I've gotta admit that I understand how alot of political insiders would have had me tabbed as a long shot. A long shot, that is, to get the call from presumptive President-Elect Mitt Romney to fill the #2 spot on the GOP side of the November ballot. But I'll tell you, it still hurt like hell to wake up this morning and see Paul Ryan's name smeared all over the Firefox homepage. And then, as if to salt the wound, to have NBC cut away from its coverage of my beloved Olympics (USA! USA!) to go live to Virginia for Mitt's anointing of the soon-to-be Vice President. And in the long shadows of the battleship Wisconsin's big 16" guns, no less. Talk about dragging a possibly unconsulted and unwilling Navy into the political limelight. Mission accomplished!
Miz Susan called me on the phone from upstairs (how pathetic has our life gotten?) to ask where in the hell her coffee and the newspaper were and the floodgates opened. I cried like a baby. I'd really counted on the Veep job to drag us up out of the financial mire that we've spent ourselves into. I've heard that the Executive Branch's second fiddle job is a pretty decent paying gig. And the meal money alone on the campaign trail would have likely been enough to keep up with the mortgage payments here at the Laurel Avenue estate. There might have even been a little side income in renting out a basement suite at One Observatory Circle to Norm Coleman for when he blows through town. Oh well.
I didn't even have the consolation of finding out that my Minnesota homeboy Tim "T-Paw" Pawlenty was going to be moving to Washington. For sure I'd have been able to count on him for a lucrative and low effort federal job. I suppose that Tim could still land the Labor seat on the cabinet (being's how he's always been a friend to labor); that or Education (ditto the friend thing above to education). There might still be some beltline swag out there for me.
But for God's sake. Paul Ryan?!? He's a young T-Paw on stimulants, full of a cloying phony charm and smarm and condescension. I used to think that Pawlenty led the world in that stuff but that was before I started to see Paul Ryan making stops on the Sunday morning politico talk show circuit. Ryan makes Pawlenty seem genuine. And that takes some doing.
Well, Senator Joe McCarthy and Governor Scott Walker have got to be doing some kind of victory dances right about now. Joe in his grave and Scott in the Governor's mansion in Madison, in between boning up on GED sample test questions. Makes a guy proud to have Wisconsin as a next door neighbor.
It is possible that one other Minnesotan will pick up some part time work in the wake of the addition of Ryan to the GOP slate. I'm thinking that with a little bit of a transplanted widow's peak to his hairline, Chip Cravaack of the Eighth Congressional District might just make a damn convincing stunt double for Paul Ryan. Hey, think about it.
Is this a helluva country or what?
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
chairs reglued in an election year
I've been taking furniture to Mr. Cilek for repairs for a long tome now. You may have seen the sign in his front yard on Randolph, a block or so east of Snelling: "Chairs Reglued". That's what he does.
This last time, I made Ms Susan take the busted chair in to him. This was kind of scary for her, something that she'd never done before. But hey...it's right on her way to work and if she's smart, and I'm not saying she isn't, she could swing through PJ Murphy's Bakery for a couple of raspberry bismarcks on the way down the hill to Monroe. That's what I'd do if I had to drop off a chair to be reglued at Cilek's and then had to end up at Monroe for an action-packed and satisfying day of teaching 4th graders. I'd fortify myself any way I could and I see raspberry bismarcks as a worthwhile addition to the fortifying arsenal. But I head northwest to work and Cilek's Furniture repair is south and east.
I went to pick up the chair today after Susan had dropped it off on Monday. I'd been assigned the southern loop of the string of errands that had to be run prior to hosting Easter dinner tomorrow. Cilek's for the chair, Walgreen's for a prescription and some plastic eggs for the egg hunt, the tailor's shop down in Highland (that's sort of a contradiction in terms but, after all, I'm talking St. Paul) to pick up a mended sport coat and then to Widmer's for the big-ass 20 lb. ham for dinner tomorrow. Miz Susan got to head east for bread at Great Harvest and then the co-op and I'll bet she managed to stick her head into a couple of other shops along the way. She probably got the easier trip but I'm not complaining.
For my first stop, I pulled up to the garage that serves as Mr. Cilek's shop. I went right on in (the sign says to do that) but no one was home. Susan had told me that, despite her initial fear of the unknown, she felt right at home in Mr. Cilek's workshop. The clutter and the cramped quarters and the general cave-like ambiance reminded her right away of her dad's bicycle shop masquerading as a garage in Lamberton. She's right. The same interior decorator could have drawn up the plans for both garages.
