Social Activism and Amateur Sleuthing May Go Hand In Hand, But Sticking Around For the Outcome Is Another Story

At the conclusion of this piece, you will conclude I am either a brave social activist or a total pussy.

There will be no in-betweens on this one.

5:50 p.m. on a Monday. I prepare to turn left out of my law office and head home. A mid-1990s Chevy Blazer approaches from the opposite direction and turns right on the same street.

In other words, we're going in the same direction after we both turn. I didn't really get a look at the driver.

I will refrain from commenting on his most obvious malfeasances.

His negligent speed, his excessively wide right turn, and a vestigial Bush/Cheney 2000 bumper sticker affixed awkwardly to his rear window.

As soon as finally he settled down his ramshackle, rusted out vehicle, this driver signaled to turn right into an office complex.

Upon turning, this driver did something so morally repugnant that it evoked an intense visceral reaction I simply could not ignore.

In plain daylight, he threw two empty Marlboro red cigarette packets out the driver-side window.

Well, I fucking had to do something. Two options.

Go home, stew over it, but avoid a confrontation.

Or follow him.

I chose Option Two.

This was risky. Though I cannot cite any official studies, I know there is a strong sociological connection between smokers of Marlboros and random acts of violence.

I know they are strong adherents to the Second Amendment.

I know they do not belong to Greenpeace and would not be caught dead at Jewel shopping with one of those cloth bags.

But this was a call to arms.

I recognized the lot which this beatnik pulled into. It served mostly offices for an array of 1 or 2 person law firms. He proceeded to the west end of the lot, and I meekly parked my car on the east side. There were a fair amount of cars still here, so I sensed safety in numbers.

I noticed traffic was thin on the main street. I got out of the car and retrieved the two empty packs of cigarettes.

My plan was to confront him with the goods.

This probably was not a good plan, but it was indeed the plan.

I envisioned lecturing him on environmental degradation.

I thought how I could subtly call into question his worth as a human being.

I wondered if he would be receptive to hearing about the Texas-sized floating garbage patch in the Pacific Ocean. And how he was the type that contributed more than his fair share.

For reasons which should be obvious, I was somewhat reticent about all this. I have almost no experience as a social crusader. Absolutely no experience as a pugilist. And as such, no precedent or protocol to follow in any respect whatsoever. I had no idea what I was doing. Though somewhat invigorating, this was a Palinesque experience.

I got back in the car and circled around to the rear of the lot. I saw the Blazer. The driver had not yet exited the vehicle. Probably chain-smoking.

I had hoped he would be somewhat of a meek-looking little turd, someone who might genuinely be intimidated by a stranger threatening him with a citizens' arrest.

I really hoped this was a fellow member of the Bar who might be shamed into apologizing. Who might admit this was just a moment of weakness, and that it would never happen again. Who would promise to send me referrals if I just kept it between us.

The person I got was none of this.

He was a large, morbidly obese, yet solidly built Caucasian dressed in ill-fitting khaki shorts and a snug white tank-top through which I could discern several visible tattoos. This was more than a little threatening. His hair was short and arranged neatly, and his sunglasses - though undoubtedly cheap - suggested a certain modish eclat.

What troubled me more was the fact he was confidently carrying a 64-ounce Big Gulp and a leather brief-case. The odd juxtaposition of these two items defies description, but it was jarring nonetheless.

On the one hand, I could outrun this iconoclast in the event a confrontation turned ugly.

On the other, he appeared to me the sort who either advocated vociferously in favor of concealed carry or illegally practiced it.

I decided against the confrontation route.

The rotund litterer ambled himself into the offices of a law firm which shall remain nameless, but which has developed quite the local reputation for representing petty thieves and entrepreneurial frauds.

My relationship with the slack-jawed, hush-puppy wearing lawyers in this firm was less than ideal, so I could not count on reliable back-up in the case an imbroglio ensued in the parking lot.

I waited 10 minutes until I was reasonably comfortable the litterer was resting comfortable in his lawyer's faux-leather chair. At this point, I decided I had to do something.

Leave a note.

It seemed sensible. There was little else I could do. Calling the police seemed stupid and excessive.

I got out the empty packs of cigarettes, smelled their acrid filth, and noticed they were unblemished with any other detritus or residue. For this I was thankful.

The only paper I had with me were post-it notes.

Fluorescent pink post-it notes.

Though non-threatening in hue, I figured it might set this man at ease to read what I had to say.

My plan was to put each packet (one of which would be affixed with my love note) under the front wiper blades.

I then set to work on crafting my message. I opted for brevity over a reasoned thesis.

As I wrote, I noticed physical manifestations of fear.

Trembling hands.

Damp axillary hair.

Rumbling bowels.

All the hallmarks of amateur gumshoe work.

I finally decided on the appropriate message for my pink post-it note. In big block letters, on which no handwriting expert could begin to opine, I wrote the following:

"HEY, YOU DROPPED YOUR CIGS. DON'T THINK I AIN'T WATCHING YOU, FUCKER."

I made sure the note was attached to one of the empty packets and proceeded over to the Blazer.

I looked around all nonchalant, like I was just strolling around in a half-empty parking lot, and was pretty sure no one was looking. After successfully lodging the contraband under my enemy's wiper blades, I briskly cantered back to my car and bolted out of the parking lot.

And that's it. I didn't stick around or stake him out to gauge his reaction. But I was oddly satisfied with myself, content that I might have shamed someone into separating paper and plastic. That my actions convinced a man to take up the cause of environmental activism. I am not sure I made much of a statement, but maybe I did. At least that's what I told myself on the way home.

Then, as I was about to turn into my driveway, it occurred to me.

Did my note castigate him for being a litterer...or just a smoker? And in the end, will it really matter?

As Cooler Weather Fades, Maybe the Lonely Red Cooler Will Disappear

The following events have occurred since last September: we elected an African-American president, piracy on the high seas is in vogue, Meghan McCain became a bona fide journalist, and Demi Moore's husband got himself in a Twitter-off with CNN.

The following event has not happened since last September: my neighbors have not retrieved the little red cooler out of the bushes in their back yard.

That cooler (right).

Right there.

And here is a close-up shot (below, left). It's not large, but it's not small either. I think it's a Coleman. Most personal coolers tend to be Colemans.

My neighbors are nice people, and this has nothing to do with them. Well maybe it does a little.

But I think this is on me; I don't like stuff sitting around my yard. For, like, more than a day.

I can deal with an untended-to collection of diffuse organic yard matter for a while, but I will not wait patiently for a calm Spring Saturday so I can clean out all the Bubble Yum wrappers, Yoo-Hoo bottles, and loose sheets of 3rd-grade math homework lodged complexly underneath my shrubs.

I noticed my neighbors' cooler last Fall and was puzzled by its appearance. More than its appearance, I was dumbfounded no one bothered to pick it up. It cannot be seriously claimed it has escaped their notice. I distinctly remember a November afternoon when I actually saw them rake leaves around the cooler. (Parenthetically, when I say "around the cooler", I don't mean like in the general vicinity. I mean the manual leaf-raking literally encircled the LRC, and due to the rather unrelenting and rigid configuration of your standard-issue yard rake, to rake around the LRC required dexterity and verve, not to mention a single-minded purpose, so that the entire area of leaves could be cleared while still leaving the little red cooler undisturbed.)

The red cooler is just sitting there, still, tantalizing close to my property line. Like a matter of feet. We have had miserable weather and no fewer than 10 days with Dust Bowl-like winds. Even winds coming from the south, which is what I was hoping for.

More than once, I've stood there in the wind just watching - hands crushed down into my jean pockets - and waiting to see if the cooler would budge and matriculate ever closer to my side of the yard. I begged and pleaded for this little red fella to make a break for it. That way he could be mine, and I could smash it and stomp on it and rip the little handle and spigot off and do other horrible things that I eventually would not be proud of.

But...nothing.

I've lost three huge trees in my yard to the forces of nature, and this thing has not moved an inch in 7 months. In the face of planetary armageddon, I imagine most folks will seek solace in a subterranean shelter. Not me. I am going to park myself right next to this little, lonely red cooler. It is the safest place in America. Nothing can possibly happen to it.

Often times, I find myself wondering what exactly is in the cooler. Are there potable fluids? Would they still be in the same form, or could a liquid turn to a solid? Is ice even able to form inside a cooler over the winter months. Is there fungal matter lining the interior walls? How long would it take to clean this contraption out?

I also am not sure how the cooler arrived at this spot in the first place? Clearly, the wind did not blow it there. Was it left there intentionally? For what possible reason? This is too big of a receptacle for someone to use during Saturday afternoon chores. So it can't be that. I don't see my neighbors as big outdoors-y types, so I doubt it's a misplaced remnant from a long camping trip. I have yet to come up with something. I am not sure why else someone would even own a cooler like this. They don't work in construction.

Since the red cooler has been there now for so long, what would ever prompt my neighbors to suddenly retrieve it? The weather? No. Last Fall we had some nice days and they all but tripped to avoid it in the yard. Do they view the cooler the same way I think of that can of soup I bought many years ago which still sits in my pantry? I know I'll never open it, but I can't seem to pitch it. I think that has to be the right analogy.

These questions, though, have no easy answers.

I have thought long and hard about ringing my neighbor's doorbell to bring some finality to this problem in the hopes that I can just move on, but I have struggled for the ice-breaker line.

