without question that her job as a mom was more important than mine."  Really?

I guess these comments are meant to flatter mothers, but they end up insulting everyone, especially fathers.  It's almost as if the Romneys are suggesting that fathers are superfluous in children's lives, which couldn't be farther from the truth.  We may argue at home, as I'm sure many of us do, about who works harder raising children in a family; but to suggest that one parent is more important than another discounts the magic that works in any family to launch children into the world.

Mitt Romney is disturbingly out of touch.  Or is he always acting a part?  If so, he doesn't do a very good job.

Republican Women as Mary Magdalene

It must be hard being a Republican woman right now, especially if you're a teeny bit moderate.  How do you support Mitt Romney and the party's right-wing, misogynist agenda?  Maybe you don't.  Pretend you're a chorus of Republican women and sing to the tune "I Don't Know How to Love Him" from Jesus Christ Superstar.

We don't know how to love Mitt
What to do, how to back him
We've been hurt, yes really hurt.
In these past few months, when we've seen ourselves
Insulted and demeaned.

We don't know how to take this
We don't see why he slights us
He's a man.  Just a white man,
And we've had so many white men before,
In very many ways,
He's just one more.

Should we bring him down?
Should we scream and shout?
Should we speak of NOW
Let our feelings out?
We never thought we'd come to this
What's it all about?

Don't you think it's rather funny,
We should be in this position?
We've made gains, so many gains
We've worked, we've fought, we've done our best
Running every show.
He scares us so.

We never thought we'd come to this
What's it all about?

Yet, if he beats Obama
We'll be lost, we'll be frightened
We couldn't cope, just couldn't cope
We'd turn our heads, we'd back away
We wouldn't want to know.
He scares us so
He brings us low
Stay home, vote no.

First Day of School

Skipping the Republican National Convention for something more important. . .

Stagville at Night

Once one of the largest plantations in North Carolina, Stagville today serves as a learning center for the history and culture of another time.  On Friday night staff from Morehead Planetarium in Chapel Hill told sky myths and legends on the lawn in front of the old slave quarters.  Telescopes were set up for night viewing, but clouds covered much of the sky and the moon was visible for only a short time. No one complained, though; we were a quiet group, sitting and lying on blankets as the dark closed in around us.

On the drive over to Stagville, we saw one of the most spectacular rainbows I've seen in a long time.  Every color of ROY G BIV was visible, and the arc span immense--as if a giant had taken 7 markers and drawn a line as far and as high as his hand could stretch.  I wondered what the enslaved people at Stagville once thought about rainbows.  Were they a promise from God?

We fell asleep that night lying on our blanket, protected by something larger than ourselves. Was it the rainbow, or was it the sacred ground where we lay?  Maybe it was both.  All I know is, you could feel the peace in the air, silent and still.

Abandoning Akin in Rock and Roll Fashion

Republicans ran away from Todd Akin this week as fast as they could.  Their efforts to distance themselves from the Missouri Congressman reminded me of "American Woman," released in 1970 by The Guess Who.  This is the short version:

American Akin, stay away from us
American Akin, please get off our bus
Don't come anywhere near our show
Tampa's just fine without you, you know.

We've got more important things to do
Than spend our time out there defending you
Now Akin, we said stay away
American Akin, listen what we say

American Akin, stay away from us
American Akin, please get off our bus
Gotta stop talking 'bout rape, old man,
You're messing up our grand old plan

Privately we're there with you
But we can't afford to lose
Now Akin, we said get away
American Akin, listen what we say

Go, gotta get away, gotta get away
Now go, go, go, gotta leave us, Akin,
Gotta leave us, Akin,
Bye-bye, bye-bye, bye-bye, bye-bye

You're no good for us
We're no good for you
Gonna look you right in the eye
Tell you what you're gonna do

You know you're gonna leave
You know you're gonna go
[Fade]

In the Botanical Gardens, as in Life. . .