After looking around and taking in a few choruses of Nat King Cole on the little boom box, I headed for the back door of the house to see if anyone was home. Mr. Cilek, or one of his people, had phoned this morning to tell us that the chair was ready so I suspected that someone would be around. Sure enough, he greeted me almost immediately at the back door and said that he'd be right out. That routine never changes. It's almost as if can sense that someone is at his back door with a chair that needs to be reglued or to pick one up that's already been reglued. But he'll rarely come out to his workshop to find out who in hell the latest idiot is who's rummaging around in his stuff. To be formally noticed, you need to observe the proprieties and knock on the back door.
He showed up in the workshop within a minute or so with some words of praise as to what a sporty little ride the Camry looked to be. I wasn't about to argue that one. He flicked off the boombox, where Nat King Cole had moved on to "Almost Like Being in Love", with an explanation that it wasn't his kind of music. Okay then. I wrote him a check after asking, like I always do, to whom I should write it. I suggested "Eugene Cilek?" and he liked that idea. Not "Cilek Furniture Repair" or "Cilek's" but almost always, "Eugene Cilek". I tried to play like I had the faintest idea of how he reglued chairs and got slapped down for suggesting bolts and we got to talking about how long he'd been at his trade and how long I'd been bringing him chairs to be reglued. He told me that he'd opened up shop in 1960 the day after he got married and I figured out that I must have first come to him in about 1975 with the old dining room table I'd bought from Jim Franklin back in the West Publishing days. That table is still in the family over at Alison and Tomas's nowadays. I suppose that he's had repeat customers for longer than my 35 years but 35 years is a pretty good run. If nothing else, I'm loyal. I'd be going to Henry's Shoe Repair down on Grand Avenue if he still had the store and I remember buying sneakers in there with my mom back into the early 60's. Just about the same time Gene Cilek was opening the door to his workshop out behind his house on Randolph.
As I was getting ready to race off in the sporty little Camry, Mr. Cilek gave me one of his business cards. He'd scrawled 1130 AM and something else on the back of his card. He urged me to check out Sean Hannity on the station. Just listen to Hannity twice and I'd be convinced, he told me. And Rush Limbaugh, too. Like I said before, OK then. Maybe he was kidding or confused. When I'd pointed out to him that it was Nat King Cole whom he'd cut off earlier, he admitted that he really did like him.
So here's this long-time associate, a trusted contributor to the workings of the family business. He's right up there with Brian, the Schwan's delivery guy. But from what I heard today, Mr. Cilek with his political outlook would probably see my upcoming vote for Amy Klobuchar as something no better than a vote for Madame Mao. We parted agreeing to agree to that it was good to be able to listen to what we wanted to in this country. Even if he didn't seem to like the long-term future for that privilege.
I say it over and over again. Is this a great country or what? And if Mr. Cilek can try to convert his customers, I guess I can, too. I'm encouraging anyone who's reading this to vote no in November against all of those obnoxious proposed constitutional amendments which the Republicans and their big business sponsors are cluttering the ballot up with. And encourage your friends and neighbors to do likewise, too. Or not to vote on them at all. Isn't non-vote the same as a no vote?
I'm not going toe to toe with Mr. Cilek, though. Even pushing 80, he can probably beat me up. And I might need to go back to him if I've ever got any more chairs that need to be reglued.
This last time, I made Ms Susan take the busted chair in to him. This was kind of scary for her, something that she'd never done before. But hey...it's right on her way to work and if she's smart, and I'm not saying she isn't, she could swing through PJ Murphy's Bakery for a couple of raspberry bismarcks on the way down the hill to Monroe. That's what I'd do if I had to drop off a chair to be reglued at Cilek's and then had to end up at Monroe for an action-packed and satisfying day of teaching 4th graders. I'd fortify myself any way I could and I see raspberry bismarcks as a worthwhile addition to the fortifying arsenal. But I head northwest to work and Cilek's Furniture repair is south and east.
