Personal Musings category archive

As I mentioned earlier, First Son is home from Afghanistan.

He was unexpectedly in the area this weekend, because of a crisis in First Daughter-in-Law’s family.

It was good to see the two of them.

We have honorable soldiers doing their jobs honorably.

Sadly, they were sent to do those jobs by persons without honor.

My son has served and will continue to serve with honor.

He lives up to his oath to the Constitution of the United States of America, unlike those who sent him.

When are you going to do something about those who dishonor his service by asking him to fight and die for lies?

I took a break from the news for the last couple of days.

No podcasts.

No radio in the vehicle, except for the Citizens Radio Service.

Not much radio at home.

Pretty, much, if it wasn’t in the local rag, I didn’t pay attention to it.

And, you know what? nothing changed.

The nation is still ruled by incompetent liars. (Well, not exactly. They are incompetent and they are liars, but, then again, they are very competent liars).

Good lives are still being thrown away for a lie.

People who call themselves Christians continue to embarrass those who are. (You know, I’ve pretty much observed, if you have to advertise that you are a believer–regardless of the creed–you probably are a hypocrite and a liar, but that’s another story.)

Voodoo economics is still the Republican way.

The rich are still getting richer–or, at least, thrown a life ring–and the poor, still getting poorer.

And Hillary Clinton, who apparently fears people who care enough about the course of this nation to, you know, like, actually get involved in citizen politics, still gives me the willies.

It’s going into the second overtime and I have to go to Coatesville tomorrow.

A cinnamon raisin bagel is not a proper bagel.

It’s an abomiination a cookie.

Tonight.

Me, I’ve watching the Phillies.

But the first thing I’ll do tomorrow after bringing in the daily Inky will be to turn to the back of the Metro section to see what’s in the obits.

The story goes that Herbert Hoover (a typical Republican failure as a President, except that he was an honest man and therefore would find no home in today’s Republican Party, but that’s a different issue–see the previous post) was walking down the street with Ogden Mills, his Secretary of the Treasury, in 1930.

This was back when Presidents were allowed to walk down the street.

Mr. Hoover said, “Can I borrow a nickel to call my friend.”

Mr. Mills said, “Here’s a dime. Call both of them.”

Now, instead of a chicken in every pot, we have pot in every chicken:

Police in Magnolia, Arkansas, say it wasn’t the fried chicken in Savalas Vantoli Stewart’s car that gave off a funky smell.

Instead, officers who pulled over Stewart on Friday night say they found a side dish of marijuana hidden in a recently purchased box of chicken.

Can anyone tell me what is the point of these “Over 55” communities that seem to be springing up?

I sure wouldn’t want to live in a place where all my neighbors were geezers like me. This street was built in 1954 and 1955. We have residents ranging from (almost) newlyweds to some of the original purchasers (and there’s no better security than nosy retired persons who are at home all day, but that’s another story).

I get no end of enjoyment watching my neighbors’ little girls (all the little kids on the street are girls–must be something in the water) play.

The one was out trying to fly a kite this afternoon. Of course, there’s no wind, so, when she ran out of running room, the kite came right back down–and there are so many trees that, if there had been a wind, it would have turned into a Charley Brown kite, but that’s not the issue.

And, ya know what? if she falls down and breaks her crown, no one’s going to come running to me to fix it.

What could be better than that: all the enjoyment, none of the responsibility?

So why do people want to wall themselves off in “Over 55” communities. Beats the hell out of me.

Mithras has a great post over at his place. I can’t think of any kind of cool or snappy lead in to it.

Just please go read it.

And, remember, it wasn’t that so long ago and a lot has not changed (via Atrios).

The problem with this consulting thing is that, from time to time, one is actually expected to, well, consult.

And when it’s a technical topic, you can’t fake it, at least, not for long.