The Republican Party keeps getting kookier and kookier

Dominated by old, angry white men

Their misogyny is breathtaking.

The rest of us watch their antics puzzled, in disbelief

As these creatures--with tough shells and thick skin--trudge ever onward.

Neanderthal Man

Todd Akin, the Republican candidate for Senate in Missouri, holds extreme views on abortion. When asked about pregnancy that results from rape, he said, "First of all, from what I understand from doctors, that's really rare.  If it's a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down."

Two questions:

What doctor is he talking to? and

Where do people like Todd Akin come from?

Hearin' the News

After Mitt Romney settled on Paul Ryan as his running mate, he reportedly directed his son Tagg Romney to contact those not chosen (according to MSNBC).  Pretend you're Tim Pawlenty and sing to the tune of Marvin Gaye's "I Heard It Through The Grapevine":

Ooh, I bet you're wond'rin' how I knew
'bout your plans to make me blue
With some other guy you knew before
Between the two of us guys you know I want it more
It took me by surprise I must say
When I found out yesterday
Dontcha know that I

Heard it from Tagg Romney
Wish you'd bothered to contact me
Oh I heard it from Tagg Romney
Oh I'm hurt enough to flee you see
Romney, Romney yeah

I know a man ain't supposed to cry
But these tears I can't hold inside
Losin' Veep has disappointed me
'cause the job means that much to me
You could have told me yourself
That you chose someone else
Instead I

Heard it from Tagg Romney
Wish you'd bothered to contact me
Oh I heard it from Tagg Romney
And I'm hurt enough to flee you see
Romney, Romney yeah

People say believe half of what you see
Mitt, and none of what you hear
But I can't help bein' confused
If it's true please tell me clear
Do you plan to let me go
For the other guy you knew before?
Dontcha know I

Heard it from Tagg Romney
Wish you'd bothered to contact me
Oh I heard it from Tagg Romney
Ooh I'm hurt enough to flee you see
Romney, Romney yeah

Willard, Willard, I know
That you're lettin' me go
Said I heard it from Tagg Romney

FADE
Ooh, heard it from Tagg Romney

Radical Politics

Paul Ryan and Sarah Palin have something in common: they're a lot more fun and interesting--and more dangerous--than the men at the top who selected them.  Paul Ryan is now electrifying the campaign of his wooden boss in the same way that Sarah Palin did four years ago. 

It's a curious contradiction: while Republicans seem to want some kind of steadfast predictability, as seen in their selections of Mitt Romney and John McCain, they're drawn at the same time to the risky proposals of the Tea Party--but not enough to put forward such candidates for president.  It's as if they're marrying the sure and steady guy and flirting with the unreliable one.

And yet, curiouser still, is the fact that Mitt Romney in some ways hasn't been a sure and steady guy.  He gives off the appearance of a soothing "Father Knows Best" figure but without a consistent record to show what he believes.  Paul Ryan as his choice for vice president, on the other hand, has such a long record of specific policies that we know exactly what he believes.  And what he believes is a problem for women, for the elderly, for students, for workers, and for pretty much all of us--except the wealthy.

In the end, though, his presence on the ticket is a problem for Mitt Romney and the Republicans, for he highlights the party's internal conflicts and its attraction for "radical social engineering," as Newt Gingrich so aptly put it.  The wheel has turned once again: Republicans have replaced Democrats as the party of radical politics.

In Literature, As In Life. . .

Meet Luna Lovegood, from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix:

An Olympics Farewell

Sing to the tune of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game":

Take me to the Olympics,
Take me to the big games.
Find me a seat next to Will or Kate,
I don't care if I'm early or late.
Let me root, root, root for gymnastics,
Beach volleyball, track and field.
For it's one, two, three falls you're down
Here in London Town.

