Friday, January 27, 2012

I Give Up!!

That's it! I give up...UNCLE!!

Newt Gingrich is proposing that we spend money on lunar exploration.

Is he out of his cotton pickin' mind!!?? (he is from Georgia, after all, so maybe that phrase is more apt than I knew...)

Now, don't get me wrong. I think that exploration in the Final Frontier would be a great thing.

It would boost the economies of the communities that either built the equipment or put it into space.

It would rejuvenate our sense of national pride as the Space Race did in the 60s.

It would cause more kids to see science as a wonderful thing and propel our moribund school boards into spending money on a meaningful curriculum rather than football.

But come on Man! There are SO many things that could be done for this country that would be more immediate and yield the same result. And in places with much prettier landscapes.

If we decided, as a people, to value excellence rather than mediocrity than maybe we would be able to compete in the global arena.

We think that we can dumb ourselves down, year after year, and still retain the edge in international business.

It's just not possible when the Chinese and the Indians and the Brazilians are spending such a comparatively large portion of their GDP on not only education but health care and infrastructure.

We are getting smoked by these people yet we continue to believe, in our inimitably delusional way, that we can keep fooling around and that somehow, by magic, we will stay on top.

It just ain't gonna happen.

The average American high school cares more about the success of its' football or basketball program than it does about the percentage of its' graduates who go on to, not only, top tier schools, but become doctors and engineers and scientists.

We see the athletes on the playing field signing multi-million dollar contracts and we think that our kid will become one of them.

We forget the fact that an infintessimal percentage of high school sports stars ever even get to try out for the NBA or the NFL let alone get a contract to play.

It's like we are playing the lottery with everything we do.

We think it will just fall out of the sky.

Well, if we elect Fig Newton and he funds a Moon Program and it is designed and built by the kids that we have, so far, failed to properly educate then maybe it just will.

Fall out of the sky that is...


Thursday, January 26, 2012

Where's Mario?

I've never had a friend named Mario. I've known a couple and I met Mario Cuomo once.
But as an actual friend, I've never had one.

"Where's Mario?" just seemed liked a good title for this post.

I recently learned of the death of two friends. One was the bass player in the first band in which I ever played. His name was Cris Connery. It was in 1966 and the band was called "The Good Fairies" but our headmaster made us change the name for obvious reasons. We became "Saint James Infirmary" and we were very good for a bunch of kids. I was the drummer.

The other was a friend from my neighborhood growing up. He was a year older and had a Volkswagen and we would tool around looking for fun. He was one of the smartest guys I've ever known. And very sweet. His name was Greg Wuertz.

They were both good guys and I remember them as teenagers not as adults.

But they both were adults at the time of their passing.

They had lives with other people, jobs, knew joy and sorrow and lived somewhere.

And that's the funny thing, the "Where's Mario?" part.

I have lived in about a dozen places during the course of my lifetime so far. In each place I was an active member of the community. I was a student or a musician or a producer or a neighbor. I guess I've known, without exaggeration, about 1,000 people all told, give or take.

I've had some very good friends, some wonderful lovers, some talented colleagues and some mere acquanitances.

What ever happened to them? What did they do with their lives? Where are they now?

I have no idea.

There are only two ultimate outcomes though. They are either dead or they are somewhere on the planet. They could be in the next town or behind me on the Interstate. Or they could be in the jungles of Brazil, withdrawn completely from society, living in solitude among the indigenous residents of wherever they are.

Or they could be dead. They could have died last week or twenty years ago. I would have no way of knowing because we lost track.

We had been so close, so intimate, so important to one another. But now we are gone. We are no longer a part of each other's lives. It's as if we never knew each other.

But that could never be, regardless. The experiences we shared are forever. Those experiences have left an indelible mark on both of us.

Over the years we have thought of one another. Sometimes those thoughts were fond and full of joy. Sometimes they brought back the bad feelings that were a part of our mutual experience as it unfolded so long ago.