"Hope you had a nice Winter. So, what's up with the cooler?"

Or...

"Maybe we should plan that long talked-about block party. If only we had a cooler..."

So it seems any transitional sentence would be awkward and contrived.

I just haven't been able to come up with anything.

I guess I'll just avoid it altogether.

Hip-or-Critical

I’m finished with music reviews. Countless times, I’ve looked forward to the release of a new album only to be utterly confused (though, recently, almost never persuaded or dissuaded) after reading a professional review by some so-called expert panning or praising the new release. There appears to be precisely zero correlation between my opinion of an album and the consensus opinion of experts concerning the same.

I do not find this to be the case with books; I do not find this to be the case with movies. The only conclusion I can reach is music is inherently unreviewable.

(You may question my thesis that there is no meaningful distinction between books and movies, on the one hand, and music, on the other. You would be wrong. A book and a movie share the indispensable element of plot. They must have a point. Songs and/or albums need not have a plot, a central character, or even a theme to be enjoyable or serve a purpose whatsoever. They are the essence of creativity, and arguably exist solely to be loved or hated. In fact, for years, a good deal of music has been created with the express intent that you engage in severe drug use in order to experience it. Therefore, almost by definition, it cannot be reviewed meaningfully or appreciated objectively.)

I am neither a music expert nor a novice. Though my album collection is not as diverse or extensive as my friend Andre’s (3,000 and counting, I believe), I am not afraid to step out of my element and listen to something hip, edgy or trendy. Since I am a typical music-listener, I am likely a credible person to question the viability of professional music reviews.

The single biggest fault I find with music reviews is that they are a useless, unreadable, and (most importantly) self-indulgent compendium of pseudo-pedantic drivel and failed analogies scribed and pieced together only to show the reader how smart, deep or esoteric the author is. The language used to describe songs, harmonies, melodies, falsettos and riffs can only be described as over-the-top baroque; it yields no helpful information.

Case-in-point: Greg Kot’s review of U2’s No Line on the Horizon. Read the following passages and tell me whether this amounts to anything more than stylized, dressed-up gibberish:

The melodies reveal themselves more reluctantly, and the layers undergirding them teem with ambiguity. At times it’s uncertain who or what instrument is creating the sounds heard on several tracks; Larry Mullen shifts between live drumming and programmed beats and keyboards mesh with guitars in a thick ambient mist. Only Adam Clayton’s bass retains its singular personality; its prominence in the mix makes him the album’s most valuable player, as he pushes the songs forward with a mixture of elegance and supple power.

And more from Kot’s review:

The first three songs point a way forward. On the title track, melancholy synthesizers drift across the horizon like distant jets, playing counterpoint melodies over a thick stew of rhythm. Anxiety hovers like the organ chords draped over Bono’s patient vocal melody… Once again Clayton’s bass serves as an empathetic foil, standing just off the vocalist’s shoulder, answering his every line.

This is not helpful. After reading this, I don’t know whether to be hungry, or sexually aroused. But it has not influenced how I feel about Bono and the mates, nor has it rendered me more likely to decide on whether to buy the album. What this (and most reviews) read like is a trashy romance novel. I understand (though strongly disapprove of) phrases like “supple breasts” and “throbbing loins” and “as he prepared to enter her.” I do not understand how synthesizers can be compared to jets and when it is precisely that a melody resembles a stew. Frankly, my attention span is such that, at this point, I lose interest in music and start thinking about dinner.

I did a little more research into reviews by folks besides Greg Kot and came across Pitchfork’s popular review site. Quickly, I scanned to its staff rankings of the 50 best albums of 2008. Death Cab for Cutie’s Narrow Stairs? Absent. Consolers of the Lonely by The Raconteurs? Nowhere to be found. Only By the Night from Kings of Leon? Ditto. Missing entirely.

How could this be?

The top two ranked albums were head-scratchers. Number 1 was Fleet Foxes’ self-titled debut. I own this album, and I listen to it occasionally. I understand it’s critically acclaimed. My personal feelings: it’s slightly interesting, but very, very sleepy. Cute, but not a ton of fun. I don't know the names of the songs because they all kind of run together.

Number 2 was the ultimate head-scratcher. Third by Portishead. I listened to this album the day I bought it and was blown away.

…by how mind-numbingly awful it was. Some might describe it as interesting and haunting. I was confused and pissed-off.

This from the review staff at Pitchfork, describing Portishead's lead “singer” Beth Gibbons:

She possesses a voice that seems impossible to shackle to just one musical setting, even if it already sounds perfectly at home in brooding downtempo ambience. As the most recognizable component of the group, she has the most established stylistic tendencies-- subtle quivers, an ability to go from hushed to piercing without laboring over the transition, an aching timbre that expresses anxious vulnerability better than nearly any other singer-- and she slips back into them comfortably when she needs to.

Actually, her voice sounds like a constipated bag-lady. The point, though, is that reading this you feel as though you’re waltzing lazily through the botanical gardens high on hallucinogenic shrooms. (Not that I would know…). But other than that, this is meaningless.

What does Portishead’s Third really sound like? I’m not sure, because I can’t understand it. Frankly, it’s stupid. The best I can come up with is that Third is like an auditory version of a Twin Peaks episode minus the visual spectacle of a horny, champagne-sipping midget dry-humping a velvet red sofa. That is at least mildly entertaining; Third is anything but.

There is only one criterion by which to judge an album: Do you get excited to listen to it? If the answer is yes, nothing else matters. Find someone whose taste matches yours and rely on that person. Go to a real record store and get recommendations based on what you like. Do not under any circumstances try to get in the head of those head-in-the-clouds beatniks paid to be heavy and abstruse.

A Barrel Full of Crackers

What kind of a fruitcake would even think about eating at a Cracker Barrel?

Sprinkling America’s interstate landscape with ubiquitous brown-and-yellow signs and a folksy log-cabin milieu at over 580 locations in 41 states, the Cracker Barrel long has been associated with violent gastrointestinal distress, abysmal customer service, socially unacceptable behavior, 16th-century values, a vegan-hostile menu, and a cluttered gift shop teeming with overpriced, useless trinkets awaiting a government recall.

Patrons, as long as they are white, heterosexual and registered Republicans, are more than welcome to sample an eclectic menu of rib-sticking American fare, including greasy chicken-fried steaks and burnt meat loaf. To be sure, these delectable dishes have lured road-weary vagabonds from South Carolina to the Rockies – and all destinations in between! – for nearly 40 years.

This assumes, of course, that visitors will be able to somehow tear themselves away from the Old Country Store gift shop, where such tantalizing items as a singing miniature Christmas tree and a vintage copper spittoon await guests’ hard-earned dollars. Buy a tic-tac-toe rug, get ½ off a porcelain teaset. How can one resist this in the middle of a long, multi-state junket?

But don’t plan on ordering a vegetarian plate, because as the old saying goes: “At the Cracker Barrel, even the vegetables contain meat.”

Ah, yes. The Cracker Barrel. The pagan troll of American Fast-Casual Cuisine. If you choose an Appelbee’s over the Cracker Barrel, you’re classing it up in ways you can't even begin to imagine.

Think about this: the best thing about the Cracker Barrel is its food. This truly forgettable restaurant somehow has outdone itself consistently by generating unforgettable headlines which have nothing to do with its meat-laden entrees.

It all starts with a legendary, pervasive culture of discrimination. Allegations made against the Cracker Barrel would make a young Strom Thurmond blush. Segregating blacks in the smoking section, intentionally spilling water on them, refusing to serve non-whites, telling them to hitch up the wagon and head to Burger King. It’s all detailed in the public record. They even fucked with Chris Rock’s Mom. Welcome to middle America, circa 1865.

Here’s a headline:

“Cracker Barrel to Pay $2 Million for Race and Sexual Harassment at Three Illinois Restaurants”

Mind you, that’s just Illinois. And just three restaurants in Illinois. Let’s not even discuss what happens below the Mason-Dixon line.

While you should feel empathy for our African-American friends, the Cracker Barrel has an even sorrier record when it comes to gays and lesbians. In 1991, the company issued a statement saying it would hire only employees who displayed “normal heterosexual values which have the foundation of families in our society.” You know the ones - Ted Haggard families; Larry Craig families. Those stable, traditional Anytown, USA households springing from our culturally conservative heritage.

Under pressure from shareholders (a scant dozen years later), this headline:

“Cracker Barrel Finally Bars Sexual Orientation Discrimination”

…followed up by this one:

“Cracker Barrel Sued Again for Sexual Orientation Discrimination”

It’s not enough for this incubator of hate to limit its clientele to devoted disciples of Tom Tancredo. No, the Cracker Barrel has to spew its venom and hatred on those least able to defend themselves - animals. Would it be possible for a restaurant whose vegetable dishes are infused with beef stock to at least deal with humane suppliers?

Of course not! Though Burger King (of all places) and others have taken steps to curb animal abuse, "the Barrel" sees nothing wrong with defiling and torturing those a rung below us on the food chain who have no choice in the matter. If Dick Cheney ever had visions of working in fast-food, the Cracker Barrel would be his wet dream.

Does that chicken-and-dumplings dinner special tempt you? Well, you should know that the Cracker Barrel is buying from suppliers who cut the throats of live birds and scald chickens in feather-removal tanks. This is known as compassionate conservatism.