(Management consulting is so much easier. You don’t need new ideas–just a three-piece suit, new bottles for old wine, and a snappy line of with-it buzzwords. Hell, you’re outta there when, five years later, the client realizes that his company is still a sucky place to work and his employees all hate him, hate the company, and hate their jobs because he’s a jerk, his executive stall are all jerks, and all the training in the world can’t paper over someone’s essential jerkiness.)

My newest development project is one of the most challenging I’ve had in a long time. I’m working with a local electric utility (no, not that one, the other one) to help develop instruction for a community college curriculum in power plant management and operations. The company wants qualified applicants and they are willing to give a grant to the college to help get them.

One fascinating thing I have learned is this: Electricity can’t be stored (well, it can in a sense–that’s what batteries are all about–but it cannot be stored in terms of the umpty-ump megawatts it takes to power the grid over multiple states). As a result, utilities run a daily race to match generating capacity to demand.

In most cases, the baseload is covered by nukes and coal plants–they are complicated and time-consuming to get working and can’t be just turned off and on. Utilities forecast power demands on an hourly basis. As the need increases and decreases during the day, they continually try to match generating capacity to demand, ramping up and turning off supplementary generating facilities, primarily gas turbines (which can be started almost immediately) to match supply with demand.

In the old days (like, 20 years ago), not having adequate power to meet demand was not necessarily a big deal, as long as the deficit was not enough to cause a brownout. A utility could fudge on the margins. Your electric clock, which depends on the 60 cycles a second to keep time, might run a little slower and your electric space heater might not heat as much and your electric oven might not heat up so quickly. Your plasma cutter and welder there in the factory might not work so quickly. But life wouldn’t stop.

These days, even marginal differentials are a really big deal, because all those computers–not just your and my personal computers that enable us to screw about on the Internet, but all those computers that run businesses and enable you to buy things on line and enable the government to spy on you and run the robots in factories and schedule just-in-time deliveries for manufacturing and generally enable business to do business–and all those other things that are computer-based, just we don’t realize it, like cell phone connectivity–just won’t work without the correct level of power.

Next time I write my check to my local utility, I’ll still complain. But I’ll complain a little less loudly, because the only blackout we’ve had here in the last five years was when some doofus ran into a light pole at the foot of the street.

These statements seem to be the daily fru-fa:

And the big deal is . . . what?

Many persons are frustrated and frightened and feel left out. Because, by God, they have been left out and left behind for heaven’s sake. Go to Butler or Coalton or New Castle, Pa.–all places I’ve been.

Look at the closed factories and the empty storefronts. And come back and tell me that everything is hunky-dory there. Tell me that people don’t feel left out, don’t feel left behind, don’t feel bitterness that their incomes and lifestyles and sense of security are going, going, gone.

And when a candidate remarks on that, it’s a bad thing?

But I guess, following the logic of the Clinton and McCain campaigns, it’s a bad thing to point things ain’t necessarily all that great for anyone who’s not a CEO of an oil company, a hedge fund, an insurance conglomerate, or a private army.

Because (gasp!) identifying problems might lead to dealing with them. And we can’t have that. It might require someone to think differently and maybe do something other than spout lies about tax cuts that pay for themselves and quick and easy wars and the other crap we’ve been fed as the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

Folks, it’s football. It’s a misdirection play, and while you’re distracted, you’re gonna get blindsided.

Unless you keep your eyes open and watch the ball, rather than the bull.

Ray has more.

So does John Cole and the Booman.

I’m watching my third Philles game in a row.

And they are not even an AL team. They play in the astroturf National League.

Many years ago, when I first moved to this area, my daughter was visiting me and we went to a Phillies game

We took the train from Narberth to Suburban Station, then caught the Broad Street subway to the Vet and got seats in the 700 level. (In the 700 level, you pretty much had to bring your own oxygen tank if you wanted to breath).