I went to pick up the chair today after Susan had dropped it off on Monday. I'd been assigned the southern loop of the string of errands that had to be run prior to hosting Easter dinner tomorrow. Cilek's for the chair, Walgreen's for a prescription and some plastic eggs for the egg hunt, the tailor's shop down in Highland (that's sort of a contradiction in terms but, after all, I'm talking St. Paul) to pick up a mended sport coat and then to Widmer's for the big-ass 20 lb. ham for dinner tomorrow. Miz Susan got to head east for bread at Great Harvest and then the co-op and I'll bet she managed to stick her head into a couple of other shops along the way. She probably got the easier trip but I'm not complaining.
For my first stop, I pulled up to the garage that serves as Mr. Cilek's shop. I went right on in (the sign says to do that) but no one was home. Susan had told me that, despite her initial fear of the unknown, she felt right at home in Mr. Cilek's workshop. The clutter and the cramped quarters and the general cave-like ambiance reminded her right away of her dad's bicycle shop masquerading as a garage in Lamberton. She's right. The same interior decorator could have drawn up the plans for both garages.
After looking around and taking in a few choruses of Nat King Cole on the little boom box, I headed for the back door of the house to see if anyone was home. Mr. Cilek, or one of his people, had phoned this morning to tell us that the chair was ready so I suspected that someone would be around. Sure enough, he greeted me almost immediately at the back door and said that he'd be right out. That routine never changes. It's almost as if can sense that someone is at his back door with a chair that needs to be reglued or to pick one up that's already been reglued. But he'll rarely come out to his workshop to find out who in hell the latest idiot is who's rummaging around in his stuff. To be formally noticed, you need to observe the proprieties and knock on the back door.
He showed up in the workshop within a minute or so with some words of praise as to what a sporty little ride the Camry looked to be. I wasn't about to argue that one. He flicked off the boombox, where Nat King Cole had moved on to "Almost Like Being in Love", with an explanation that it wasn't his kind of music. Okay then. I wrote him a check after asking, like I always do, to whom I should write it. I suggested "Eugene Cilek?" and he liked that idea. Not "Cilek Furniture Repair" or "Cilek's" but almost always, "Eugene Cilek". I tried to play like I had the faintest idea of how he reglued chairs and got slapped down for suggesting bolts and we got to talking about how long he'd been at his trade and how long I'd been bringing him chairs to be reglued. He told me that he'd opened up shop in 1960 the day after he got married and I figured out that I must have first come to him in about 1975 with the old dining room table I'd bought from Jim Franklin back in the West Publishing days. That table is still in the family over at Alison and Tomas's nowadays. I suppose that he's had repeat customers for longer than my 35 years but 35 years is a pretty good run. If nothing else, I'm loyal. I'd be going to Henry's Shoe Repair down on Grand Avenue if he still had the store and I remember buying sneakers in there with my mom back into the early 60's. Just about the same time Gene Cilek was opening the door to his workshop out behind his house on Randolph.
As I was getting ready to race off in the sporty little Camry, Mr. Cilek gave me one of his business cards. He'd scrawled 1130 AM and something else on the back of his card. He urged me to check out Sean Hannity on the station. Just listen to Hannity twice and I'd be convinced, he told me. And Rush Limbaugh, too. Like I said before, OK then. Maybe he was kidding or confused. When I'd pointed out to him that it was Nat King Cole whom he'd cut off earlier, he admitted that he really did like him.
So here's this long-time associate, a trusted contributor to the workings of the family business. He's right up there with Brian, the Schwan's delivery guy. But from what I heard today, Mr. Cilek with his political outlook would probably see my upcoming vote for Amy Klobuchar as something no better than a vote for Madame Mao. We parted agreeing to agree to that it was good to be able to listen to what we wanted to in this country. Even if he didn't seem to like the long-term future for that privilege.
I say it over and over again. Is this a great country or what? And if Mr. Cilek can try to convert his customers, I guess I can, too. I'm encouraging anyone who's reading this to vote no in November against all of those obnoxious proposed constitutional amendments which the Republicans and their big business sponsors are cluttering the ballot up with. And encourage your friends and neighbors to do likewise, too. Or not to vote on them at all. Isn't non-vote the same as a no vote?
I'm not going toe to toe with Mr. Cilek, though. Even pushing 80, he can probably beat me up. And I might need to go back to him if I've ever got any more chairs that need to be reglued.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
partying with the party
The Grand Old Party, that is. The good old GOP. Which starts with "G" and ends with "P" and stands for Republicans. God bless their fiscally and socially conservative souls.
