Amid my excitement watching the presidential election returns last night, I breezed through that day's issue of The New York Times I'd picked up earlier in the day. I don't subscribe to the newspaper but on occasion, I pick up a copy and revel in something near and dear to my heart, print journalism.
Of course, the front page featured the election on the last day of this year's historic campaign. When I turned to the editorial page -- a favorite of mine -- my mood soured as I read the headline and opening paragraph of the lead editorial, "So Little Time, So Much Damage." My measured thrill, anticipating the election of Barack Obama as the 44th president of our country, was dampened by the anger I feel for the 43rd president of this country. You know the one. He's the guy who, with his brazen lack of understanding of virtually anything and everything, has brought this great country to the brink of disaster. I was reminded once again how little I envied the mess that either candidate for the presidency was not only going to inherit but, to their credit, was actually willing to shoulder. Now, that's leadership.
The New York Times editorial simply reminded me of the despicable behavior exhibited by a U.S. President who simply doesn't think that little, aged and fragile document, The Constitution, applies to him or his cronies. Sure, the rest of us peons have to obey. But not him. Not his adminstration. For they believe they can do anything they want under the guise of impending terrorism.
Sadly, the American people and Congress have allowed George Bush and Dick Cheney and their minions to discard our rights to privacy and dignity. We have condoned this abusive behavior by doing nothing to hold this adminstration accountable for their actions and the actions of those agencies who have blatantly ripped our Constitution to shreds. Their behavior has been unconscionable. We failed in failing to rise up and challenge it.
As I watched the election results pile up in Obama's favor, I could visualize Bush feverishly signing executive orders right and left in the Oval Office as he angrily listened to coverage on Fox News. As fast as he could, he was destroying the Constitution, the environment and this country's leadership role in an ever-shrinking world. That's the legacy he leaves. I maintain faith that history will judge his reign of terror for precisely what it has been; a pox on the world's greatest democracy.
So my happiness with Barack Obama's historic election was tempered by the overwhelming weight of recognizing the task before him -- rebuilding a broken country with a discarded Constitution in an angry world. No doubt I can thank the current President for Obama's success. Sadly, I doubt Bush has accepted one iota of blame for the massive defeat of John McCain, although everyone with a clue in this country knows where to place blame. Finally, we are at the end of eight long years of tyranny and hubris. The world rejoices.
Godspeed to Barack Obama, who inherits not the wind but the failed policies of a President who simply never understood the role this country plays in the world and, even more important, the role the federal government should play in the lives of each of its citizens.
As I listened to President-elect Obama's somber but grateful acceptance speech, I found myself memorizing his physical appearance on this historic night. By the end of his first term, I anticipate I will see the facial lines and gray hair that mark those who seek and earn the privilege to serve in the highest office of this land. I anticipate those characteristics will, in his case, appear far sooner. Yet another legacy of George W. Bush.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Closing Up for Winter
I'm a list maker. Perhaps my memory isn't outstanding. Perhaps I have too many things to do to remember them all. Perhaps it's because I'm a highly visual person who likes to look at the list and enjoys the thrill of crossing off items on the list as I accomplish them. Whatever the reason, I entered autumn with a list that for awhile, I added to more often than I subtracted from. Every time I thought of something I needed to do outside to the house, yard or garden, I added it to "The List." Today, the only thing that remains on The List is to trim a couple of the small, young trees in my yard -- something I prefer to do when the temperatures drop below freezing and the trees have assumed their annual state of dormancy.
I feel great.
I feel so great because I don't think I've ever actually done everything on The List before. Something always comes up that prevents me from doing so -- an early hard freeze, rain, my own laziness that keeps me on the couch or on the go -- anything to keep from finishing those projects before the snow flies.
But this year, the north fascia of the deck and the columns below have been primed and painted. I've mowed and trimmed my large yard for the last time until spring and I've parked the mower away in the garage. I've weeded all of my planting beds for the last time this year. And I've planted more spring-blooming bulbs, the perennials and shrubs I kept buying as their prices continued to drop at my local garden centers, and divided the beautiful iris I transplanted from my mother-in-law's place a few years ago and the black-eyed Susans my sister-in-law gave me a year or two ago. Although the beds look rather brown, used and sad at this time of year, I anticipate the spring when I can start gently pulling the dead foilage, leaves and winter waste from them, looking for the new year's growth that never, ever ceases to amaze and excite me. Spring is a treasure hunt. Fall is a loving cover of protection from the impending cold, snow and wind.