Mike Schmidt, one of the best third basemen in the history of baseball, was still playing. He was not any Brooks Robinson with his glove, but he may well have been the best all-around third baseman in the history of the game (Brooks couldn’t hit worth a damn, but, with Brooks on third and Mark Belanger at short, pretty much nothing that was under 10 feet in the air made it into left field against Earl Weaver’s Orioles).

I forget who the Phillies were playing that day, but I will always remember the end of the game.

Mike Schmidt ended the game with a solo shot to deep center.

It was over, and we took the train home.

Mike Schmidt is long retired, my daughter is a mother, and I’m a grandfather now.

I’m getting old.

And bitter.

But not old and bitter enough to vote Republican.

Up the road a piece, there’s a really great bookshop that specializes in fantasy, science fiction, and mysteries.

Yeah, and there’s a little bit of comics and manga too.

In the back, there’s an open area where the owner allows persons to play games. It’s not completely altruistic, because the gamers end up buying their game pieces at the bookshop, but, hey! that’s their schtick.

Some years ago, Second Son organized a Dungeons and Dragons game that lasted there for about three years. He advertised for the players, he found a Dungeon Master, and he kept it going.

When it got really late and we were unable to pick up Second Son after a game, the owner would even drive him home. This is a backhanded way of saying that the owner is one of the persons I would trust completely to do the right thing under any circumstance.

For a long time, he thought of me just as Second Son’s Dad. Then, one day, I walked in, listened to the music he was playing, and said, “Isn’t that Hawkwind?”

I think I surprised him at recognizing the tune (well, with Hawkwind, “tune” may not be exactly the right word).

Hawkwind, Warriors at the Edge of Time:

The big news this week has been, natch, General Petraeus huing the Bushie line for more troops, more time, more troops, more time, in an attempt to snatch mere humiliation from the jaws of defeat.

Why is it that, when someone says Petraeus, I hear “Westmoreland“?

It’s been 18 months since I was in a classroom. It was a gas.

My biggest fear did not come true–I did not lose my voice. Maybe by the next session, I’ll sound like myself.

I will never get over the magical feeling that happens when people listen to me because I’m standing up and they’re sitting down. . . .

and still in one piece.

I was wondering today, was the Current Federal Administrator not allowed to play with Army men when he was younger?

Is that what’s behind all this playing with others’ lives for a lie?

A little enforced vacation from blogging this week. I’m juggling three projects, one of them winding down and two of them starting up. My cold has, in the way of this bug, settled into a cough that doesn’t want to go away. Something had to give, and what gave was what doesn’t put food on the table. . . .

So, who missed me? One person I can name (I won’t, to protect the innocent). Otherwise, my little vacation had, I am sure, no effect on the blogosphere, or, for that matter, on anything else.

So, what have I missed? Not much.

The economy has spun a few more rounds down the toilet, thanks the the NeoCon delusion that making the rich richer does anything other than, well, make the rich richer.

It’s no longer a question of recession or not. Now it’s how deep and how long. Workers’ pink slips stacked ever higher in March as jittery employers slashed 80,000 jobs, the most in five years, and the national unemployment rate climbed to 5.1 percent. Job losses are nearing the staggering level of a quarter-million this year in just three months.

The Current Federal Administration continues to fail in its effort to spin silk from its sow’s ear in Iraq, while the so-called Iraqi “government” (which, remember, hardly exists outside the Green Zone) demonstrated its toothlessness.

President Bush won’t shift course (in Iraq–ed.) before his term ends. Troops will draw down some, but not below pre-surge levels, and our military will remain overextended. The possibility of shaping a different Iraq policy won’t emerge until a new president is elected.

Meantime, the realities on the ground were brutally laid bare over the last two weeks by the fighting in Basra: Iraq’s security situation is better than in its darkest days, but remains fragile. The hope has dimmed that improved security will enable Iraqi factions to reconcile, and the Iraqi army is far from ready for prime time.