Got a hankering for a pair sunny-side up? You’ll rest assured knowing the bird responsible for your breakfast was raised in a cage so small it can’t stretch its wings. The invisible hand of the free-market at work.

How about feasting on a honey-cured ham dinner? That pig that sacrificed its life for you? Confined to a gestation crate. And the next time it stretches its little legs will be the first. Now those are family values.

Those fuckers, man!

Well, if you’ve lost your appetite, at least you’re safe trundling around the other half of the Cracker Barrel - Ye Olde Shoppe Full O’Shit. Right?

Wrong.

Take a peak at these headlines…

“Cracker Barrel Old Country Store Recalls Travel Art Sets Due to Violation of Lead Paint Standard”

“Cracker Barrel Old Country Store Restaurants Recall Rooster Chicken Stools”

(What clear-headed person goes to a restaurant and buys a stool with the picture of a rooster on it? Is the image on the stool one of a rooster being scalded or just having its throat slit? I doubt Investor Relations will get back to me on this one, so I’ll keep it rhetorical for now.)

“Cracker Barrel Issues Allergy Alert on Mislabeled Chocolate-Covered Peanuts and Almonds”

“CPSC, Cracker Barrel Old Country Store Announce Recall of Miniature Musical Bells Christmas Tree”

“CPSC, Cracker Barrel Old Country Store Announce Recall of Motion Lamps”

I hate to cast a wide net and impugn my friends on the right-wing of the political spectrum, but perhaps there is a connection here with socially irresponsible behavior and the Cracker Barrel’s support of certain candidates for public office.

To wit:

“Cracker Barrel Indicted In Texas Political Fund-Raising Investigation”

Yeah, that would be fund-raising activities for...Tom DeLay. Polarizing potentate of the political right.

Now that I’ve dumped all this on you, just sit back and take it all in.

It is fitting, indeed, that the Cracker Barrel has been relegated to a rather inconspicuous place in our daily lives. No, you won’t find one of its overstuffed Old Country Stores dotting Main Street. Instead, just like the neanderthal right-wing zealots whose values they covet, worship and practice, the Cracker Barrels of America have been cast aside to the fringes of society, locating themselves metaphorically at the crossroads of America right by interstate exits across our land.

But not all Cracker Barrel headlines are bad…

“Fire Fighters Set Fire to Cracker Barrel”

Ironic accident or citizen justice? You decide.

Cutting Through Health Insurance Red-Tape Not As Easy As One Might Think

I confess I know nothing about health insurance.

I don’t know how it works, who pays for it, what an insurance company actually does, what role an insurance broker plays in all this, how an insurance broker gets paid, why an employer is responsible for providing coverage, which nerd at the insurance company comes up with your premium rate, whether there is a computer program involved or whether the nerd scratches this out on the back of his Burger King lunch sack, whether that nerd must be certified by the state, what underwriting standards look like, whether there are separate folks in underwriting, whether the underwriting department bears a striking resemblance to Dunder Mifflin, how group health insurance hedges risk for younger people or older people or people with an extra pinky toe or people who smoke unfiltered Lucky Strikes.

None of this makes any sense to me at all. In the presidential debates, when talking points about health insurance were recited, it all sounded like vague complaints rather than concrete solutions.

I am not even entirely sure what a deductible or a co-payment is and what conditions, caveats, and qualifiers are attached to them.

I choose blissful ignorance over muddled confusion.

Last year, I paid $3,409.14 for coverage in my company’s group health insurance plan. To call this a plan is a true non sequitur because it is clear to me there is no plan by anyone involved to do anything about giving me reasonable coverage.

On top of the premium, my deductible was $2,500.

The one time last year I sought medical advice, I was notified there were no suitable specialists in my network.

None.

So, in calendar year 2008, I had exactly $0 of health care expenses that were covered by my so-called insurance carrier – a company which shall remain nameless at this time.

Do the math. I would have to spend almost $6,000 before the first $1 of coverage kicked in. And since I’m an owner, the money I spent for coverage was truly out of my pocket, not a perk or benny.

Rather than drown with the others at the bottom of the group risk pool, I got out of the murky waters, toweled off the sludge and put myself on the open market.

Flying solo. Selling myself to the top bidder.

I applied for an individual policy with another carrier. This was many, many weeks ago.

I submitted my application and answered all of the ridiculous, repetitive, morally repellant questions. Told them I’m 36, a male and a non-smoker, and that I definitely am HIV-negative. I even filled out the female-only sections just to fuck with underwriting. I seriously thought about putting “yes” to a question involving my history with pap smears and ovarian cysts.

But I didn’t, and I answered “no” to all the pre-existing condition categories. (Though, I will admit to engaging in some internet research about the parameters of “attention deficit disorder.” I can legitimately make a case for “no”, so that’s how I answered it.)

The application got a bit thorny when they asked for my personal health history over the past 5 years, requiring me to give them the deets on any health care practitioner I’ve seen, why I had the nerve and gall to request coverage relating to the same, what the diagnosis was, and whether I was given any course of treatment or prescribed meds.

Filling out this section actually made me feel guilty. As if a Dwight Schrute-like figure were mulling over the necessity of my visit to the orthopaedic four years ago, and blaming me for the state of the Medicare trust fund. Were they calling my physician? Did they actually analyze the MRI? Did they have my records in front of them? Were they targets on a dart-board in the underwriting lounge? These possibilities ran through my mind.

I completed this section of the application in about an hour and actually verified my records and bills to complete it. Good-faith effort, indeed. Because the prospective new carrier gave me very little space in which to write, and because I have very large handwriting, I felt more than justified in skimping on the deets.

Yesterday, at 3:00 p.m. I received a call on my cell phone from the insurance company regarding my application. I noted on the application that I was to be called at home after work hours. This, apparently, was put on the document so the carrier could do the opposite of what was requested.

The number on my caller ID was: 1-000-000-0000. I later called that number, and a pleasant-sounding woman told me my “call could not be completed as dialed.”

It then occurred to me that health insurance companies basically have no rules and could do whatever the fuck they like.

When I answered the phone, I was immediately informed of something called my “Chart Number” and that I would be transferred to my “Case Manager Nurse” who had “questions about the section on my health history.” The rather brusque-sounding woman then put me on hold to transfer me to the Case Manager Nurse.

35 minutes later I was connected.

Now, like most folks, I have called up the cable company and the long-distance carrier, been transferred, and then put on hold for an excruciatingly long period of time.

This was a volitional act on my part. I waded into the bureaucratic abyss and assumed the risk.

But I have never had any vendor take the initiative to block its caller-identification, call me up, and then put me on hold while I was transferred.

For 35 minutes.

During this waiting period which seemed far longer than the 35 minutes, I was subjected to a mind-numbing combination of the following:

(a) an intermittent voice telling me that “we value your time, please keep holding”; and

(b) an instrumental tune that sounded vaguely like the ‘80s hit, “Maneater” by Hall & Oates.

Occasionally, the phone would ring to signal what I thought was my imminent transfer to the Case Manager Nurse, but then, it would resort back to (a) and (b) above. At minute 20, this became incessant.

Ring-Maneater-“keep holding”-ring-ring-ring-“keep holding”-ring-ring-Maneater…

You get the idea.

A mirage in a digital oasis.

This whole experience was like going to Jiffy Lube, being eagerly waved into the stanchion, and then having Derek tell you that he is going on his lunch break with the pals to Arby’s.

I had assumed – wrongly – that if they were calling me, they were actually ready to speak with me.

Not so.

The next day I called back to ask them about when I could anticipate being approved for coverage. Patel – my Case Manager Nurse from the day before – had disclaimed any knowledge of this and said it was “up to underwriting.”

So when I called back, it took me 25 minutes to get through to a warm body.

After some small talk with a customer service agent named “Brian,” I asked them to hold on a second.

I told Brian I was putting him on hold, but I didn’t, and I instead hit play to start a couple of tunes from noted ‘80s rock-band The Hooters.

It’s all I had that seemed to fit.

In less than a minute, Brian hung up on me.

Apparently, he had better things to do.

Go figure.

What's In a (Ridiculous) Name?

Google “baby names” and you’ll come up with nearly 13,000,000 hits. There is a babynames.com, babyhold.com, babyzone.com, babycenter.com, thinkbabynames.com, babynamewizard.com, and my personal favorite, yeahbaby.com.

All are devoted to teaching us, as Americans, the arduous task of how to pick a name for a child. For many clear-headed Americans, the universe of potential names is fairly discrete. Generally, the method of choosing a name comes down two simple, time-tested options:

(a) pick a name endemic to the family lineage;

or

(b) pick a name you’ve always liked.

That’s it! That is as hard as this task needs to be. However, for some godforsaken reason, a cottage industry exists out there – much along the lines of a “business coach” or “career counselor” – teaching us to do things which should be governed by nothing more than pure common sense and tradition.

We are all familiar with the concept of a first name and a last name. No doubt, we’ve all heard some we like and some we hate. But, because of Americans’ omnipresent, irrational need to be trendy and cutting-edge, a good many of us feel compelled to search beyond for the elusive baby name that will elicit hearty congratulations from those who ask simply: “What did you name your child?”

There are reasons for this phenomenon.