But it doesn't matter. All of those people had an effect on me as I did on them. We came together for some reason.

Some of those reasons have long since been revealed and some are still waiting for the light of day.

But, if they are still alive, those people are somewhere, doing something with a group of people I don't even know.

They are married or not. They have kids or never did. They are healthy and happy or they are sick and miserable.

Or they are dead...

I may never know.

But I have not forgotten them. I still see them in my mind's eye as they were back then. They are just as beautiful or funny or cool or interesting. I am still drawn to their energy and their charisma.

I hope they're happy and, if they have died, I hope they lived a fulfilled life.

I am and I have so far.

If you see them tell them that. They'd probably want to know.

Or not...

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Pass The Salt...

What is it about the human race that makes us so competitive?

It's probably the old biological thing about survival. If I kill the tiger, A) it doesn't kill me and, B) I'm eating and, well, you're not.

Plain and simple I suppose.

The modern equivalent, at least in politics, seems to be the way in which one party vilifies the other.

To listen to the GOP you would think that Barack Obama was a murderer. And the Democrats paint the Republicans as heartless inheritors of the Gestapo mentality.

Neither is true, really. It is just that one party wants control on behalf of its' constituency and the other wants the same.

If we make our opponent out to be the devil and gin everyone up into frothing hatred then it's much easier to prevail at the polls. We don't have to articulate a vision or stand for anything. We can just amble along spewing venom and whipping people up into a frenzy. If we can get people to vote from their hearts rather than their heads then we are good to go.

Them against us. Rich against poor. Smart against stupid. It's all just man vs. tiger, twenty-first century version.

Obama isn't a bad guy. Neither is Romney nor Gingrich. They are just flawed humans seeking acknowledgement and love. They all had childhoods from which they are recovering and experiences that formed their points of view.

They all have good ideas and all probably have some sense of honor and duty, even if it seems to be hidden behind a wall of ideological rhetoric.

We are all in the same boat. We all have fears and idiosyncracies and desires. We all aspire to something, whether to win the lottery or to grow tomatoes or to become the president. We are all looking for fulfillment and for the people around us to tell us that we are safe and ok.

I would like to think that my vote is based on my political philosophy. I would like to think that I vote for someone because he has good ideas that align with mine. I would like to think that I don't vote for someone because I like his personality or the color of his wife's hair. I would like to think that I am better than that.

But what I'd like and what is true are, unfortunately, two different things.

I don't like Mitt Romney and I like Newt Gingrich even less. And I'm not that crazy about Barack Obama either. It's hard for me to hear their arguments because I get lost in my emotions. I don't feel that any of them has "my back" nor do I feel that any one of them has the faintest idea how to fix the problems that beset this country at this moment. I feel that they are all out for themselves and that what matters to me doesn't matter to them at all.

But their consultants are hoping that I will like their guy better than the other guy. They are hoping that their guy will convince me that he and I are "alike" and that he understands my "situation."

That's their hope. So far they haven't convinced me.

So far I don't like any of them.

And the tiger is getting closer and closer to the mouth of my cave and, frankly, that scares the hell out of me.

That bothers me much more than Mitt Romney's money or Newt Gingrich's sex life or Barack Obama's birthplace.

I just hope I don't taste very good. After all, I'm old and fatty and getting close to my expiration date.

One can only hope...

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

A Tragedy in 5 Acts


$21,700,000.00 (The gross amount Willard and Anne Romney earned in 2010)

Now deduct the $3,000,000.00 paid in taxes

That leaves $18,700,000.00

Divided by 2 equals

$9,350,000.00 (The net amount Willard earned)

Divided by 240* equals

$38,958 (The net amount Willard earned every working day)

Divided by 8 equals

$4,869 (The net amount Willard earned per hour)


The federal minimum wage is $7.25 per hour

Times 8 is $58.00 a day

Times 240* $13,920 a year


$4,869 per hour

$7.25 per hour


If you can tell me how Governor Romney can relate to the guy earning $7.25 per hour then I'll vote for Governor Romney.