At the same time, the Current Federal Administrator continued to demonstrate its allegiance to special effects in touting a “missile defense shield” that has everything going for it except the Laws of Physics:

President Bush’s national security adviser says the U.S. and Russia can leave the missile defense issue to their successors after failing to reach agreement in their last meeting together as presidents.

But I’m back . . . .

A while ago, I linked this post from Phillybits concerning a rightwing teacher’s spreading wingnut poison in public school.

Now comes another chapter in the story:

The state Human Relations Commission is investigating a complaint from an Indian River School District parent who said her 10-year-old daughter’s teacher told her class she would not vote for Democratic presidential hopeful Barack Obama because he is Muslim.

In a letter to the editor, the girl’s two older sisters — who described themselves as American Muslim kids who love their country — said the teacher told the fifth-grade class that she is a Republican and that Obama “believes in different things and is scary.”

Obama, a Christian, has been trying to dispel myths about his religion across the country.

What his camp calls “smear e-mails” have circulated nationally for months claiming the Illinois senator is Muslim. His campaign Web site notes Obama’s response in a January debate on MSNBC: “In the Internet age, there are going to be lies that are spread all over the place. I have been victimized by these lies. Fortunately, the American people are, I think, smarter than folks give them credit for.”

The Indian River teacher’s remarks allegedly occurred prior to a mock Feb. 5 Super Tuesday primary vote at Lord Baltimore Elementary School.

This is what separation of church and state is about. It is not right to have an agent of the state (that is, a public school teacher) attempting to influence political choices.

Well, we could stop there, couldn’t we? But let’s finish the thought:

It is not right to have an agent of the state (that is, a public school teacher) attempting to influence political choices to further a particular religious point of view.

Even if it weren’t–as in this case–based on a lie.

A while ago, I said that Mike Huckabee had a singular trait amongst the pretenders for the throne of King George the Wurst.

I said that he was a sincere and honest candidate (no wonder he’s out of the Republican race) as much as I disagreed with him in many ways and on many levels.

He has now weighed in on the Barack Obama/Rev. Wright thing in a way that will, no doubt, make it impossible for him to ever get another vote in a Republican primary. Ever.

And one other thing I think we’ve got to remember: As easy as it is for those of us who are white to look back and say, “That’s a terrible statement,” I grew up in a very segregated South, and I think that you have to cut some slack. And I’m going to be probably the only conservative in America who’s going to say something like this, but I’m just telling you: We’ve got to cut some slack to people who grew up being called names, being told, “You have to sit in the balcony when you go to the movie. You have to go to the back door to go into the restaurant. And you can’t sit out there with everyone else. There’s a separate waiting room in the doctor’s office. Here’s where you sit on the bus.” And you know what? Sometimes people do have a chip on their shoulder and resentment. And you have to just say, I probably would too. I probably would too. In fact, I may have had a more, more of a chip on my shoulder had it been me.

Via Susie.

The Republican smear machine cranks up:

Those still wondering if the GOP would again use gays and gay marriage as their signature issue need not spend another moment contemplating the question. After watching the video, it should be abundantly clear that race will be the crown jewel in the GOP’s armada. Should Obama be the Democratic nominee, I expect the meme to mimic a GOP favorite used to assail gays…the militant homosexual agenda.

In Obama’s case, this effective meme will be modified to portray him as secretly promoting “the militant black agenda”…one that denigrates patriotism and seeks to install a Marxist inspired version of socialism. Take a moment to do a Google search with the term “Obama Socialist Marxist agenda”. If that doesn’t convince you, Google “Obama Marxist Posters” and you’ll note the efforts to connect Obama to Che Guevara.

Of course, the reason they resort to these tactics is that the truth about them–phony wars, crippling budget deficits, selling out the nation to benefit the rich, corruption that would make Harding blush–loses votes.

From time to time in this space, I have spoken of race and racism.

As a Southern boy, I grew up surrounded by racists and racism. I grew up with persons who referred to their farm hands as “my people” (and they meant it with full paternalistic overtones). And that was amongst the kinder references.