Principal among these is the Hollywood obsession, fueled in large part by pervasive drug use, with creating names out of thin air for children who, as it turns out, have no chance at success in life.

Case-in-point, Ashlee Simpson and Pete Wentz formally appended to their child this darling sobriquet…

…Bronx Mowgli.

This is not a name. It may be the name of a Richard Price novel, a new drink at Friday’s or a blighted area of town. But it’s not a name, and this boy – if he harbors any aspirations of being an accountant – really ought to explore other career options.

So where do all these onomastic high jinks leave us?

In a society once teeming with Johns and Sallys, we are now treated to the following categories of monikers:

Names Spelled Backwards

If there were any justice in the world, baby Nevaeh would be denied entry into heaven solely on account of her parents’ ignorance and stupidity, and with all my heart, I still can’t love the name Traeh.

Last Names as First Names

Any beatnik wanting to name their little precious “Mackenzie” ought to recall the plight of one Mackenzie Phillips who, somehow, managed to get herself kicked off the hit sitcom One Day At A Time for poor behavior and serial drug abuse. She has been in rehab since the earliest days of the Reagan Administration.

Cute-sy Names

A special shout-out to my parents who realized one day their son would grow out of diapers, and that just because he was born really small and pudgy, he wouldn’t always stay that way.

Now, someone relate this story to Todd and Sarah Palin, who named their children:

Piper
Trig
Track
Bristol
Willow

Though these may be names of Cabbage Patch Kids or Bratz dolls, they are not – I repeat, not – people names. Good luck during a job interview, kidz.

Boys Names for Girls

As society has become increasingly more tolerant of sexual identities and alternative lifestyles, the onslaught of ambigendrous names has smacked us all in the face.

Who hasn’t been surprised when changing baby Noah’s diaper?

Social Security Names

I’ve read somewhere that old, turn of the 20th century names may be making a comeback. Oh joy, because I can’t wait until the world is filled with a new wave of Melvins and Hazels.

The Next Frontier? Inanimate Objects as Names

Fads are endemic to baby name lists, but Americans’ capacity for misplaced creativity extends far beyond just adding superfluous vowels to a run-of-the-mill first name (see, e.g., Ashlee from above).

We don’t know what the next fad will be, though if recent developments are any indication, we may witness the advent of first names inspired by, yes, inanimate objects. How … selfish. This is a recipe for disaster, not to mention a severe identity complex.

Speaking of disasters, let’s return again to the Palin family, and put aside for the moment that they hail from Alaska. Palin’s daughter – you might have heard – recently had a baby.

She named it (the baby) after a hockey stick. The middle name, at least. Easton.

This surprised absolutely no one.

Perhaps this is a trend, that we’ve collectively embarked on a course where we pick our kids names after inert things that catch our fleeting fancy. What will happen to Baby Boy Palin if Easton Company gets bought out by Mission or Nike? Does Palin, Jr. run into court for a name change? What if Easton is the subject a multi-million dollar product liability suit? Is Baby Boy Palin then persona non grata?

These questions are not amenable to easy answers.

Screwy trends are intrinsically tied to baby names these days, and my bold prediction is we’re headed into a world where parents are inspired by things – not their ancestors. The day can’t be too far off when our classrooms are filled with kids named Ditch, or Pickles, or Lugnut.

It only makes sense.

Off the (Quotation) Mark

The Chicago Manual of Style acknowledges that quotation marks can be used to signal or denote an unusual, ironic or colloquial use of a word, but states as follows: "Quotation marks are often used to alert readers that a term is used in a nonstandard, ironic, or other special sense [...] They imply 'This is not my term' or 'This is not how the term is usually applied.'. Like any such device, scare quotes lose their force and irritate readers if overused." (CMS, 15th Edition, Section 7.58) (emphasis via italics and bold typeface).

Sadly, over 90 percent of Americans have told Section 7.58 of the Chicago Manual of Style (15th Edition) that it can go fuck itself.

What is it with our obsession to distance ourselves from the very words we write? The fact that CMS, with its infamously rigid rules, went out of its way to make this subjective observation re: scare quotes really is quite startling. It's not in the business of editorializing on the juvenile proclivities of the average writer.

There is a blog out there - a really good one - dedicated to over-usage of quotation marks. It is called, appropriately: The "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks It is worth reading. The author is a doctoral student in Georgia. Her name is Bethany Keeley. She has been featured in the Chicago Tribune.

This is what happens to bloggers who have actual ideas that sell.

Her site features photos of ridiculous signs and other depictions where folks misuse quote marks. The mind reels at what the Average American is capable of.

Ms. Keeley’s focus is on quotes that appear on signs and in public fora, but I imagine she would agree that improper quotation usage in written documents is reaching condition critical.

Interoffice e-mail is where I see this the most. Typically, snarky scare quotes appear when a worker from one dysfunctional department disparages someone for whom they have little regard. To wit:

Suzy in "accounting" has yet to get me the invoice for the Acme Metals account. Perhaps she's having "trouble with her boyfriend" again.

Political press releases also provide no shortage of fodder for barbs set off by ubiquitous scare quotes. Example to follow:

Today, liberal proponents of gay "marriage" failed miserably in their quest to extend "legal protection" to an anti-religious "lifestyle".

And it goes on and on. It's all very passive aggressive and frankly quite tiresome. To be sure, the pedantic editors over at CMS were spot-on when they opined that over-usage of quotation marks can be irritating on the old eyeballs. But the problem seems to be getting worse and worse. Our written conversations now are more casual. No more time spent by the candlelight with a scroll, a fountain pen, a glass of warm brandy and a smoking jacket.

Sadly, those days have passed. Instead, we're firing off messages without turning on the discretion filter. The best we can do is cloak our sarcasm in quotation marks? This is not what the founding fathers of the English language intended when they devised the quotation mark, and even sanctioned its infrequent usage as an acceptable device to convey a bit of irony.

Before we all became so infatuated with e-mail communication, scare quotes actually took a different form – where the person you were talking to would literally make little quote marks (usually above the head) when they were trying to say something cute or sarcastic. This was not a good period in America’s ongoing struggle with interpersonal communication.

On that score, the best satire I’ve seen on the overuse of scare quotes actually comes from a David Foster Wallace short story, Brief Interviews With Hideous Men #48 – Appelton, Wisconsin. In that little anecdote about a sex addict, the narrator uses what DFW calls finger flexion (i.e., making quote marks with your hands) to emphasize particularly debauched or galling stunts pulled with his female prey. DFW’s use of the finger flexion in the story was deliberately agitating. (You have to read the story to understand how DFW could pull this off). Secondary to the main theme of his story was the fact that none of us seem to want to take responsibility for what we say.

There’s something we can all “agree” on.

The Wrongful Impeachment Trial of Rod Blagojevich

The title of this article should not be read as an endorsement of Rod Blagojevich, nor does it in any way, shape or form suggest my desire that our current governor remain in office. As I have previously written, the blame for Governor Blagojevich’s election (and re-election) falls squarely on us as the voters.

Secondary blame lies with the Illinois General Assembly which refused to implement a recall provision that would have put the question of removal squarely on the voters, to whom Blagojevich is ultimately accountable.

But the impeachment trial is wrong and flawed, and assuming Blagojevich is convicted later today, I remain of the belief that history will not be kind to the House of Representatives or the State Senate.

Here are my reasons, beginning with the fundamental reason why the trial is likely unconstitutional and next noting practical problems associated with the trial (none of which renders the trial wrongful, but simply improper and unwise):

1. The Trial Procedure is Unconstitutional. The lone Article of Impeachment tracks in large part the criminal complaint filed against Blagojevich by the United States Attorney, Patrick Fitzgerald. The House Record on Impeachment, particularly Exhibit 3, contains evidence by way of affidavit that resides within the sole control of Fitzgerald (the 78-page FBI affidavit). By definition, Fitzgerald is a member of the Executive Branch of government. The House, in essence, has delegated complete, unfettered control over the most critical elements of its prosecution to the Executive Branch, and the federal one at that. Fitzgerald has dictated what can and cannot be done with core evidence - indeed the indispensable evidence to the entire trial. Senate Rule of Impeachment 8(b) (enacted through Senate Resolution 6) does not permit either the House or the Governor to so much as object to any evidence contained in the House Record of Impeachment. Nothing in Article IV, Section 14 of the Illinois Constitution permits this extraordinary delegation of prosecutorial authority. Rather, that Article clearly spells out the House's responsibility to conduct investigations and issue articles of impeachment. The Senate has the sole power to try impeachments. Nothing is mentioned about the Executive Branch's involvement. This is substantially similar to the United States Constitution. I am unaware of any impeachment in history where the Legislature has abdicated responsibility for presentation and control of evidence to the Executive Branch of government. Put differently, the Senate trial violates the separation of powers principles inherent in our State Constitution.

In this sense, Blagojevich has been correct in asserting that the rules are stacked against him. The most significant impeachment trial in history involved President Andrew Johnson, who was impeached largely for his alleged violation of the Tenure in Office Act. In reality, his impeachment was the product of other motivating factors (i.e., his commitment to abolishing vestiges of slavery). Parallels can be drawn to this case. But the United States Senate, by one vote (Edmund Ross of Kansas), refused to convict largely on the grounds that the Senate trial was procedurally unfair to President Johnson. And Johnson was vindicated when the Tenure in Office Act was repealed and was later determined to be almost certainly violative of separation of powers principles.