Good luck...!

*...the approximate number of working days in a calendar year.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Friend This!

I just came to a startling, although, belated realization.

This "Friend" thing on Facebook is baloney.

I recently "Friended" a bunch of people and then tried to communicate with them. You friends do.

No such luck.

Not a word...or "notification", as it is so endearingly called.

My "Friends" ended up not being so...

Which got me to thinking about the whole nattering concept of friendship.

What is a friend, really? I've had plenty throughout my life but what I really think I had were aquaintances or maybe just "people of interest."

A friend is someone who cares about you, regardless. Regardless of your haircut, choice of shirt, body odor, political/religious/sports affiliation or girlfriend/wife. You can do and say really stupid things and they love you anyway. You can lie, cheat, steal and betray in myriad ways and they always forgive you.

But it has to go both ways. They have to be able to disappoint you in all of the abovementioned ways and you are obliged, by the friendship code, to forgive them back.

It doesn't matter. Anything goes. All is forgiven. "Come home."

Can you, even for an instant, imagine that happening on Facebook? No, you can't because it doesn't.

All you have to do is misspell a word or root for the wrong team and you are set ablaze by all of your "Friends."

And it isn't enough to change your name or profile picture. They'll find you in email and send you nasty messages and post your transgressions all over the World Wide God Damned Web!

And friendship is forever.

It is not simply so until you are "UnFriended" at the stroke of the delete key. Friendship is for more than a nanosecond. True friendship is for life. And I don't mean battery life either...

And while I'm at it, the "Like" button is useless. When someone posts that their cat had a heart attack, I for one, feel very uncomfortable "Liking" that news. I didn't even know that they had a cat let alone that it was sick. I really don't "Like" the fact that their cat died. I may not like cats (I do, by the way...more than some people I know, actually...) but I would never tell my "Friend" that I liked the fact that Fluffy passed away. Can you imagine...?

So let's lobby to change the word "Friend" to "Acquaintance" and "Like" to "Appreciate."

Less disingenuity. More truth telling.

There could be some problems with that though, come to think of it...

"You've Got an Acquaintance" by Carole King. My apologies, also, to James Taylor (who is not yet a "Friend" on Facebook, even though I'm trying...)

"I Appreciate Ike"..(I liked Ike. I was a little boy and didn't know him from Adam. My father, who was really my friend, was a Republican and loved Eisenhower. Especially his jacket. I liked Ike because my Dad did.)

Oh, and did I mention that true friends will share their good fortune with you? They catch a fish, they share. They get free tickets, they share. They have a cute cousin/sister...they share, with restrictions, of course...

Mr. Zuckerberg...Mr. Gabillionaire Entrepreneur Startup Social Network Lifestyle Altering Poobah...

Are you listening?


Thursday, January 19, 2012

On The Other Hand

I was going to write about the possibility of a Gingrich/Palin ticket in 2012.

That impulse has been overridden by the news of Newt Gingrich's opening remarks at last night's GOP debate in South Carolina.

CNN's John King asked about reports of Gingrich's former wife's contention that Gingrich wanted to have an open marriage. Apparently Newt had been having an affair and an open marriage seemed, to him, to be a viable solution. Gingrich claims that the story is false. Stay tuned...

On the one hand what people do in private should be their business, not ours. But...on the seems to be appropriate for the "People" to know about what a candidate for the presidency is made of.

When someone declares for that high office their private lives become very public and very fast. It is our business (or should be...) to know what they think about almost everything and whether their private decisions are consistent with their public ones.

One could argue that what someone does in private has no bearing on how they would govern. That, in essence, is Mitt Romney's argument about his health care decisions in Massachusetts. He's saying that what was good for The Bay State may not be good for the country, as a whole.

Same goes for his wealth and the manner in which he amassed it. What he did as a private businessman is not necessarily what he would do as the chief executive of these United States.

