We may need to supply mouth guards to every liberal and neocon (as though they really are two separate snake balls) in America. Indiana fomented a national tragedy by tarring and feathering Senator Richard Lugar in yesterday's GOP primary. Already the establishment politicians have ground their teeth down to nubs.
Without Lugar the Senate is doomed to deadlock. Worse, the era of "collegiality" and "bipartisanship" is in danger of doing a do-do.
----
Bipartisanship:
Senator Lugar: I'm getting bored with this, Ted. You let me push my wars in Afghanistan and Iran and I'll support your $2 billion to hire more cops and teachers. Okay?
Senator Kennedy: We're getting close, but you get one war or the other, not both. C'mon, I got Harvard AND Williams to worry about.
Lugar: Okay, Afghanistan, then. But I also want that $250 million for Wabash River beautification. Hell, we're borrowing it all from the Chinese, anyway.
Kennedy: Done! Let's go to the Monicle in a bipartisan manner and find a lobbyist to pay and drink martinis and be collegial together.
May 9, 2012
Thanks again, Dad
Welcome company warmed my house for a couple of days, so I took the liberty of not writing. That meant I missed taking public notice of my father's birthday yesterday. May 8, 1916-February 13, 2004.
Turgenev. Fathers and Sons. Their mutual awkwardness and conflicts both tempered and made more melancholy for the lucky ones whose personalities are welded in love, however much the affection may go undemonstrated.
It was and is too easy to define Dad by his fears. His boyhood was the horror of Depression poverty in rural isolation. From those ugly years he took away a vast prudence. We always had toys. We were never hungry. But I always lived with stern fatherly reminders that many things were not possible for "people like us."
From time to time the strictures of the latter would nearly sever us. That always moved us to look for a way to repair the bonds. Often enough, that meant a gift, preferably hand made, from our personal work shops. Once, in his 70s, the result was:
A box. Quite a nice one, but still just a box? Not quite, and it must be understood that my father held a monumental indifference to firearms and shooting. He found my weapons interests somewhat silly, and certainly a poor use of money. Nevertheless:
From no plans, no patterns. Like most of Dad's projects, it was a work of pure thought, at most aided by a glance at a magazine picture.
It still goes afield with me, Partner. Thanks again.
Turgenev. Fathers and Sons. Their mutual awkwardness and conflicts both tempered and made more melancholy for the lucky ones whose personalities are welded in love, however much the affection may go undemonstrated.
It was and is too easy to define Dad by his fears. His boyhood was the horror of Depression poverty in rural isolation. From those ugly years he took away a vast prudence. We always had toys. We were never hungry. But I always lived with stern fatherly reminders that many things were not possible for "people like us."
From time to time the strictures of the latter would nearly sever us. That always moved us to look for a way to repair the bonds. Often enough, that meant a gift, preferably hand made, from our personal work shops. Once, in his 70s, the result was:
A box. Quite a nice one, but still just a box? Not quite, and it must be understood that my father held a monumental indifference to firearms and shooting. He found my weapons interests somewhat silly, and certainly a poor use of money. Nevertheless:
From no plans, no patterns. Like most of Dad's projects, it was a work of pure thought, at most aided by a glance at a magazine picture.
It still goes afield with me, Partner. Thanks again.
May 6, 2012
Sinful Sunday Thought
I have a small project in mind. Strictly speaking, it requires a building permit. Even more strictly, the building permit will not be issued without a variance because I live in a "nonconforming structure." That is, my little house, on about one and 1/4 acres, sets only 30 feet from the rear property line. The Smugleye-on-Lake Commissariat requires 35 feet. No credit is given for the the 200 feet of grass and trees in front of the house even though the greensward fans out to a generous 310 feet along the road.
It costs $200 (actually, about the cost of the project istelf) to beg for a variance. Nonrefundable. The zoning czars and the variance czars will get around to saying da or nyet in a matter of mere weeks or months.
So, since the project would change no footprint, would be unnoticeable to neighbors, and could probably be done without alerting the zoning checka, I'm thinking just going ahead and pleading ignorance or something if my victimless crime comes to official notice.
But that isn't the sinful impulse.
One of the village council commissars peddles used cars. After the customer agrees to the deal, he tacks on a "documentation" fee, that is, he makes the sucker pay for his paperwork. (light bulb in the text balloon)
I write up the variance request, cut the check, fill out the long building permit form, and let the SOL bureaucracy play with itself until the issue is settled. I then surprise the Smugleye Politburo with a dun, my documentation fee. "Net 30 days; 1 1/2 per cent per month on the unpaid balance thereafter...Thank you for your business!"
I respond to nothing they say, just keep sending "Past Due!" notices and, when the fun of that wears off, file a small-claims action. That costs $30, and -- even with the variance fee -- it strikes me as cheap thrills. -- even if I don't slip a tip to a reporter friend known for her weird sense of humor.
It costs $200 (actually, about the cost of the project istelf) to beg for a variance. Nonrefundable. The zoning czars and the variance czars will get around to saying da or nyet in a matter of mere weeks or months.
So, since the project would change no footprint, would be unnoticeable to neighbors, and could probably be done without alerting the zoning checka, I'm thinking just going ahead and pleading ignorance or something if my victimless crime comes to official notice.
But that isn't the sinful impulse.
One of the village council commissars peddles used cars. After the customer agrees to the deal, he tacks on a "documentation" fee, that is, he makes the sucker pay for his paperwork. (light bulb in the text balloon)
I write up the variance request, cut the check, fill out the long building permit form, and let the SOL bureaucracy play with itself until the issue is settled. I then surprise the Smugleye Politburo with a dun, my documentation fee. "Net 30 days; 1 1/2 per cent per month on the unpaid balance thereafter...Thank you for your business!"
I respond to nothing they say, just keep sending "Past Due!" notices and, when the fun of that wears off, file a small-claims action. That costs $30, and -- even with the variance fee -- it strikes me as cheap thrills. -- even if I don't slip a tip to a reporter friend known for her weird sense of humor.
May 5, 2012
Poor Tam
She needed to peform surgery on a bubble-package imprisoning a baby seal. Rodded but not bladed, she had to humiliate herself by borrowing a knife. At least her sad tale produced as good a quote-of-the-day as any:
...what kind of adult goes about their business without a knife on their person?
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