Without a doubt, I achieved my greatest sense of accomplishment this fall from my large vegetable gardern. The spring and summer were incredibly wet and cool this year. After all of the hours of back-breaking work I put into planting and maintaining the garden last spring, I finally conceded most of it to weeds this summer. Only the sweet corn and pumpkins did well. The beans, peas, lettuces and other vegetables yielded little, but most disappointing were my tomatoes and peppers. The fifty-odd plants I planted, fertilized, weeded and tended lovingly produced only a few very small pieces of fruit when I usually have more than enough to give away to friends and family. But tomatoes and peppers need hot, dry weather. If they don't get enough rain, I can water them. When they get too much rain, there's nothing I can do.
If you take care of the earth, she will take care of you. I kept telling myself that as I looked at my weed-choked patch of dirt at the end of summer. With the last of the corn and squash harvested, I started preparing it for next year. I pulled up the corn stalks and vines and hauled them to a nearby ditch in the field. Then I mowed the garden. Yes, I mowed it. Not once, but three times, raking the clippings between each round and hauling them to the ditch. I ended that day by tilling the soil five or six times. I stopped when I ran out of gas. I had spent six hours in the garden that day. Weary but oddly satisfied, I sat on my deck, drank a cold Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and reflected on how much better the garden looked.
But I wasn't done. Take care of the earth and she will take care of you. She needed more care, and I had my plan. I have two, huge oak trees in the back yard. Since my home sits in the middle of an 85-acre field, I don't bother with raking leaves. That's something you have to do with you have neighbors who are going to gripe at you because your leaves keep blowing into their yards. But this year, I had a plan to rake enough leaves to cover the garden. Then, I would scoop the top off my compost pile and set it aside so I could get to the good compost below. I shoveled that into my wheelbarrow and took load after load to my garden, sprinkling it over the leaves. And for my grand finale, I tilled the garden a dozen times total, twice in six different directions, breaking up the packed soil and mixing it with the rich compost that would add nutrients to the soil and with the leaves that would decay under the snow this winter, adding even more nutrients. That was my plan. And for the first time ever, I actually carried it out. When I shut off the tiller and admired my large expanse of soil after this day's seven hours of toil, I thought I heard the earth sigh, contented that she was now ready for her winter's nap. She will return the favor in the spring. I have faith in her -- the incredible faith that farmers and gardeners have, no matter how difficult the previous season. We are like diehard fans of sports teams who never win the big game. We start the season with the greatest optimism, do a considerable amount of griping as the season progresses imperfectly, and at the end, when we've missed the playoffs, we sigh and starting thinking about next season. When the new season arrives, we tell everyone who will listen, "This is our year!"
I sit on my deck as the sun sets an hour early, drink my Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and survey my beautiful patch of dirt. Life is good.
I feel great.
I feel so great because I don't think I've ever actually done everything on The List before. Something always comes up that prevents me from doing so -- an early hard freeze, rain, my own laziness that keeps me on the couch or on the go -- anything to keep from finishing those projects before the snow flies.
But this year, the north fascia of the deck and the columns below have been primed and painted. I've mowed and trimmed my large yard for the last time until spring and I've parked the mower away in the garage. I've weeded all of my planting beds for the last time this year. And I've planted more spring-blooming bulbs, the perennials and shrubs I kept buying as their prices continued to drop at my local garden centers, and divided the beautiful iris I transplanted from my mother-in-law's place a few years ago and the black-eyed Susans my sister-in-law gave me a year or two ago. Although the beds look rather brown, used and sad at this time of year, I anticipate the spring when I can start gently pulling the dead foilage, leaves and winter waste from them, looking for the new year's growth that never, ever ceases to amaze and excite me. Spring is a treasure hunt. Fall is a loving cover of protection from the impending cold, snow and wind.
Without a doubt, I achieved my greatest sense of accomplishment this fall from my large vegetable gardern. The spring and summer were incredibly wet and cool this year. After all of the hours of back-breaking work I put into planting and maintaining the garden last spring, I finally conceded most of it to weeds this summer. Only the sweet corn and pumpkins did well. The beans, peas, lettuces and other vegetables yielded little, but most disappointing were my tomatoes and peppers. The fifty-odd plants I planted, fertilized, weeded and tended lovingly produced only a few very small pieces of fruit when I usually have more than enough to give away to friends and family. But tomatoes and peppers need hot, dry weather. If they don't get enough rain, I can water them. When they get too much rain, there's nothing I can do.