Newt Gingrich wants us to believe that, in a moment of personal pain, he made immoral decisions. He wants us to believe that he would make moral ones as president.

Further, he blames the media for raking him over the coals. He contends that it is "appalling" that a presidential debate should contain questions about his marriage and infidelities.

Well, Congressman...too damned bad!

You did what you did and now you must answer the questions about it. You're right when you invoke all of humanity in your defense. Yes, sir, we have all had moments in which we have made the wrong choices.

But the difference, sir, is that most of us are NOT running for president.

Newt Gingrich wants us to believe that his immoral and unethical behavior, however human and understandable, is not a part of who he would be as president.

It is a totally appropriate question as to how his morals affect his decisions. It goes to the heart of the matter. Can he be trusted?

Never mind his politics. We can agree or disagree about that all day long.

Never mind the bellicosity of his personality. That may, or may not, be important in the long run.

But is he a man of "high ideals", as Mr. Potter referred to George Bailey's father.

Newt Gingrich is fond of telling us what to do and how to do it. He thinks he has all of the answers.

"Do what I say, not as I do..."

I don't think so Congressman.

I just don't think so...

Monday, January 16, 2012

Me Too...

Friends...I've come to a difficult decision.

After much personal reflection, and long discussions with my wife and children, I've decided to end my run for the presidency.

I have decided to leave the race to spend more time with my family. It is not important that they have been travelling with me throughout the campaign. That was not a factor.

It is also not important that I haven't gotten many votes in the primaries.

I am withdrawing for personal reasons.

Oh, didn't know I was a candidate? You weren't told? My name never came up except at a few parties and in the bathroom?

Uhhh...well...let me explain.

I am really a nobody. I am rich, that's true, but aside from that I really haven't accomplished much of note. My resume is paper thin.

My father is VERY rich however and he is a great man. He is handsome and funny and charming and, did I say, very rich.

He is a man of true accomplishment. I know my father and I am no "My Father."

I am merely his son, a poor second at best. A Canal Street knockoff.

But I decided to run for president anyway. I thought it would be fun.

It wasn't.

I thought I'd make some new friends.

I didn't.

I, at least, thought I'd see some new places and eat some new foods.

I didn't do those things either. As a matter of fact, I went to places I'd already been and had, long ago, decided never to return to.

And the food I ate, or was forced to eat I should say, wasn't that great. Except, maybe for that one lobster roll I had at that clam shack on the New Hampshire coast somewhere.

But that really wasn't so great, in retrospect.

I am SO tired of lobster. I've had way too much of it during my lifetime. It's only marginally better with Dom Perignon, '62 (not '61 as everyone thinks...'62 was a much better year as far as I'm concerned. Just ask James Bond if you don't want to take my word for it.) and caviar only confuses the taste. Caviar is too salty anyway. Especially that Beluga stuff. Not good...

And, really, lobster doesn't have much of a taste of it's own. It's the butter that makes it. Drawn butter on cheese, especially brie, would be just as good and much less of a bother. Those stupid bibs and the claw-crackers.

And for what? You only get a couple of good bites from the tail and then you spend way too much time trying to get the little pieces out of the claws.

Not worth it. And whoever decided that the green stuff tastes good?

It doesn' least not from where I'm sitting, thank you. I think it's called "Tomalley." And I don't think it's a delicacy. Truffles are a delicacy too and I don't like them any better.

So, all in all, the campaign was a downer. I didn't get enough sleep, I had to talk, endlessly, to people who didn't understand what I was saying and, worst of all, I was forced to introduce myself over and over. No one seemed to know (or care...) who I was. And that hurt, believe you me.

So I'm out. I'm done. I'm calling it a day and I'm throwing my support behind Willard Romney.

If I'm not your man then he should be. We look alike, both of our wives are blond, we're both very rich and we are both very religious. And he speaks French for crying out loud!

Vote for him...not for me.

I'll be the one spending time with my loved ones. Whether they like it or not.