2. Blagojevich Has Yet to Be Indicted for the Underlying Conduct. It should be self-evident that the impetus for these impeachment proceedings was the governor's arrest in December. Reading the Article of Impeachment, it is clear that the normal political tug-of-war over prescription drugs and control of policy is secondary to this entire proceeding. Should the Senate convict Blagojevich and remove him from office today, it could very well be in the untenable position of basing its conviction on charges later determined to be unfounded. Further, the Senators must take an oath "to do justice according to law." If the basis for impeachment is conduct that is the subject of a criminal complaint, and presumably a forthcoming indictment, the Senators are bound "according to law" to confer upon Blagojevich the presumption of innocence. Importantly, had the Article of Impeachment omitted any criminal conduct and focused on ineffective governance, unwillingness to work with the General Assembly, or other political abuses of power, then this issue would be moot. The Senators would not be violating their oath "to do justice according to law."

3. The Article of Impeachment Contains No Definitive Standard for Conviction. Unlike the Clinton Impeachment, the House only issued one Article of Impeachment, containing 14 paragraphs that allegedly constitute an "abuse of power." Senate Impeachment Rule 24 suggests a separate vote is required on each Article of Impeachment, but it is not clear what this means in the context of the 14 paragraphs within the lone Article (which arguably should have been 14 separate articles of impeachment). For instance, can a Senator vote to convict if the House proves 1 of the 14 paragraphs? What if some Senators believe this is the standard, while others would impose a more exacting requirement of, say, at least half of the factual predicates? There is little clarity about what the governing standard for removal is, and this could lead to inconsistent reasons for the way Senators cast their votes. However, because an impeachment trial bears little resemblance to a criminal trial and because conviction does not deprive a public official from "life, liberty or property", this is of substantially lesser concern and probably would not render conviction unconstitutional.

This entire problem could have been avoided with a recall amendment to the Constitution, something the State Senate largely is responsible for failing to pass. It is true that the House and Senate members are accountable every couple of years to the voters, but the overwhelming majority of voters will be happy with conviction. That does not remove the taint and palpable stench of this proceeding. The impeachment trial was a politically expedient affair, but it ultimately will set a bad legal precedent in the way power was delegated to the Executive Branch of government. It is likely to upset very few people, but history will not be as kind to this unfortunate affair.

25,000 Dumbfucks

With our quotable, blow-dried, track-suit clad, fustian governor just days away, perhaps, from being removed from office for a list of politically indictable offenses, I'd like to gently remind my fellow Illinoisans exactly what they missed out on and lay the blame squarely on you for this imbroglio of epic proportions.

In 2002, when faced with an opportunity to reclaim the mantle of good government, Democrats politely gave the middle-finger in a Palin-esque sort of "thanks, but no thanks" way to a natural leader, the only qualified candidate that year for Governor - former Chicago Public Schools chief, Paul Vallas.

And let me remind you exactly what the difference was: 25,000 of you blockheads out there. Not the Chicago Machine. Not the fictional Combine. Nope. You. All of you simpletons. Look in the mirror and blame yourselves. Abject incompetence with a tang of otiosity. A lethal mix.

In the Democratic primary, then undistinguished Rep. Rod Blagojevich netted 457,000 votes to Vallas' 432,000. (One of those 432,000 votes was mine. As an irrelevant aside, erstwhile Attorney General, Comptroller and serial candidate for office Roland Burris garnered 363,000 to finish a distant third.) That is 25,000 goddamned votes that tipped the balance from a State which would have been a well-oiled machine and a model for innovative, efficient government to one that teems with languor and ineptitude from every legislative and executive orifice.

What on earth were you thinking? How could you Democrats screw this up? This bad? When the choice was so painfully obvious?

What was it about Vallas that was so bad, anyway?

The executive experience that Blago so utterly lacked? Vallas' ambitious education agenda? His ability to solve budget problems without relying on tax increases? His revival of the Chicago Public School system? His lack of ties to Chicago Machine-style politics? The fact he had a track record, rather than a track suit? All of that bothered you feckless morons that much?

Congratulations for screwing up the past 6 years.

I don't blame Blagojevich one bit. Honestly, I don't. I knew exactly what we were getting - with his Dick Mell-style politics, the money laundering of campaign cash to help fund his first election, his collection of legal referral fees from campaign donors, to the slick say-anything platitudes that sent a large part of the Democratic base into a radiant flush. What a stroke of political chicanery this took to beat a far superior candidate. In a sense, you have to hand it to Blago for his political sleight-of-hand to pull of that caper.

So I have decided to blame the morons in the Democratic Party who are too idiotic to know a decent candidate when they see him, one so obviously superior in every respect that you almost have to laugh at how inept and useless the voters here actually are. My God - prominent members of the Republican Party, until recently, were seeking to recruit Vallas to run as a GOP gubernertorial candidate in 2010! But, don't worry, Democrats, the Fran Eaton-Dave Diersen-Alan Keyes-Attila the Hun cabal of the right-wing of the party will make like they always do and whine and cry and bitch and shout "pro-life, no gays" loud enough so that recruiting Vallas into the GOP fold will never happen. No one can mew their base like (what remains of the) Illinois Republicans. Lack of intelligence is, in fact, the tie that binds the Republicans and the Democrats together.

I am not sure I am even pulling for the Senate to convict Blago this week. I am with Greg Boose on this one. What a joy an acquittal would be. I still think it could get bogged down in a procedural boondoggle by lunchtime Friday. I put the odds on that at near 50%. And I admire the jackass for hitting the television circuit this week. He knows he stands no chance in the Senate, so why not try and spread the message to the masses and impugn the credibility of the Illinois General Assembly? Seems like a good strategy to me. Plus it taints the jury pool.

But why am I now rooting for Governor Rod this week as he prepares to meet his maker? Check out this gem from the Chicago Tribune:

"In a nod to decorum, senators were advised not to bring food to their desks, turn off cell phones and iPods and use their laptop computers only “in connection with the impeachment trial proceedings” rather than play solitaire as some often do."

Yes, our State Senate aspires to be the sales staff at Dunder-Mifflin.

I don't know how Blago's future will turn out, but I know this tragic chapter could have been avoided to begin with. And I blame those 25,000 shiftless ignoramuses who, on a cold winter night in 2002, fucked it up for all of us.

Waiting for the Next Right-Wing Distraction

We know that the radical right was largely unsuccessful in their efforts to convince various courts that President Barack Obama is not a "natural born citizen." Jerry Moore of Suburban Life Publications has written extensively on this issue, and the comments from Non-Believers are worth reading for the sake of amusement.

If nothing else, you will feel better about your set of personal values and priorities for having read what runs through others' minds.

But the next set of lawsuits is surely in the offing. It has to do with Chief Justice John Roberts' flubbing of the Oath of Office yesterday. Already, some groundhogs are questioning whether Obama is actually President. This from a deranged screed-peddler posting under the name "spintreebob" on the comedy website Illinois Review:

"The only part that lacked intense focus was the part required by the constitution. Obama did not take the oath of office required by the constitution and hence is not president until he properly retakes it.

That he blew off the oath, and the constitution, as unimportant demonstrates his own priorities and regard for that document."

Precious.

Problem though.

Article I, Section 1[8] actually states as follows: "Before he enter on the Execution of his Office, he shall take the following Oath or Affirmation: "I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."

For many years, the words "So help me God" have been added to the end. No one, outside a fringe group of leftist Atheists, have bitched about that. But to add those terms is, technically, unconstitutional. Obama uttered all the words, after Roberts corrected himself, so I can't for the life of me figure out what those delusional deadbeats like "spintreebob" are thinking. But I guarantee some activist is calling a down-on-his-luck attorney right now putting together a federal case.

It would be interesting to see a lawsuit like this matriculate through the federal courts. Even more interesting to see if Chief Justice Roberts weighs in.

Don't Let The Door Hit You In The Ass

Full disclosure: I am a Recovering Republican. I have 12-stepped my way out of that drunken, drug-fueled abyss of xenophobic rants over immigration policy and narrow-minded angry preachings about values and guns and gays and late-term abortions.

But that does not mean that, in my recovery period, I have become addicted to the Democratic Kool-Aid. As proof of my relative skepticism regarding ideologues on both sides, I recall Inauguration Day fondly as a time to welcome in a new President and a new First Family regardless of party affiliation.

But even more so, it is an occasion to look back on the departing President with some modicum of respect and admiration. Kind of second look at the erstwhile Commander-in-Chief.

Not this year.

I fully admit that I am not one bit wistful or nostalgic about the end of the Bush II Administration. I shed not a tear.

The nail was inserted in his political coffin years back, although he seems to have realized this about...3 days ago. When Bush the Elder surrendered the White House to Clinton in '92, I had fond feelings for someone who served our country with honor and tradition. I was genuinely choked up seeing him give him his successor a thumbs-up while heading out of D.C.

I do not share the same sentiment today. Does this make me a bad person or insensitive? No. I don't think so. I always knew history would judge G.H.W.B. very kindly.

That is far less likely with Junior. He has listed as one of his signature accomplishments his failed effort to promote privatization of Social Security. That is like a baseball player saying his biggest lifetime hit was a foul ball home-run. I don't get it.