If you take care of the earth, she will take care of you. I kept telling myself that as I looked at my weed-choked patch of dirt at the end of summer. With the last of the corn and squash harvested, I started preparing it for next year. I pulled up the corn stalks and vines and hauled them to a nearby ditch in the field. Then I mowed the garden. Yes, I mowed it. Not once, but three times, raking the clippings between each round and hauling them to the ditch. I ended that day by tilling the soil five or six times. I stopped when I ran out of gas. I had spent six hours in the garden that day. Weary but oddly satisfied, I sat on my deck, drank a cold Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and reflected on how much better the garden looked.
But I wasn't done. Take care of the earth and she will take care of you. She needed more care, and I had my plan. I have two, huge oak trees in the back yard. Since my home sits in the middle of an 85-acre field, I don't bother with raking leaves. That's something you have to do with you have neighbors who are going to gripe at you because your leaves keep blowing into their yards. But this year, I had a plan to rake enough leaves to cover the garden. Then, I would scoop the top off my compost pile and set it aside so I could get to the good compost below. I shoveled that into my wheelbarrow and took load after load to my garden, sprinkling it over the leaves. And for my grand finale, I tilled the garden a dozen times total, twice in six different directions, breaking up the packed soil and mixing it with the rich compost that would add nutrients to the soil and with the leaves that would decay under the snow this winter, adding even more nutrients. That was my plan. And for the first time ever, I actually carried it out. When I shut off the tiller and admired my large expanse of soil after this day's seven hours of toil, I thought I heard the earth sigh, contented that she was now ready for her winter's nap. She will return the favor in the spring. I have faith in her -- the incredible faith that farmers and gardeners have, no matter how difficult the previous season. We are like diehard fans of sports teams who never win the big game. We start the season with the greatest optimism, do a considerable amount of griping as the season progresses imperfectly, and at the end, when we've missed the playoffs, we sigh and starting thinking about next season. When the new season arrives, we tell everyone who will listen, "This is our year!"
I sit on my deck as the sun sets an hour early, drink my Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and survey my beautiful patch of dirt. Life is good.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Over a (Pork) Barrel
Perspective is incredibly self-centered. How each of us views something is entirely based on the question, "how will it affect me?" Perspective is precisely what makes pork either "the other white meat" or a four-letter word.
So, let's consider pork. John McCain proudly proclaims that he has never, ever voted for any bill in Congress that contained pork -- money for local projects that don't necessarily affect the health and welfare of the entire nation. To McCain, "pork" is a four-letter word.
Virtually every other member of Congress, at some time, has voted for legislation containing at least one pork-barrel project -- probably to the benefit of his or her home state or congressional district. To them, "pork" is simply bringing home the bacon.
If your elected officials bring federal funds, generated in part by the taxes you pay, back to your community, isn't that a good thing? If your town sits on a two-lane highway that generates nothing but safety issues and economic woes and your members of Congress have a chance to garner federal money that will bring construction of a four-lane highway to your community, would you really turn it down because some call it "pork?"
Frankly, I can't believe that the citizens of Arizona have repeatedly sent John McCain back to Washington, election cycle after election cycle, when he has never brought home the bacon -- and he's proud of it. So you sit on your Arizona righteousness and watch California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico rake in the pork. You don't get mad? You don't want your share?
Pork is like campaign reform. Until the rules are changed for everyone, it probably behooves you to play under the existing rules. It's great to stand on your principles, but when you're essentially hurting the people you represent to do so, is it in their best interest?
Now, I also don't believe that you should do something just because everyone else is doing it. You remember your mom asking you that infamous question, "...and if your friends jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge would you do that too?" It's a Catch 22. You can admire McCain for his personal pork principle, but you have to get a little mad. He's been in Washington for a very long time. He's been in a position of leadership and power for a long time. Oh, the slabs of bacon he could have brought home to Arizona....
Let's face it. There are a lot of projects in this country, funded by the federal pig, that are worthy ones that, in some vague and distant way, might positively affect all of us. It makes sense that the more solid, strong, vibrant communities we have in this country, the better our country overall. That said, building an enormously expensive bridge to the benefit of a dozen citizens exemplifies the negative extreme.
Perhaps the answer is establishing rigid rules about pork and living by them. But until there are rules, I guess elected officials will continue making them up as they play. And while that's not really fair for everyone, it's the reality of our system at this point in history.
(Selfish footnote for my elected members of Congress: Keep bringing home the bacon while you can.)
So, let's consider pork. John McCain proudly proclaims that he has never, ever voted for any bill in Congress that contained pork -- money for local projects that don't necessarily affect the health and welfare of the entire nation. To McCain, "pork" is a four-letter word.
Virtually every other member of Congress, at some time, has voted for legislation containing at least one pork-barrel project -- probably to the benefit of his or her home state or congressional district. To them, "pork" is simply bringing home the bacon.