This American Life

To the extent that Olympic athletes represent defining features of their home countries, runner Bryshon Nellum's story highlights a tragic side of American culture: he was the victim of gun violence.  Walking home from a Halloween party as an undergraduate at the University of Southern California four years ago, he was targeted by two passersby in a car, who shot him in both legs.  Whether the shooting was premeditated or accidental is not clear, but gang vengeance was the motive.

Other countries have their shameful stories, too.  But ours is one that rolls along unaddressed, the elephant in the room.

Nellum's painful recovery and appearance at this year's Olympics attest to his faith, spirit, and determination--and perhaps these are American qualities, too.  How unfortunate that we can't make similar use of our nation's strengths to end this violent scourge.

On the Podium

There's something wistful about the summer Olympics, as we rediscover the athlete inside us.  After all, many of the sports comprise those of our childhood--running, jumping, swimming, diving, and gymnastics.  Maybe, just maybe, we say to ourselves, "With a little more practice, I could have been there."

A delusion, of course, but a fun one.  And maybe a necessary one.  For the years creep up and suddenly we're not so nimble.  No wonder the middle-aged hairdresser at the salon this weekend bragged that he could still turn a cartwheel.  No wonder I still try to do splits in the swimming pool.

Allow yourself the dream.  You're standing on the podium and the official places the medal around your neck.  "The Star-Spangled Banner," which usually irritates you with its images of war, instead warms your heart and you swell with pride.  America's best, that's you.

Go for the gold.

Sitting Here at Chick-fil-A

I don't know what Otis Redding would have thought about the Chick-fil-A controversy this week, but his song "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay" sets just the right tone.

Sittin' in the mornin' sun
Hoping for a Chick-fil-A bun
Watching today's Kiss-In
And then I watch 'em kiss away again, yeah

I'm sitting here at Chick-fil-A
Hoping the mayor don't take us away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' here at Chick-fil-A
Wastin' time

I left my home in Georgia
Headed for the 'Frisco bay
'Cause I knew I'd see the protests
Here in Cal-i-forn-e-i-ay

So I'm just gonna sit here at Chick-fil-A
Hoping the mayor don't take us away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' here at Chick-fil-A
Wastin' time

Looks like nothing's gonna change
Chick-fil-A still remains the same
It can't do what protesters tell it to do
So I guess it will stay the same, yes

Sittin' here at Chick-fil-A
It's been a long and crazy kind of day
Seein' folks both straight and gay
Try to get that sandwich their way

Now I'm just gonna sit here at Chick-fil-A
Hoping the mayor don't take us away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' here at Chick-fil-A
Wastin' time.

A Dog's Life: Cassidy

"Why did dogs make one want to cry?  There was something so quiet and hopeless about their sympathy.  Jasper, knowing something was wrong, as dogs always do.  Trunks being packed. Cars being brought to the door.  Dogs standing with drooping tails, dejected eyes.  Wandering back to their baskets in the hall when the sound of the car dies away."

Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca

Call Me Maybe

If you haven't watched the YouTube video of Barack Obama spliced-singing "Call Me Maybe" (by Carly Rae Jepson), you must do so by clicking here.  Now--and it's worth it--click here to watch the US Olympic Swim Team lip-sync the same song.

Now imagine what fun it would be if Barack Obama and the swim team joined up to produce a music video at the White House.  It's just what the campaign needs.  Sure, Mitt Romney injected levity last week during his trip to England, but Obama could use some humor in the midst of this long summer full of depressing news.

Of course there's the downside that the song--with its emphasis on the word "maybe"--could suggest that the President has been too hesitant in his first term, a fair criticism no doubt.  But he could pull off the performance in such a way as to poke fun at himself and engage voters all across the country.

So call or email or tweet David Axelrod (or Jim Messina or David Plouffe or Julianna Smoot or Rufus Gifford) and tell them to lighten up.  It's time for the President--with the help of America's best swimmers--to go viral. 

This may be crazy, but call me maybe.