I shambled my way down to the State Capitol Building this past Tuesday along with 1000-1200 of my AFSCME brothers and sisters, union thugs one and all. This was for my second AFSCME Day on the Hill since joining the rank and file. For those of you who aren't caught up on the roster of the virulently anti-American, quasi-terrorist organizations which are trying to ruin the country with their inflated wages, bloated benefits and unaffordable pension plans, AFSCME stands for the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees. The average AFSCME employee paycheck yields somewhere in the vicinity of $38K pre-taxes per annum, so it's pretty easy to see what a drain on the country's resources this crowd of socialist agitators is.
This Day on the Hill thing (hereinafter referred to as DOTH, maybe) is an annual event for AFSCME members to descend on the Capitol in an unholy attempt to cow our hard-working and always productive state legislators into handing over control of the state and the country to the rabble. Why, it's enough to merit evoking Marie Antoinette on that cake eating bit. The union provides a free lunch (maybe there is such a thing, after all) and a packetful of Big Labor propaganda (to memorize and spout at the lawmakers) and luxury motor coach transport back and forth between the Crowne Plaza Hotel and the Capitol. The union bosses will even go so far as to pick up the tab for lost wages for members who skip out on their overpaid jobs to make the scene. My gosh, it's as if the Iron Curtain has been rehung right here in downtown Saint Paul. Maybe this mob of unwashed troublemakers has forgotten that Ronald Reagan single-handedly forced the godless commies to tear down that wall.
At any rate, it didn't seem like the legislators were having any of it. Ever since the GOPers wrested control of both houses of the legislature out of the hands of the Wellstone-inspired fanatics back in 2010, they've been able to dig in their heels and draw some battle lines in their crusade to reclaim the country and the Constitution. Maybe some day they'll get around to reading the whole thing and not just the parts that justify their dreams of taking us back to the 1890's. For the second year in a row, I got to lay eyes on Mary Kiffmeyer as she glided effortlessly over the marble floors on her way to do battle against the widespread conspiracy of voting fraud. And who would know better about this threat to the right to the franchise than this former Secretary of State? Pay no attention to the fact that nobody's been able to show much in the way of evidence of concerted voter fraud; it's gotta be out there somewhere and, by God, we need a Voter ID law. And she and her party's knights are hard at work to put a Right to Work amendment into the constitution, too. Again, pay no attention to all of the numbers which show that right to work laws guarantee only the right to work for less.
Shortly after Mary got herself rousted out of her cushy Secretary of State gig by that horrible little ACORN tool Mark Ritchie, she set her eyes on greener pastures and now represents the good people of Big Lake in the Big House. No, not the women's correctional facility in Shakopee, I'm talking about the Minnesota House of Representatives. From this lofty vantage point, she's been able to make some ambitious plans to protect our voting rights. She plans to do this, apparently, by taking away the voting rights of the young, the elderly, absentee ballot casters, actively serving armed forces members, vets' home residents, members of communities of color...you get my drift; the list goes on. And, if these constituencies might tend to lean a little to the left, well...that's a small price to pay to preserve democracy. And an amazing coincidence besides.
But c'mon. For whom do we send our legislators to work in St. Paul, after all? Is it the fat cats and the big money interests that fund Republican election campaigns or is it the squalid malcontents pulling down 38 thou a year? I know who gets my vote.
If Mary Kiffmeyer has ascended to my personal hall of fame of politicians (up there with Michele Bachmann and Mitch McConnell), I'm growing more and more intrigued by this nice, cleancut Rick Santorum guy. I oohed and aahed in this forum awhile back about his knack for stylin' a sweater vest (Minnesota-made, it turns out) but I never dreamed that, by now, he'd be within 1100 delegates or so of wrapping up the Republican nomination for the honor of vanquishing that Obamma guy from the White House in November. Well, he is and he's serious about it. I missed my golden opportunity to see Senator (if former) Santorum in person when I turned the car northwest to go to work on Thursday rather than locking the GPS on due east. Turns out that candidate Santorum was stirring up the party faithful just across the St. Croix River in Hudson, Wisconsin. He's been stumping the state in anticipation of Tuesday's primary. I'm sure he did himself proud in Hudson and I'm sorry I missed my chance to be in the presence of greatness. But maybe not as proud as he did himself the following day in Janesville. Now that was some stump speech.