If your elected officials bring federal funds, generated in part by the taxes you pay, back to your community, isn't that a good thing? If your town sits on a two-lane highway that generates nothing but safety issues and economic woes and your members of Congress have a chance to garner federal money that will bring construction of a four-lane highway to your community, would you really turn it down because some call it "pork?"
Frankly, I can't believe that the citizens of Arizona have repeatedly sent John McCain back to Washington, election cycle after election cycle, when he has never brought home the bacon -- and he's proud of it. So you sit on your Arizona righteousness and watch California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico rake in the pork. You don't get mad? You don't want your share?
Pork is like campaign reform. Until the rules are changed for everyone, it probably behooves you to play under the existing rules. It's great to stand on your principles, but when you're essentially hurting the people you represent to do so, is it in their best interest?
Now, I also don't believe that you should do something just because everyone else is doing it. You remember your mom asking you that infamous question, "...and if your friends jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge would you do that too?" It's a Catch 22. You can admire McCain for his personal pork principle, but you have to get a little mad. He's been in Washington for a very long time. He's been in a position of leadership and power for a long time. Oh, the slabs of bacon he could have brought home to Arizona....
Let's face it. There are a lot of projects in this country, funded by the federal pig, that are worthy ones that, in some vague and distant way, might positively affect all of us. It makes sense that the more solid, strong, vibrant communities we have in this country, the better our country overall. That said, building an enormously expensive bridge to the benefit of a dozen citizens exemplifies the negative extreme.
Perhaps the answer is establishing rigid rules about pork and living by them. But until there are rules, I guess elected officials will continue making them up as they play. And while that's not really fair for everyone, it's the reality of our system at this point in history.
(Selfish footnote for my elected members of Congress: Keep bringing home the bacon while you can.)
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Truth in Advertising
Truth in advertising. I'm sure this isn't the first time you've heard this phrase. For those of us who have spent time in the field of advertising, it's an ethical mantra you should live by. Sure, you can push it to a degree, but when it comes down to it, what you put out there had better be far more factual than false.
In the waning days of this year's historical election, "truth in advertising" is something I think about every single day. I cannot escape the constant barrage of ads in every medium from every candidate from county commissioner to president of the United States of America. I also cannot escape that fact that "truth in advertising" is lost during virtually every political cycle.
In the spirit of the mantra, let me be completely honest. I am a Democrat. I am not ashamed of that fact; I am proud. I believe, as a wise man who grew up during the Great Depression used to say, that the Democrats are for the "little guy" and the "working man." I won't take this opportunity to discuss all of the convincing reasons to be a Democrat, because my party is just as guilty of violating the marketing mantra as any party. And why not? "Politics as usual," to use another familiar phrase, makes it all so very easy.
While I am a Democrat, I'm also a journalist by training. In journalism, you learn how to put your own opinions, experience and emotions aside to report a story fairly, honestly, equally and in totality. Of course, you shouldn't believe that all journalists actually adhere to this theory, but I'll save that topic for another blog.
If you can put your own affiliations aside and just listen or read political ads like someone who is either truly independent or simply uniformed, you really wouldn't know which candidate you should vote for. Why? Because you have no idea who's telling the truth. If you believe what you hear, frankly, you'd come up with a write-in candidate, like your favorite teacher, and vote for him or her. If you believe all you hear, Democrats are gun-control, anti-business, abortionist, tax-and-spend, socialist liberals, among other things. Republicans are gun-toting, war-mongoring, gas-guzzling, major corporation, friends of the incredibly wealthy. Why would you vote for a candidate for either party?
The fact that the truth is difficult to discern in modern elections has led to a surge of "fact-checkers" and myriad organizations that proclaim to take neither side. That claim is highly suspect as well. So, how can voters really know what's fact and what's fiction?
The truth is, most of what's said is gray rather than black or white. Anyone can "spin" the facts however they chose and not be called an outright liar for doing so. There are lies by omission and obfuscation but, perhaps, outright.
So, how does one candidate claim his or her opponent voted against an issue while the other candidate swears he or she did not? Because that's how our lawmaking process works. Legislators don't vote on bills pertaining to a single issue. In fact, some bills contain measures that bear absolutely nothing in common with each other. To paraphrase something Mark Twain once said, there are two things you should never watch being made -- sausage and the law. That's because both are made by chopping a lot of pieces beyond recognition and wrapping them tightly in a single casing that's supposed to make them look better and make them easier to swallow.