Mother Goose Mitt

Mitt Romney couldn't get it right this week in England.  He managed to question Britain's ability to host the Olympics, prompting Prime Minister David Cameron's priceless retort: "We are holding an Olympic Games in one of the busiest, most active, bustling cities anywhere in the world.  Of course it's easier if you hold an Olympic Games in the middle of nowhere" (i.e., Mitt Romney's Olympics in Salt Lake City).

The Mother Goose rhyme "Pussy cat, pussy cat" provides an apt springboard:

Romney cat, Romney cat, where have you been?
I've been to London to insult the Queen.
Romney cat, Romney cat, what did you do there?
I showed off my weakness in foreign affair.*

* Romney-speak for foreign affairs (see sport/sports).

Thoughts on Gun Violence

1. It's hard to know what to say anymore, especially for those of us who can't believe the insanity of our gun laws and our bizarre relationship with weapons. Nothing anymore, no matter how heinous, moves us to do anything about our violent country. Those who suggest even the slightest bit of regulation are ignored or denounced.

2. When I hear people argue that armed citizens in the Aurora movie theater last week might have prevented the tragedy, I feel like putting my hands over my head and screaming.  What kind of delusion is this and where does such thinking come from?  It defies both common sense and experienced testimony--that of Joe Zamudio in Tucson, for example, who--armed when he came upon the Gabrielle Giffords shooting--almost shot the wrong man.  And a 10-year study of New York City police officers showed they hit their targets about a third of the time in actual shooting situations (Robert Spitzer, author of The Politics of Gun Control, speaking on The Diane Rehm Show).  We're to believe that regular folks sitting in a movie theater or college classroom could do better than this?

3.  When my mother asked someone at her church why anyone needs an assault weapon, he answered, "because they're fun to shoot."  Many gun owners, for some reason, think their rights supersede the safety of others.

4. The only data I could find on the difference in opinion between men and women on gun control comes from the Pew Research Center in March 2010.  Those surveyed were asked if states and localities should be able to pass laws banning handguns.  Only 38% of the men responded yes, while 51% of the women responded yes.  Interestingly, the other groups with high percentages responding favorably were non-Hispanic blacks (64% yes) and Hispanics (61%).  I guess those of us with the least power would like better protection.

5. It's wrong that we ask our police officers to stop cars, enter homes, and patrol neighborhoods where citizens may be better armed than they are.  How can they focus on protecting us when they have to worry about protecting themselves?   Even the most innocuous incident can turn deadly for police officers.  This is immoral.

6. Initially I ignored the predictable emails this week from the Brady Campaign.  After all, the organization hasn't been very successful.  But then last night I answered the phone, even when the display indicated "unknown name, unknown caller," got out my credit card, and made a donation.  I simply can't give up. 

Taking a Stand

In his new book A Nation of Wusses, former Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell decries the lack of courage and conviction among American politicians today.  This weekend three leaders deserve recognition for standing up for what's right:

New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg for challenging both Barack Obama and Mitt Romney to explain their plans to address gun violence in America.  "What do they stand for and why aren't they standing up?" he asked on Face the Nation.  "It's time for both of them to be held accountable."

Penn State President Rodney Erickson for ordering the removal of the Joe Paterno statue from the university campus.  Leaving it up, he said, would be a "recurring wound to the multitude of individuals across the nation and beyond who have been the victims of child abuse."

Massachusetts Senate candidate Elizabeth Warren for speaking out in the Washington Post about the Libor scandal and the rigging of interest rates.  "With a rotten financial system once again laid bare to the world," she writes, "the only question remaining is whether Wall Street has so many friends in Washington that meaningful reform is impossible."

All three of these people stand to lose for taking a stand--whether they lose stature or alumni support or votes.  How refreshing to hear their voices rise above the timidity we've come to expect.

What's French for Michele Bachmann?

Michele Bachmann returned to the stage this week with her usual incendiary gusto.  With apologies to Paul McCartney for his lovely song and lyrics and with thanks to Daniel Hood for his excellent translation, we sing to the tune of "Michelle."