Oh you Republicans. You folks surely do know how to put on one heck of an entertaining campaign for your party's Presidential nomination. I'm as happy as can be to have been partying with you last Tuesday.
I shambled my way down to the State Capitol Building this past Tuesday along with 1000-1200 of my AFSCME brothers and sisters, union thugs one and all. This was for my second AFSCME Day on the Hill since joining the rank and file. For those of you who aren't caught up on the roster of the virulently anti-American, quasi-terrorist organizations which are trying to ruin the country with their inflated wages, bloated benefits and unaffordable pension plans, AFSCME stands for the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees. The average AFSCME employee paycheck yields somewhere in the vicinity of $38K pre-taxes per annum, so it's pretty easy to see what a drain on the country's resources this crowd of socialist agitators is.
This Day on the Hill thing (hereinafter referred to as DOTH, maybe) is an annual event for AFSCME members to descend on the Capitol in an unholy attempt to cow our hard-working and always productive state legislators into handing over control of the state and the country to the rabble. Why, it's enough to merit evoking Marie Antoinette on that cake eating bit. The union provides a free lunch (maybe there is such a thing, after all) and a packetful of Big Labor propaganda (to memorize and spout at the lawmakers) and luxury motor coach transport back and forth between the Crowne Plaza Hotel and the Capitol. The union bosses will even go so far as to pick up the tab for lost wages for members who skip out on their overpaid jobs to make the scene. My gosh, it's as if the Iron Curtain has been rehung right here in downtown Saint Paul. Maybe this mob of unwashed troublemakers has forgotten that Ronald Reagan single-handedly forced the godless commies to tear down that wall.
At any rate, it didn't seem like the legislators were having any of it. Ever since the GOPers wrested control of both houses of the legislature out of the hands of the Wellstone-inspired fanatics back in 2010, they've been able to dig in their heels and draw some battle lines in their crusade to reclaim the country and the Constitution. Maybe some day they'll get around to reading the whole thing and not just the parts that justify their dreams of taking us back to the 1890's. For the second year in a row, I got to lay eyes on Mary Kiffmeyer as she glided effortlessly over the marble floors on her way to do battle against the widespread conspiracy of voting fraud. And who would know better about this threat to the right to the franchise than this former Secretary of State? Pay no attention to the fact that nobody's been able to show much in the way of evidence of concerted voter fraud; it's gotta be out there somewhere and, by God, we need a Voter ID law. And she and her party's knights are hard at work to put a Right to Work amendment into the constitution, too. Again, pay no attention to all of the numbers which show that right to work laws guarantee only the right to work for less.
Shortly after Mary got herself rousted out of her cushy Secretary of State gig by that horrible little ACORN tool Mark Ritchie, she set her eyes on greener pastures and now represents the good people of Big Lake in the Big House. No, not the women's correctional facility in Shakopee, I'm talking about the Minnesota House of Representatives. From this lofty vantage point, she's been able to make some ambitious plans to protect our voting rights. She plans to do this, apparently, by taking away the voting rights of the young, the elderly, absentee ballot casters, actively serving armed forces members, vets' home residents, members of communities of color...you get my drift; the list goes on. And, if these constituencies might tend to lean a little to the left, well...that's a small price to pay to preserve democracy. And an amazing coincidence besides.
But c'mon. For whom do we send our legislators to work in St. Paul, after all? Is it the fat cats and the big money interests that fund Republican election campaigns or is it the squalid malcontents pulling down 38 thou a year? I know who gets my vote.
If Mary Kiffmeyer has ascended to my personal hall of fame of politicians (up there with Michele Bachmann and Mitch McConnell), I'm growing more and more intrigued by this nice, cleancut Rick Santorum guy. I oohed and aahed in this forum awhile back about his knack for stylin' a sweater vest (Minnesota-made, it turns out) but I never dreamed that, by now, he'd be within 1100 delegates or so of wrapping up the Republican nomination for the honor of vanquishing that Obamma guy from the White House in November. Well, he is and he's serious about it. I missed my golden opportunity to see Senator (if former) Santorum in person when I turned the car northwest to go to work on Thursday rather than locking the GPS on due east. Turns out that candidate Santorum was stirring up the party faithful just across the St. Croix River in Hudson, Wisconsin. He's been stumping the state in anticipation of Tuesday's primary. I'm sure he did himself proud in Hudson and I'm sorry I missed my chance to be in the presence of greatness. But maybe not as proud as he did himself the following day in Janesville. Now that was some stump speech.