In all seriousness, I hope that George W. Bush has a safe trip back to Midland or Crawford or Tyler or Waco or whatever windswept, one-stoplight prairie town he inhabits in the Republic of Texas. Tomorrow at this time, he will be clearing brush and cooking barbeque. Good for him.

The Obama Administration already has an intangible feel about it, promoting goodwill and confidence and hope and peace. That never was the case with his predecessor.

This has been eight years coming. God, am I glad this is over with.

On the Eve of Obama Inauguration, Dave Diersen Loses It Completely

Erstwhile government bean-counter, would-be journalist and Milton Township precinct committeman Dave Diersen (R-IL) is not a fan of Barack Obama. He does not think much of Democratic officials, and it seems as though he would like to export all plebian Democrats to the Gulag (well, anywhere, so long as they are not trundling around in DuPage County).

He is a partisan guy. No doubt. Double-D maintains a website devoted to providing news links to relevant political stories. Many of these stories originate from the main-stream media; a healthy dose are from fringe right-wing websites.

In other words, Diersen generates little in the way of original content.

What little content Dave does manage to conjure up, though, is truly the gift that keeps on giving. You see...Dave issues "Headlines" to the stories he links on his site. Often times, the Headlines are well-known Republican talking points enmeshed with a theme the story tries to convey. Invariably, the Headlines contain faulty logic and yield conclusions that are overly simplistic or just wrong. This is a symptom of politics in general told through one man's website.

Be that as it may, a lot of times the Headlines are issued solely for the purposes of self-aggrandizement and bear no relevance to the article whatsoever. In that sense, the daily clippings Diersen e-mails out are really kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy. (Note: I am fine with that. Those of us who maintain websites have primarily our own interests in mind.)

This week, as America prepares for the historic inauguration of Barack Obama, Diersen - a Kraut with an angry streak and little patience for Democratic screed - apparently threw back one too many wienerschnitzels.

Herewith two priceless Diersens issued at the dawn of a new (Democratic) era:

DIERSEN HEADLINE: Because of DuPage County's terrible weather (blazing hot, freezing cold, wind, snow, rain, clouds, etc.) and lack of high paying jobs for those who lack education and/or lack job skills, it is outrageously cruel that Democrats encourage people who lack education and/or lack job skills to come to DuPage County. Democrats blame Republicans for all bad weather. Democrats blame pollution for bad weather and then blame Republicans for pollution. Because the weather has been so bad and because DuPage County has so many Republicans, Democrats must be really mad at DuPage County.

You know, not sure I see the logic in this, but okay...

Now this one...

DIERSEN HEADLINE: Birkett to "mingle" with "young Republicans" at an "Inaugural After Party" Tuesday evening at "Dugan's Drinking Emporium" in Chicago (DIERSEN: To better assure the quality and timeliness of GOPUSA ILLINOIS daily emails, I have not had a drink for many years. I am 60 years "old" now. In 1980, after I transferred from IRS to GAO at age 31, my liberal Democrat GAO superiors told me that I was too "old" to have a successful GAO career. They proceeded to waste my GAO career and force me take early retirement at age 49 in 1997.)

Actually, Dave, I wouldn't worry so much about the "quality" of your emails...

New Year Brings Out New Beatniks, and My Thoughts on Why Arnold Is Eligible To Be President

My friend journalist Jerry Moore must be some sort of masochist, but he has earned my admiration for a lifetime.

Moore, editor of Suburban Life Publications, has waded into the simmering, festering "controversy" about whether Barack Obama - our next POTUS - is actually a United States citizen. As best I can tell, Moore is conducting a rudimentary social experiment directed at those of our right-wing, conspiracy theorists who have little else to do but dicker over constitutional vernacular set forth in Article II, Section 1(5), which sayeth:

"No person except a natural born Citizen, or a Citizen of the United States, at the time of the adoption of this Constitution, shall be eligible to the Office of President..."

Moore's blog, Suburban Shoutout, lays out some of the arguments proffered by people with no hobbies (who, incidentally, trend heavily Republican as a general principle). As best I can tell, Moore is a fairly independent-minded pragmatist without any evident political leanings. That's as it should be, and for that he is to be commended.

Moore earned his blessing from whoever guards the gates of heaven by tolerating the truly lunatic fringe comments posted on his blog. After reading some of the theories about why Obama is not eligible under Article II, I was left scratching my head. The reasoning is based on no court precedent or any reasonably acceptable interpretation of the Constitution itself.

It would be negligent of me to try to summarize that which I do not understand (or ever care to know), so I leave it to my readers to wade into this sludge. However, after Moore wrote me yesterday soliciting my input on this (non)dispute, I dug up my Constitution and offered him my interpretation of what Article II, Section 1(5) actually means. Here is an excerpt of what I wrote:

"When I was in law school, I was fascinated with constitutional law. One reason is that the drafters of the Constitution were about ready to kill each other by the end of the process. In certain places, the document is brilliant. In other words, it's a linguistic boondoggle.

Remember though what Article II, Section 4 [sic] says: "no person except a natural born Citizen, or a Citizen of the United States, at the time of the adoption of the Constitution, shall be eligible..." The commas create a problem (just like they do in the Second Amendment). My reading of it, to be perfectly blunt, is that a foreign born citizen can become President because of the subordinate clause "at the time of the adoption of the Constitution." I think the intent was that this clause apply to persons living in 1787. I am sure we can speculate on historical reasons, but I don't see how it can logically be read as having any affect or import some two hundred odd years later. Think about it in reverse - no one today could qualify if they had to be a citizen "at the time of the adoption of the Constitution." They weren't born then, so how could they be citizens?

It makes sense that a new Union fresh off a war of independence would want actual citizens to be President. Not a lot of trust there across the pond.

The other problem is that it's not exclusive to natural born Citizens. There is an either/or here - you can also be a "Citizen of the United States" and meet the so-called requirement under Section 4 [sic]. I don't know what that means, but I think P-E Obama is a citizen of the United States. The detractors are ignoring half the inquiry - assuming it still applies.

This is my opinion without conducting any actual research or reading court documents. I really don't know what other lawyers would say about it. I suppose Schwarzenegger would be glad to hear my opinion."

So there you have it. I think Arnold, governor of California, can be President someday and Orrin Hatch need not try and amend the Constitution for him. The citizenship clause, to me, had a very specific and quite obvious intent to apply 200-some years ago. But I might be alone in my thinking. I doubt this will be heard above all the paranoid, right-wing chatter, but who cares? I really don't think anyone's listening.

Holiday Parking Behavior a Real Head-Scratcher

The Chicago Tribune today ran a cover story titled "Parking Lots Offer a Window On the Mind - Especially During the Holidays." It focused on mall shopping during the holiday season, and the array of odd behavior displayed in parking lots. Over a year ago, I published an essay the Tribune decided to rip off (kind of...). It is reprinted in full below for those of you who don't want to backtrack.

A (Parking) Lot of Mental Problems
by Ken Vanko
(O.P.D. 3/17/07)

The challenge of locating a reasonably acceptable parking space is often a significant deterrent to enjoying a relaxing day at the mall. One of the more frustrating aspects of this societal hurdle is that parking is not a goal in and of itself, but rather an incidental act, a byproduct so to speak of a day whose primary purpose is to comb the sales at Best Buy, stand in line to buy video games for the couch-potato urchins or wait endlessly for your wife to find that perfect pair of new pumps at Nordstrom. A healthy percentage of us realize that parking is a necessary evil, and that despite the pratfalls, travails and frustrations that can accompany this incidental errand-hopping activity, we simply grin and bear it and get on with the task at hand. Alas, some of us refuse to see the forest through the trees. For these misguided souls (left), parking qua parking is the only game in town, and a neutral observer wonders whether a large segment of our populace has simply lost focus on what really matters.

These citizens approach the parking lot with a determined purpose and a strict agenda. Generally, they can be classified into four rigid, well-defined and equally neurotic categories: the Conquerors, the Stalkers, the Sidlers and the Loners. Please keep in mind that, should you confront anyone who falls into one of these categories, it is best to look straight ahead, approach your destination with a purposeful gait and avoid the almost unbearable urge to cast a menacing and disapproving glare at your mall compatriot.

The first type of deluded shopper is that ultra-aggressive of mall parkers, the "Conqueror." This half-wit patrols the aisles of the local shopping center with purpose and aggression, endlessly driving up and down each row of cars until she locates that dream spot, the perfect resting place that will bring her shiny new Plymouth Voyager minivan comfort and solace during an extended buying affair that will rely heavily on alphabetically-organized coupons. By and large, our prototype Conqueror is a soccer mom with an abundance of free time and a paucity of common sense. She kills time while on her "search and destroy" parking mission by gabbing endlessly on her cell phone, apparently checking in with other Conquerors in the area relaying messages back-and-forth regarding which spaces are opening up and how to tackle this logistical quandary. The average Conqueror tends to be intolerant, rigid, unwilling to compromise and closed-minded when subjected to new ideas. In other words, she tends to have an almost perfect record voting Republican.