How is it that so many, often entirely unrelated items get placed into a single piece of legislation that requires a single yay or nay to pass or fail? Let's take the ever-infamous "Bridge to Nowhere." Federal funding for an expensive bridge that would have connected a handful of people to the rest of the world was not the only issue addressed in this piece of legislation. Had it been, it would have been soundly defeated. Black and white. But it was a paragraph in a $286.5 billion bill that included major highway, transit and safety projects. So, Senator McCain becomes one of four people in conference committee who no-votes the entire bill because of the infamous bridge and other projects he viewed as unnecessary "pork." Senator Obama votes for the bill because, among other viable projects, his home state of Illinois would benefit from the funding. That doesn't mean he "voted for the Bridge to Nowhere." He voted for billions of dollars for transportation projects in the state he represents. Now, that's the truth.
The only way to truly know how an elected official really voted is to have him or her vote on single issues. It's equivalent to having a line-item veto. In real world, we know that will never happen because if it did, absolutely nothing would be accomplished in Congress. That leaves us -- the electorate -- to try to sort out fact from fiction and truth from lies. And that might be simply impossible.
In the waning days of this year's historical election, "truth in advertising" is something I think about every single day. I cannot escape the constant barrage of ads in every medium from every candidate from county commissioner to president of the United States of America. I also cannot escape that fact that "truth in advertising" is lost during virtually every political cycle.
In the spirit of the mantra, let me be completely honest. I am a Democrat. I am not ashamed of that fact; I am proud. I believe, as a wise man who grew up during the Great Depression used to say, that the Democrats are for the "little guy" and the "working man." I won't take this opportunity to discuss all of the convincing reasons to be a Democrat, because my party is just as guilty of violating the marketing mantra as any party. And why not? "Politics as usual," to use another familiar phrase, makes it all so very easy.
While I am a Democrat, I'm also a journalist by training. In journalism, you learn how to put your own opinions, experience and emotions aside to report a story fairly, honestly, equally and in totality. Of course, you shouldn't believe that all journalists actually adhere to this theory, but I'll save that topic for another blog.
If you can put your own affiliations aside and just listen or read political ads like someone who is either truly independent or simply uniformed, you really wouldn't know which candidate you should vote for. Why? Because you have no idea who's telling the truth. If you believe what you hear, frankly, you'd come up with a write-in candidate, like your favorite teacher, and vote for him or her. If you believe all you hear, Democrats are gun-control, anti-business, abortionist, tax-and-spend, socialist liberals, among other things. Republicans are gun-toting, war-mongoring, gas-guzzling, major corporation, friends of the incredibly wealthy. Why would you vote for a candidate for either party?
The fact that the truth is difficult to discern in modern elections has led to a surge of "fact-checkers" and myriad organizations that proclaim to take neither side. That claim is highly suspect as well. So, how can voters really know what's fact and what's fiction?
The truth is, most of what's said is gray rather than black or white. Anyone can "spin" the facts however they chose and not be called an outright liar for doing so. There are lies by omission and obfuscation but, perhaps, outright.
So, how does one candidate claim his or her opponent voted against an issue while the other candidate swears he or she did not? Because that's how our lawmaking process works. Legislators don't vote on bills pertaining to a single issue. In fact, some bills contain measures that bear absolutely nothing in common with each other. To paraphrase something Mark Twain once said, there are two things you should never watch being made -- sausage and the law. That's because both are made by chopping a lot of pieces beyond recognition and wrapping them tightly in a single casing that's supposed to make them look better and make them easier to swallow.
How is it that so many, often entirely unrelated items get placed into a single piece of legislation that requires a single yay or nay to pass or fail? Let's take the ever-infamous "Bridge to Nowhere." Federal funding for an expensive bridge that would have connected a handful of people to the rest of the world was not the only issue addressed in this piece of legislation. Had it been, it would have been soundly defeated. Black and white. But it was a paragraph in a $286.5 billion bill that included major highway, transit and safety projects. So, Senator McCain becomes one of four people in conference committee who no-votes the entire bill because of the infamous bridge and other projects he viewed as unnecessary "pork." Senator Obama votes for the bill because, among other viable projects, his home state of Illinois would benefit from the funding. That doesn't mean he "voted for the Bridge to Nowhere." He voted for billions of dollars for transportation projects in the state he represents. Now, that's the truth.
The only way to truly know how an elected official really voted is to have him or her vote on single issues. It's equivalent to having a line-item veto. In real world, we know that will never happen because if it did, absolutely nothing would be accomplished in Congress. That leaves us -- the electorate -- to try to sort out fact from fiction and truth from lies. And that might be simply impossible.
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