Oh you Republicans. You folks surely do know how to put on one heck of an entertaining campaign for your party's Presidential nomination. I'm as happy as can be to have been partying with you last Tuesday.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
democracy at work at jc penney
I don't usually get too involved in politics, at least not directly. Yeah, I'm opinionated as hell and I'll run my mouth like any other fool. I'll vote in almost every election but a yard sign is about as close as I get to violent revolution. Especially if whatever campaign the yard sign is hyping expects a cash contribution from me for naming rights to my front yard. Isn't it supposed to work the other way around? If it did, maybe I'd get more involved.
But we bucked the normal state of the body politic at home and Miz Susan and I took it to the streets last night. We made the slog north on Snelling Avenue to Rosedale and specifically the JC Penney store. Miz Susan had been intrigued by the new-look Sunday ad supplement last week and then this firestorm(?) of controversy boiled over after some lunatic fringe internet presence calling itself OneMillionMoms advocated a boycott against the retail giant. All because Penney's has hired Ellen DeGeneres as one of its advertising mouthpieces.
I've always loved what little I've seen of Ellen DeGeneres. She's smart and funny and self-effacing and she's got those amazing blue eyes. I have no idea how putting her on the JCP payroll is going to boost the Worthington and Stafford and Arizona Jeans brands but she's a heck of a lot more palatable than Martha Stewart. Good gracious, what were those K-Mart advertising geniuses thinking?
I'm sure that there are a bunch of people out there for whom the OneMillionMom crap resonates. But I'd guess that very few of them are card-carrying, dues-paying OMMers. And if even Bill O'Reilly is calling the Moms latter-day McCarthy-era witch hunters, these creeps are probably already slithering back to the shady areas under the rocks where they came from.
There didn't seem to be much sign of a boycott at Penney's last night unless that little miniature choo-choo train that chugged past the mall entrance to the store every once in awhile had a political significance I didn't catch. I ended up dropping 104 bucks in the men's department while Susan was running around the rest of the mall doing God alone knows what. I could have gotten along without almost any of the things I bought but I'll wear 'em and probably ask myself each time I do, "Is this is a great country or what?"
I'd thought that maybe I'd step it up a notch beyond letting my money talk. That I'd tell the clerk that I was there specifically to support Ellen's employment and to ask that he or she pass the word up the chain of command. Here was one consumer who wasn't going to be intimidated by a lame-ass call for a boycott from some shadowy group of haters. But I kept my mouth shut since the kid who waited on me had an annoying goatee and was wearing an orange bow tie which clashed terribly, even to my usually insensitive eye, with his reddish plaid shirt. Maybe there was a political significance to the outfit which I'm just not hip enough to pick up on. The mere fact that i was at JC Penney on a Saturday night in February is probably a sign that I'm not hip enough to pick up on anything at all.
But we bucked the normal state of the body politic at home and Miz Susan and I took it to the streets last night. We made the slog north on Snelling Avenue to Rosedale and specifically the JC Penney store. Miz Susan had been intrigued by the new-look Sunday ad supplement last week and then this firestorm(?) of controversy boiled over after some lunatic fringe internet presence calling itself OneMillionMoms advocated a boycott against the retail giant. All because Penney's has hired Ellen DeGeneres as one of its advertising mouthpieces.
I've always loved what little I've seen of Ellen DeGeneres. She's smart and funny and self-effacing and she's got those amazing blue eyes. I have no idea how putting her on the JCP payroll is going to boost the Worthington and Stafford and Arizona Jeans brands but she's a heck of a lot more palatable than Martha Stewart. Good gracious, what were those K-Mart advertising geniuses thinking?
I'm sure that there are a bunch of people out there for whom the OneMillionMom crap resonates. But I'd guess that very few of them are card-carrying, dues-paying OMMers. And if even Bill O'Reilly is calling the Moms latter-day McCarthy-era witch hunters, these creeps are probably already slithering back to the shady areas under the rocks where they came from.
There didn't seem to be much sign of a boycott at Penney's last night unless that little miniature choo-choo train that chugged past the mall entrance to the store every once in awhile had a political significance I didn't catch. I ended up dropping 104 bucks in the men's department while Susan was running around the rest of the mall doing God alone knows what. I could have gotten along without almost any of the things I bought but I'll wear 'em and probably ask myself each time I do, "Is this is a great country or what?"