Granted, the outward manifestations of racism weren’t as bad in my part of the world as they were in some parts of the South. Black folks were not expected, for example, to step into the street to allow white folks to pass on the sidewalk.

They were just expected to give way, without actually stepping into the gutter.

I know all the code words of the racist.

And when the racists come up with new code words, I recognize them by some kind of subliminal instinct. Because I’ve lived in that life, thank you very much.

I know what it is like to be complimented by the old black cleaning lady (the same lady who took care of me while my brother was being born 14 years earlier and whose grandson was my earliest playmate, aside from my brother, and who was as kind to me as ever anyone I knew) as being special because, for God’s sake, I let her ride in the front seat of the car with me, rather than making her ride in the back seat.

Ride in the front seat.

I never thought to let her do otherwise, for heaven’s sake, because, thank God, my parents taught me to be equally polite to everyone, even those who had the handicap (I speak from the view of those times, not from the view of today) of being “colored.”

Sheesh.

I watched the racists switch from the Democratic Party to the Republican Party, as the Democratic Party stopped playing the race card, even as the Republican Party played it with glee.

And with the run of Senator Obama for the nomination of the Democratic Party for president, boy, have the racist code words started to echo off the wall.

And they have echoed, I am sad to say, not just from the usual suspects (here and here, for example), but also from members of the Democratic Party itself. Who should know better, for heaven’s sake.

The legacy of institutionalized, legislated racism in this country did not disappear when our elected representatives incongruously assembled passed the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

It was two years after the passage of that bill when one–one!–black student entered my all-white high school. It was the next year when seven–seven!–more black students entered my high school. And this in an area where 65% of the student population was and is black.

And I still remember how worked up my Latin teacher was when, in a local newspaper article, my name was transposed with that of one of my fellow black students in a photo of the track team. I didn’t care, but she was ready to die on my behalf and couldn’t understand why I wasn’t mortified.

Gasp.

Gunnar Myrdal famously concluded that the “Negro problem” in America is a “white man’s problem.”

And so correct he was. And nothing that has happened in the sixty years since his pronouncement has impeached his conclusion in any way.

It is time to stop ignoring this history, time to stop pretending that the 1960’s civil rights and voting rights laws fixed everything, time to stop with the damned code words.

And time to stop wondering why minority people get offended when representatives of the white majority say rude, offensive, disgusting things.

To my fellow white folks, I say, “Grow up, already.”

It is time to realize that, even though the concept of race is, frankly, bullshit by any scientific measure, it is a great big elephant, no, there’s got to be a better word, elephants are bad gorilla in the room that no one is willing to deal with except through code words and innuendo. And that the institutionalized racism of chattel slavery, the institutionalized racism of Jim Crow laws that I grew up under, the institutionalized de facto segregation of Yankee cities that exists till this day (just watch a random Law and Order episode if you think the effects don’t linger–the show would not be so believable if it did not seem real) still poison our society.

So come now the racists, making a big fuss about some remarks by Senator Obama’s pastor.

I’ve mentioned before that, as far as I have observed, what weds Protestants to their churches is most likely the congregation (though certain pastors, like, for example, Ted Haggard, seem to have a magnetism all their own).

Pastors come, pastors go, I’ve never had a pastor in any church I attended with whom I agreed on everything.

I know that my father would not have left the little Baptist church in which he was raised and which he attended for 82 years because one of the pastors offended him; he would have soldiered on, because pastors come and pastors go.

But now come the racists attacking Senator Obama because of selected comments of the pastor of his church.

Give me a goddamned break from the racists for once please.

And just pay attention to what matters.

For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle – as we did in the OJ trial – or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina – or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright’s sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she’s playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.

(snip)

That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, “Not this time.” This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can’t learn; that those kids who don’t look like us are somebody else’s problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time.