It'll be fun after they learn who I am and what I stand for and what I'll do for them as head of a great American family.

And I'll finally be able to have a good, home cooked meal. think of it.

Pate, a baguette and a glass of Chateau Latour, '82

Now that's good eatin'...!

Saturday, January 14, 2012

The Bain of My Existence...

I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to use that title. I really don't have much to add to my previous posts about Willard.

But I'll try anyway...

This Bain Capital business, that seems to be dogging Mitt Romney's campaign, really comes down to one overriding issue.


Admit it folks. We're all green with envy that Mitt and his friends have so much money (and so many houses, it turns out.)

We bitch and moan about the wealthy only because we wish we were as rich as they are.

Find me someone who would forego the chance to be a millionaire in order to remain a member of the struggling (and shrinking...) Middle Class and I'll stop eating caviar. There's not one Man Jack among us.

Introduce me to one guy who doesn't take a raise when it's offered (whether it's earned or not.) You can't do it because that guy just doesn't exist.

If he did then we would never be stuck behind some jerk at the convenience store as he buys endless "Quick Picks" and "Powerballs." (Am I the ONLY person who finds that to be UNBELIEVEABLY annoying...? Get your gas, buy your milk and get the F#@* out! JEEZUZ!!!!)

We wouldn't see the rise of the casinos as they proliferate across the landscape replete with shallow-eyed Zombies dropping quarters in a last ditch effort to make a killing.

We are constantly engaged in Class Warfare. One major political party accuses the other of using that card to advance an agenda or a campaign.

But it is as much a part of the fabric of our lives as the Good Republican Cloth Coats that we wear, whether we are Republicans or not.

How else can you explain some workers with pompous, politically correct titles, who make $30 an hour, plus benefits, for performing menial tasks.

They perform invaluable services, no question, but are they worth $30 an hour when an electrician, who had to study and apprentice for 4 years and has a special skill, makes the same?

I don't think so.

It is because their unions negotiated sweet deals with the city so that their standard of living was equal to the rest of the Middle Class.

Never mind that some of them never finished high school, have never read a book and couldn't spell "irregardless" (Just kidding...! Actually, they probably could spell that even though it's NOT AN ACTUAL WORD!)

They just want as much as they can get for as little effort as possible. I admit that getting up at 4 in the morning to hump heavy barrels around for a few hours ain't much of a walk in the park but it pales in comparison to staying up all night to study the intracies of The National Electrical Code.

Jealousy. Keeping up with the Joneses. That's the way we live. That's what fuels our economy and keeps us in business. That's what the hub-bub about Romney is all about.

He's a millionaire with extra houses and never worries about money.

We all want to be like that.

Well maybe not exactly like that. I, for one, would have committed suicide long ago if my first name were Willard. And my middle name were Mitt?

Willard was the name of a fictional character in a horror movie about rats and Mitt is what you catch a baseball with.

The money, the houses, the privilege and opportunity...yes.


Too bad he wasn't named after his father.

But then again, we've had a couple of those recently and look what that got us.

Friday, January 13, 2012

In This Corner!

Ok, let me take the gloves off. The kid gloves that is...

Let me tell you what irks me about Willard Romney.

He is an oblivious man of privilege.

Full disclosure: I guess, to some extent, I am one too.

He is a rich man's son. So am I. Even though we had very little money growing up, my father came from money which was all lost in the Great Depression. But my father sacrificed to give me that life.

Romney went to prep school and so did I.

Romney spent time in France and speaks French. Both true for me.

I suppose this gives me some "cred" to talk about it. Much like a reformed alcoholic or junkie. "Been there, done that" sort of thing.

It is the agregation of his pedigree and cultural background that makes him unfit for the presidency.

David Brooks writes a wonderfully insightful piece in today's New York Times about the relative qualifications for being a successful president.

Romney possesses none of them, with exception of his aristocratic lineage. He claims to have been a successful businessman. But it seems as though he made his money by destroying the lives of many, many people.