We have a second group of irrational mall parkers, and to be perfectly candid, this collection of misfits should cause all of us a good deal of concern. The "Stalker" lies in wait for exiting shoppers and then lurks behind them slowly until they locate their vehicle and depart, this terrifying act being the mall equivalent of a famished buzzard circling its prey in the desert. Oblivious to the possibility of a harried call to 911, Stalkers generally have a troubled, glazed look in their eye (right), as if some deep-rooted traumatic event continues to wreak havoc with their sense of reason and emotional stability. The scene of a Stalker terrorizing departing shoppers is one vaguely reminiscent from a horror movie gone bad, usually featuring a disconcerted mall patron glancing repeatedly over her left shoulder, while urging her young children to pick up the pace, not knowing what unspeakable crime is just moments away. Most Stalkers have trouble maintaining stable friendships, have few qualms about registering trivial complaints at various retailers and have fought off numerous restraining orders in myriad courts of law.

The third mall-prowling miscreant is the "Sidler", the oddball who creeps up in a favorite preferred aisle and simply waits for a vacant spot to open up. To give credit where it's due, this weirdo is doing the environment a favor, conserving petrol that the Conqueror does not. While the Stalker has blood in his eye, this Sidler generally stares vacantly into space, content to waste time in the name of aberrant habitual stasis. He generally avoids confrontation, preferring to instill in innocent mall frequenters the uncertainty of psychosis over the fright of aggression. In this regard, when coming across the Sidler, you are never quite sure whether he is an undercover policeman staking out a local petty thief, or an aggrieved spouse waiting to catch his better-half in the romantic clutches of another man.

Our final mall parker is the three-dollar-bill who takes the polar opposite approach of the Conqueror, the Stalker and the Sidler, each of whom, let's face it, falls off the same branch of the screwball tree. The last deranged mall parker is the "Loner", a man who insists on parking in the farthest spot away, at all times harboring the irrational view that his automobile is too precious to sit idle next to any other car and run the risk of being dinged by a hurried shopper with an armful of overstuffed bags, or a ritalin-infused child who just cajoled mom into buying him a new aluminum baseball bat. The Loner often is one who does not have life's priorities in proper sequence. In particular, he almost invariably values taking care of his automobile over spending time with loved ones. Oddly enough, this misanthrope has an overly-inflated opinion of the very automobile which preoccupies his time and detrimentally impacts life's other endeavors. To be sure, the Loner is often times the proud owner of a new Mercedes. But almost just as frequently, he entertains the irrational belief that his 1984 Monte Carlo is a failsafe tool to attract younger women.

The priorities occupying the time of each of these oddballs should be contrasted with the prevailing sentiment among average Americans, those of us who are aware that parking in a crowded mall or a public garage is a necessary evil that should be dispensed with alacrity. While many of us dread the outing at the mall and tolerate it only the name of relationship harmony, we should all keep in mind that this activity at least has a definable end game. And if your companion is not a Conqueror, a Stalker, a Sidler or a Loner, you're far ahead of the game and should be thankful that a trip to the mall is not just a diversion on the way to the nervous hospital.

Vindication

I admit it. Watching the death-by-a-thousand-cuts of the Republican Party (on the state and federal level) has been mildly amusing for us professional cynics, much in the same way it was fun to watch the womanizing, arrogant, all-conference high-school quarterback descend into post-matriculation depression and a dead-end career as a mall security guard.

But don't mistake me for a dyed-in-the-wool liberal. I actually voted in the Republican primary this year (my voting record is near 50/50, leaning slightly in favor of the GOP). But not for McCain. I was a foot-soldier in the Ron Paul Revolution, although I had a much more passive role than the Mountain Dew-chugging pencil-necks who helped give Paul a platform for his ideas.

In the wake of the housing and credit crises, I've often wondered whether Ron Paul has been vindicated. Although the media sheepishly ignores this, the answer should be a resounding "yes." Paul's predictions regarding our standing in foreign affairs were well-documented during the primary campaign, and it is regrettable that his Republican counterparts used him as little more than a foil to appease the so-called neoconservative element of the party. But what is really striking is Rep. Paul predicted the housing bubble back in 2002 - at the height of 100% consumer financing, and skyrocketing market values. To read what Paul said is more than prescient; it's eerily Nostradamus-like.

I remain of the belief that there is a tang of irony that Paul - and not Mike Huckabee or Sarah Palin - was viewed as the wing-nut among national Republican office-seekers. History will be quite kind to Paul in the end, while Huckabee and Palin are destined to end their political careers penning inconsequential memoirs cloaked in religious platitudes.

I thought it timely, therefore, to revisit an essay I published last year, before the first vote was cast in the Iowa caucus. This version is slightly different in that I deleted the footnotes.

Phenomenon
by Ken Vanko
(O.P.D. 10-23-07)

By the time you read this, Ron Paul may very well have dropped out of the race for President. I have no idea when, or if, this will happen. He could decide to push forward way past 11/08. But for now, he has firmly entrenched himself at the bottom of virtually every national and state poll. And he is utterly flush with cash and a legion of rabid supporters, and there is no sign of this movement slowing down. In the diverse, fertile landscape that is "The American Electorate," Paul's faithful followers are often described as crabgrass - a sprawling collection of irritants, oddballs, beatniks, conspiracy theorists and niggardly whiners. There is some truth in this, depending who you encounter and where.

Analyzing and dissecting Ron Paul’s quixotic campaign in an essay with a self-imposed limit of a couple thousand words is not easy. His run for the White House bears no similarities to that of any previous single-issue candidate, such as Alan Keyes. Having been elected ten times to the House of Representatives, he is not a lunatic fringe politician, like erstwhile candidate Morry Taylor, nor is he running a hopeless campaign solely to bring attention to a discrete political interest group, much like Gary Bauer did for the Family Research Council or Jesse Jackson did for the Rainbow Coalition.

But it is beyond dispute that Paul for President is a definite movement of some indeterminate sort, and it sure is damn fun. This is so because not only has the campaign managed to defy conventional wisdom, but also because in the span of literally months it has begun to convey a sense of hope that maybe – just maybe – we’re on the right track here as our political system starts to evolve beyond 18th century traditions. But spare me the "politics of personal destruction" complaints, however. Politics has always been a nasty, testy game not for the faint of heart, and it has at times resembled Middle Ages bloodsport. To listen to politicians lament being torn apart unfairly and attacked mercilessly is side-splittingly funny.

My thesis is that the Paul candidacy is almost certain to have some long-term terrain-shifting impact on GOP politics. Make no mistake, I harbor no grand illusion that this cult hero has any chance at pulling off even a 10% showing in any caucus or primary contest next spring (possible exception = Iowa, see Pat Robertson 1988), and I don’t mean to suggest as such. But to judge the impact of Paul’s candidacy on the Republican Party (or its platform) solely in a vacuum and solely based on results would be an utter mistake.

For starters, you need to know that Ron Paul (practicing ob/gyn) has won, according to viewer polls, almost every single Republican debate in the 2008 campaign (e.g., during the May 3 debate at the Reagan Library, Paul beat a crowded field with 43% of the vote in online polling, though M. Romney bested him in the sub-category of "Best Dressed"; detractors point to a viral marketing campaign underway in the Paul campaign, and while fund-raising numbers seem to undercut this argument, it's still one helluva viral marketing campaign deserving of your auteur's utmost admiration); that his fundraising is nearly on par with early frontrunner John McCain; that his campaign website draws more hits than McCain, Mitt Romney and Rudy Giuliani; that almost every one of his financial supporters is an individual; that his contributions mostly come in amounts of less than $200; that he has been viewed on YouTube over 4.5 million times; that he won an Alabama straw poll for Republicans with 81% of the vote; that he has more YouTube subscribers than any candidate (including online media darling, Barack Obama); that “Ron Paul” is one of the top 10 internet search terms, rivaling train-wreck sluts Paris Hilton and Britney Spears; and, just to put all these salient facts in some sort of insane paradoxical context, that he had the lowest name recognition of any candidate when he embarked on the presidency just 8 months ago. And his poll numbers still barely scratch 5%.

[Note: Even a cursory surfing of the ‘net reveals a pretty strong band of Paul followers who believe that the media conglomerates are in some sort of vague cahoots to ignore Paul’s strong poll numbers, blowing them off as misleading, fraudulent and untrustworthy. Part of the explanation hinges on Paul’s positions regarding monetary policy and the impact a Paul campaign might have on New York bankers who control the media empires. It’s all very sketchy and far-fetched, but the Paul folks have a point here that is both odd and kind of fascinating in an Oliver Stone-ish sort of way.]

To harmonize this collection of odd factoids would strain the old noggin beyond this amateur pundit’s capacity. This is not some sort of movie-star- or athlete-turned-politician running on good looks or red-meat politically divisive issues. His appearance could be mistaken for a mid-morning regular at IHOP, and his policy platforms are steeped in the minutiae of constitutional theory and monetary policy, political terrain which sees virtually no foot-traffic. Paul eschews catchy sound-bites and populist, heart-tugging messages for what amounts to a lecture, really – a sobering lesson on the tough choices Americans (particularly the next generation) must make.

Political talking heads have struggled to grasp the parameters of the candidacy and have failed to find a convincing precedent from elections past. The most common analogy to Paul’s candidacy is that of Howard Dean back in 2004. But the comparison does not work for several reasons. Governor Dean was well-known and respected among party insiders, advocated fairly mainstream positions, eventually endorsed John Kerry and parlayed his fundraising and early campaign success into a chairmanship of the Democratic National Committee. The fact that Dean spoke out against the war early and often was fortuitous, a stroke of political luck based entirely on good timing.