Michele, it's hell
hearing you spew out your hateful views,
Oh, Michele.
Michele, c'est enfer
écoutant à tú vomissant tien
vues odieux.
We've heard you, we've heard you, we've heard you
On gays and climate change
We wish that you would speak less
Until you do we're telling you so you'll understand

Michele, c'est enfer
écoutant à tú vomissant tien
vues odieux.
We need to, we need to, we need to,
We need to make you see
You sound like Joe McCarthy
When you accuse Hill's assistant of base treachery.

Please stop this. . .

We hope you, we hope you, we hope you
Will stop this bigotry
We want you gone from D.C.
Until it's true we're telling you so you'll understand
Michele, c'est enfer
écoutant à tú vomissant tien
vues odieux.
And we have said the only words we know that you'll understand
Oh, Michele.

Muzzle Michele

Can the voters in Minnesota's 6th Congressional District please do all of us a favor and vote Michele Bachmann out of office this November?  The Congresswoman's recent attack on Huma Abedin, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton's long-time assistant, is as ignorant and ill-informed as Bachmann repeatedly shows herself to be.  It's depressing that we have such mindless legislators in Washington.

At least John McCain has the sense to call out Mrs. Bachmann for her bigotry.  Going forward, she deserves to be ignored.

Patriotism Lite

On Saturday at the International Spy Museum in Washington, DC, we watched short, motivational film clips from the 1940s.  One encouraged Americans to mail their income tax payments early to support the war effort.  Imagine that!  The idea that paying taxes might be patriotic, something we do for the larger good of our country.

What an old-fashioned idea.  I guess we've moved on since World War II.  Patriotism now means wearing a flag pin and cutting taxes.

What kind of motivational film clips could we possibly produce today?

Offshore Opportunities

With a new Vanity Fair article about Mitt Romney's offshore tax shelters and more questions about his employment at Bain Capital, the governor has lots of explaining to do.  No doubt he'll dodge the questions, but in the meantime here's a song for Mitt.  Sing to the tune of "I've Been Working on the Railroad."

I've been working on tax shelters
All the live-long day,
I've been working on tax shelters
Just to pass the time away.
Don't you know those Cayman Islands
Shelter all my cash?
Don't you know those Cayman Islands
Hide away my cash?

Taxes I don't pay
Taxes I don't pay
Taxes I don't pay like all of you.
Taxes I don't pay
Taxes I don't pay
Taxes I don't pay like you.

Someone's in the Caymans with Bain funds
Someone's in the Caymans I know - o - o - o
Someone's in the Caymans with Bain funds
Stashing everywhere that dough, and singing

Me my money I owe
Me my money I owe - o - o - o
Me my money I owe
Me and all my Caymans dough.

A Dog's Life: Sundance

"No animal I know of can consistently be more of a friend and companion than a dog."
- Stanley Leinwoll

Wimbledon Wistfulness

There's something reassuring about Serena Williams and Roger Federer having won at Wimbledon this weekend.  Familiar people, masters of a sport they love and winning at the game on their own.

Rarely in public life do we watch individuals succeed through their own talents and hard work.  Think, in contrast, of the presidential election: so much of the outcome depends on fundraising and not on the merits of the candidates.  In fact, our entire political system--including the Supreme Court--is driven by moneyed interests and the influence they wield.  An individual's talents and hard work get lost in the quest for gold.

Other aspects of public life, too--from health care to the food and water supply to the economy itself--often depend less on the integrity of the individuals involved than on the corporate interests that drive decisions.  We can't reliably trust the medications we take, the procedures we undergo, the food we eat, and the water we drink.  Sounds like a third world country.

Maybe that's why we yearn for Wimbledon, a reminder of a more ordered world where personal accomplishment and individual skill actually matter.  Were it so in the rest of our lives.

Tennis, anyone?