By that measure, he is more of the class of historical figures we have come to loathe. They don't need to be named. We know who they are.

I went to school with men like Mitt Romney and George W. Bush, for that matter.

These were little boys who had everything but could do nothing. When they got into trouble their fathers swooped in and "fixed" the situation. Sometimes with only a phone call but sometimes by endowing a building or giving an outsized donation.

I will never forget auditioning for the school rock band in 1965. The band's drummer had a full set of brand new, gray pearl Ludwigs, the best at the time, just like Ringo's and the envy of every drummer at school.

The problem was that he couldn't play his way out of a paper bag. He was terrible.
A nice guy but a truly rotten drummer.

I, on the other hand, could play. I only had a used snare drum and a hub cab for a cymbal but I had a natural talent. And it didn't hurt that I could play the complicated (at that time...simple by today's standards) rythyms of Dino Danelli, the incredible drummer for The Rascals. I could play "Good Lovin'" just like the record. OMG!!

So an audition was arranged, in secret, and I was to use the other kid's drums. I aced the session and they summarily fired the kid and hired me.

I had to go out and get some drums and in a hurry. My father took me to Goldie's Music Store on Chapel Street in New Haven and I bought, with a loan, a gold sparkle bass drum, a ride cymbal, a bass mounted tom-tom and a red Ludwig, starter, bass drum pedal.

I was so cool now that I thought I'd burst from the excitement. The guys in the band traded some gear to get me a high-hat and a blue pearl floor tom and I was set.

Rock and roll! It took me about 10 years to repay my father the $183.00 I had borrowed. But he didn't care. I was his son and I was happy playing my drums. He was a wonderful man and I still, and always will, miss him.

Anyway...the point of this digression, however poignant, was to illustrate the fact that boys of money become men of money and a lack of intrinsic talent accompanies them for their entire lives.

And they can't possibly relate to the "common" man. It's just not something they can do.

Neither George W. Bush nor Willard Mitt Romney can ever know what it's like to be poor or disadvantaged or to only have a hub cap for a cymbal.

They make speeches about "The American People" but are not of that order. They are citizens of a different world populated by wealth and blond, blue eyed women and yachts and summer homes and prep school and expensive drum kits.

And in the case of "W", they send other people's children to die in far away wars just to preserve the "American Way of Life." (please don't irritate me with the Texas Air National Guard crap...we know what the truth is there even if Dan Rather had to lose his career over it...)

But not to preserve the average American's lifestyle. No. Not "The Average Joe's Way of Life."

It is to preserve capitalism at it's Bain/Enron/Goldman best.

Mark Knopfler had it right.

"Money for nothin'..."

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Nostalgia, Part I

I read, today, that Hostess Cakes, the maker of Twinkies, has filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection.

That got me to a-thinkin'...

I am old enough to remember Twinkies when they actually tasted good. Then ITT (International Telephone & Telegraph...think about that one...) bought Hostess and Twinkies began to taste somewhat radioactive.

Then they got smaller and that was that.

Hostess Cupcakes were dealt the same fate and Snoballs too.

Life, as we knew it, was over.

Then, of course, came Dan White, the San Francisco Supervisor, convicted of killing Harvey Milk, the gay activist. White used the, so-called, "Twinkie Defense", wherein he suggested that a lifetime of eating junk food, Twinkies included, led him to the irrational act of murder. He went to prison and then later committed suicide. But his legacy included the "Twinkie Defense." Thanks for that.

More bad news for the once beloved treat.

But such is the fate of so much these days.

Remember those little dots on the piece of paper that, no matter how hard you tried, ended up in your mouth with a little bit of the paper still attached? It was a small price to pay.

And the "bottles" of colorful liquid. You bit off the "top" and had a nip of God knows what. But it was good!

And the wax lips.

And on and on.