Ron Paul won’t be endorsing anyone – as he has confirmed in debates – and is unlikely to find himself as a party insider at the conclusion of this campaign. He already is one of the most reviled congressmen by right-wing political groups, and his candidacy is viewed as a distraction and potentially damaging to the health of other candidates. He speaks on principle, not the hype of currying favor with the next administration, and he is quick to point out the lack of principle of his GOP brethren.

The Dean comparison further suffers because Paul, by a strict modern interpretation, is not really a traditional Republican, at least not in the same way Dean is the quintessential Democrat. He (Paul), to be sure, is often classified as a Libertarian, perhaps rightly so since he ran for President in 1988 as the Libertarian candidate, garnering over 430,000 votes. But if Paul is truly a Libertarian and espouses its ideals and core beliefs, how can his candidacy potentially shape the long-term health and direction of the GOP, particularly given the widely-held assumption that Libertarians are just minor, fringe politicians? The answer is quite simple. Libertarians founded this country, and their broad policy principles still jive with the GOP’s values. Thomas Jefferson and many of the Founding Fathers stood for what now are known as Libertarian principles. Republicans are quick to heap praise on judges who are strict constructionists, and this really is the same theoretical underpinning as Libertarianism. A Libertarian, it can be argued, is simply a Republican who refuses to compromise his principles.

So Paul is really without a true comparator, past or present. To understand the appeal of Congressman Ron P. as a candidate, you need to realize that principle above politics is what guides him. Paul’s entire political philosophy is based on the concept of liberty and minimal government intrusion. Put differently, we as a people derive our liberty from the Constitution, and the government derives its authority from the Constitution, so for the love of God, why don’t we just follow the Constitution? (An exasperated Ron P. told candidate Mitt R. in an October 2007 debate exchange about declarations of war to "read the Constitution for once.")

One way to articulate Paul’s philosophy is that there is no real “right” to have a central government in a federal system adjudicate and decide hot-button, contentious issues. Think gay rights, abortion, same-sex adoption, school prayer, vouchers, obscenity. Not easy stuff on which to gain consensus in various regions where values and ways of life are just so darn diverse and different. So, according to Paul and conventional Libertarian thought, why not uphold the Founding Fathers’ intent and leave it to each community to decide what is right and just and to let local governmental units figure it out on a case by case basis? If you don’t like what your local community is doing, just move somewhere else. This is the essence of the Paul agenda and a snapshot into how he thinks.

[Ed. Note: That’s why Roe v. Wade is viewed as such an abomination. Federalizing this issue on a macro level is the core of the problem, not the abortion rate or the decline in our values. It’s the fact that an omnipresent federal system is telling us how the issue is going to be resolved. You might have noticed that abortion is a pretty tough nut to crack; guaranteeing that right to everyone in every community seems contrary to the words of the Constitution.]

While his personal liberty message clearly resonates, one of Paul’s signature (and less well-known) campaign issues is the irksome political thicket of … monetary policy. Not fiscal policy. Monetary policy. [Note: FP = taxes and spending (how the government spends the money it collects); MP = management of the money supply and use of money to trade in foreign markets. Riveting shit.] Paul’s non-pareil obsession with monetary policy as a core campaign issue actually caused him to enter politics in 1971 when President Nixon advocated that the U.S. dollar should depart from the gold standard.

[Another Note:We start to get incredibly complex, mundane, theoretical and esoteric here, but the gist of the gold standard as a theory of monetary policy is fairly simple. Gold is easy to identify and divide, and you can use paper as a proxy for it so that you’re not hauling around assloads of gold to the Target or Wal-Mart. Not too bad, really, except that we’re dealing with a global economy and we’ve been away from the gold standard now for some time. The most convincing argument in support of the gold standard is that simply printing money leads to inflation. A second argument, now in vogue because we’re like totally screwed in the international trade arena, is that gold is an easy fixed medium of currency in cross-border bartering. In other words, the Chinese won’t fuck us over anymore.]

Monetary policy being such a hot-button issue, Paul dropped the full-time baby-delivery practice and got into politics. Ever since that time, he has been voting against spending bills, emasculating NAFTA as improvidently “managed trade”, chastising the government for intruding on health care and railing against the expansion of government agencies.

His campaign is really not based on one overriding issue, like the Dean anti-war candidacy, but the sum of his principled positions and his wild popularity throws a big monkey wrench in the way his party has communicated with voters, particularly in recent years. It is one thing for candidates to bicker over voting records and slight permutations in policy proposals, but quite another to call into question the legitimacy of an entire party and its platforms and to tell them this with blunt, straight talk. Simply put, Paul’s supporters view him as a true defender of the Constitution and an honest voice who is telling it like it is.

A genuine movement is underway in many states to uninvite him to the debates and to basically shut him the hell up. Paul, in fact, is far from a centrist like Dean. To many, the Dean analogy has some appeal because both candidates were effective at using the internet to raise money. However, this appeal is superficial at best. His fundraising ability and the means by which he has achieved it is due in large part to the fact that he, like Dean, appeals to young, internet-savvy voters. Aside from an aura of emotional instability (there is a fuzzy line between emotional instability and political passion), that is about the extent of where the Paul-Dean comparison lies. Paul – “Dr. No” to some – is the definition of a contrarian, a mantra that Dean never really could claim.

Evidence of Paul’s contrarian views is legion, and his popularity despite such views actually portends a major shift in how voters want to be educated and told exactly how issues impact them. Ron P.’s congressional district is largely agrarian, and he opposes farm subsidies; the flood magnet city of Corpus Christi lies within his district, and he is stridently against federally funded flood insurance. In a state that is legendary for steamrolling inmates through Death Row, he opposes the federal death penalty. If legislation is not specifically authorized by the Constitution, he won’t vote for it. No exceptions. A Republican, Paul voted against the Patriot Act and sees no need for the Department of Homeland Security. He voted against the 2002 Iraq War Resolution, opposes the war on drugs and wants to expand “don’t ask, don’t tell” to heterosexuals.

[Note: Is that possible?]

There is no question that Dr. Paul has generated an enormous amount of goodwill in his home district. He remains popular largely because his anti-tax policy resonates, he logs hundreds of miles personally visiting voters, he still deliveries babies for his constituents, he spends incredible amounts of time attending local events and writing condolence cards and attending graduations and doing all sorts of decent, traditional, feel-good deeds that people just seem to like. But his popularity has gained elsewhere too, particularly among young voters who, frankly, want government to just leave them alone. They’ve had enough of imperialistic endeavors and don’t want another one with Iran; they’re fed up with being talked to like they are idiots; they are terrified of getting drafted; they want the internet to be a carefree playground; and they don’t understand why taxes are so prevalent and why marijuana is so illegal. Paul’s candidacy, in this respect, seems to be a revitalization of the basic principle that liberty means, for lack of a more eloquent term, the right to have government get off our collective ass. His candidacy stands for brutal honest communication rather than fear-mongering and vote-pandering.

[Yet Another Note: Paul might tell you that young voters appreciate the fact that he is telling them point-blank not to get real comfy with the idea of a social security paycheck once the nest is empty in about 40 years or so.]

So is the fervor surrounding Paul’s candidacy some kind of protest statement? Not likely. Real people are throwing real dollars at this thing, and the theoretical underpinning behind the Paul movement may be that conservatives are simply put-off by a collection of candidates whose policy proposals defy conservative thinking and whose temperament on core red-meat issues can be described, at best, as “malleable.” It does not strain credulity to conclude that Republicans have grown the size and scope of the federal government, from the Department of Homeland Security to far-reaching and intrusive education and “competitiveness” initiatives. Paul will tell you that a real conservative seeks his or her guiding principles in the text of the Constitution, and that the states have good reason to be fearful of an encroaching federal presence. His outrage and disgust can be viewed as predictable among true conservatives, and his hands-off approach on social issues actually seems like the best compromise in an intractable war between the Liberal Left and the Conservative Right.

[The Last of What Have Become Annoying Notes: A reference should be made here to the somewhat bipolar nature of the GOP – the more libertarian wing which wants government to buzz off and which resides primarily in the Mountain West, and the more fundamentalist wing which pontificates over social issues and which finds its home primarily in the Deep South.]

But aside from the fact that his positions have a basis outside unreliable opinion polls, Paul’s lasting legacy may be the revelation that voters are actually smart enough to take their medicine and digest news that is not easy to handle. Republicans have always viewed themselves as having a more grounded, principled basis for their agenda, and presumably they would be receptive to a tough-love message. They would criticize the Democrats by saying that they refuse to tell voters that government cannot solve every problem, and that it is not really an agenda to just throw one federal program after another against the wall in the hopes that something sticks. There certainly is some appeal to the fact that this macro solution tends to reflect porous platitudes cobbled together on an ad hoc, reactionary basis from a bunch of pompous potentates. But Paul is telling the Republicans that they have abandoned the moral high ground and that they are guilty of the same thing. Put differently, Republicans can no longer fool voters by misleading them about foreign and domestic policy adventures and abandoning the spirit of the Constitution. In reality, they may already have. The only question is whether they will learn.

This essay has been posted previously on The Rusty Wheel.