And the baseball cards affixed to the frame of your bike with a clothes pin. It sounded JUST LIKE A MOTORCYCLE! But only at first until the stiffness of the card gave way to a floppy piece of cardboard (or whatever baseball cards are made of) and then it just sounded cooked spaghetti flapping against your hand at which point you were no longer cool and could no longer impress the 9 year old girl watching you...the nine year old boy.

And that one special night, every year, when The Wizard of Oz was on TV. And, OH MY GOD, if you were lucky enough to have a color television (we were not among that select population...) you screamed when the picture went to color...WOW!! How do I know this, you ask, if I didn't have a color TV? My neighbor did and she told me. And I believed her at the time because she was older than I the time. No telling now. I think I am older than she

And Slinkies and Silly Putty and your first Hula Hoop?

And those, incredibly fragile, good for only one flight, balsa wood gliders.


I guess I'm just old now. But I think that the first time The Beatles were on Ed Sullivan, in black and white and on a 10" screen, was one of the greatest events of all recorded time.

Beats the hell out of Jay-Zee, Kanye West and "Watch The Throne." Maybe the white porcelain throne. Maybe that throne. Maybe that one...

At least that's what I

My grandchildren will probably be saying the same things about their childhood that I am saying about mine.

But "come on people!" (I hate that phrase...especially the way "people" is enunciated in a usually very whiney way, with the accent on the first "P"...PEEpul... as if the nimrod uttering the word has some lock on the info that they have about whatever the subject is and no one else has a clue...which is often not the case, especially among idiots. But that is another post. And, come to think of it...what does that say about me...if I used the phrase in the first place? That is definitely another, on the couch, post. So...please, Dear Reader...substitute the phrase, "Come on people!" with "Come on!" I'm sorry for any confusion and subsequent anxiety that this may have caused you and yours. It's very complicated...)

When was the last time you had ANYTHING as good as the original Twinkie? (Please spare me about profiteroles at that cozy little cafe in Paris. Who do you think you are...Mitt Romney?)


Not recently.

All that stuff is so politically incorrect now that, even when you eat one, you can't enjoy it without some jackass giving you attitude.

"Where the sun don't shine pal."

Where the sun don't shine!

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Rush Limbaugh is My Hero

Today is different. Today I stand up for myself. Today I blow horns!

Today I decided to take a page out of Rush Limbaugh's playbook and celebrate...myself!

I recently wrote, in this space, that it was difficult to understand how Mitt Romney, et al, could relate to the common man.

He comes from, and has always had, money. We now learn that one of the ways in which he made his money was to buy and sell companies and lay off hundreds, if not thousands, of workers in the process.

"Capitalism at its' grandest" some would say in defense of this system. The way it's done in the world of high finance and leveraged buyouts.

Fine...if you're already a millionaire and just looking for ways to get richer.

Not so fine if you're trying to put food on the table, a roof over your head and shoes on your children's feet.

But Mitt can't empathize with that. He never could and never will be able to do that.

And NEVER FORGET his remarks about what his sons were doing to serve their country when he was asked during the height of the Iraq War as he was trying for the presidency in '08.

No empathy there.

Now here's where the horn blowing begins.

Today's New York Times editorial page:

"The Corporate Candidiates

The more Mitt Romney pretends to empathize with the millions of Americans who are struggling in this economy, the less he seems to understand their despair. And the rest of the Republican field seems to have no more insight into the concerns of most voters than he does.

Mr. Romney claims his background as a businessman provides him with an understanding of the economy and the ability to fix it. His opponents — particularly Newt Gingrich, Rick Santorum, Ron Paul and Rick Perry — say their political experience provides the same advantage. In truth, none have offered anything but tired or extremist economic prescriptions, providing little evidence that they can relate to those at the middle or bottom of the ladder."

You heard it here first. I said it first. To quote Ali, "I'm the greatest!"

So... Where's my byline? Where's my name on the masthead? Where are the big bucks?

Oh...sorry. They're in New Hampshire chasing the Dough.

Get it? Bucks chasing a Doe...actually Fawning over them...?

Get it?

I'm so clever. I just love myself.