I'd thought that maybe I'd step it up a notch beyond letting my money talk. That I'd tell the clerk that I was there specifically to support Ellen's employment and to ask that he or she pass the word up the chain of command. Here was one consumer who wasn't going to be intimidated by a lame-ass call for a boycott from some shadowy group of haters. But I kept my mouth shut since the kid who waited on me had an annoying goatee and was wearing an orange bow tie which clashed terribly, even to my usually insensitive eye, with his reddish plaid shirt. Maybe there was a political significance to the outfit which I'm just not hip enough to pick up on. The mere fact that i was at JC Penney on a Saturday night in February is probably a sign that I'm not hip enough to pick up on anything at all.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
new year's resolve
Miz Susan and I had, even by our pathetically low standards, a remarkably low intensity New Year's Eve celebration last night. Despite 2-hour naps for both of us earlier in the day, we were both sound asleep by 10:30. It's not the first new year we haven't been awake to welcome and I'm pretty sure that it won't be the last. I'm telling you, we were exhausted by the day's activities.
Susan had walked all the way to Coastal Seafood (and back) for fish for the fish tacos we'd talked about for last night. And I was totally done in by my second workout at the 4-lane lap pool at LA Fitness in the Midway. And, even more draining, the media section at Target looking for movies to follow the fish tacos. She had given me a list of acceptable choices most of which, it turns out, are probably still exclusively in the theaters. So I picked up the one I could find that she'd OK'd but which I'm sure will be too bleak for her and some Meryl-Streep-as-one-of-five-sisters thing. I figured the five sisters theme would at least resonate.
The one movie that I'd thought about before I got to Target was Invictus and, by God, there it was: a spot on the shelf with a sale-price sticker at $3.98. Score!! But it was, of course, out of stock and, though I was given a rain check for the sale price good through February 15th, it's up to me to check back for it. The 15-year old red-shirt "helping" me scornfully told me so. Target Corp. apparently can't be bothered to robo-call or e-mail me when the damn thing comes back into the store. I'm almost certain that there's technology available to do that but they probably don't really want me back for the mere $3.98 sale which they know is about all they'd get out of me. Oh well, I brought the two home and we'll watch those; I'm going to try to slip in The Namesake and The Visitor, both having come highly recommended as uplifting. Lord knows we can stand some uplifting.
With all of this in mind and the TV newscasts reminding me of more important, if not especially uplifting, current events, I'm going to reveal some of my New Year's resolutions. I've never been much for New Year's resolutions given what I know about my basically weak and hungry-for- instant-gratification nature. I'd only've been setting myself up for even more failure and who need's that? But the resolutions I've come up with seem to be ones that even I can stick to.
First of all, I've resolved to withdraw my support for Michele Bachmann's campaign for the GOP nomination for president. And I haven't accepted any juicy payments from the competition to jump ship. It's not that I don't still think she's a great American and the one truest conservative in the race. But everyone else seems to be deserting her and I don't want to miss out on what might be a good idea; there have been so many good ideas that I've missed out on due to pure sloth. I've thought long and hard about all of the other GOP hopefuls and, despite Rick Santorum rocking a sweater vest like nobody else since my 11th grade analytic geometry and trig teacher, I've decided that I'm going to throw my support to Barack Obama. Even if he's never taken me up on my invite to stop by the house (if both he and the White Sox are in town at the same time) to watch the game and drink a couple of Old Styles and maybe sneak a quick smoke out on the back deck with those of our residents also having a tough time kicking the habit.
He is a Republican, right? I assume that he's the front-runner for the GOP nod based on how everybody else has been talking smack about him at the debates. Which he's been skipping to avoid making himself look as stupid as the rest of them have. He seems like the best hope of the party to wrest the White House out of the grips of the evil Dems. I hope that you'll join me in my support of Barack in the coming Iowa caucuses even though I've told Susan that there's no way we're driving down across the state line to caucus for him. After all, it is a school night.
I have also resolved to stop cyber-stalking Justin Bieber and Jessica Alba. It's not that their people have contacted me yet and told me to knock it off but I don't want it to go that far. I'm not sure what my replacement obsessions are going to be but I'm sure that they'll be a little more worthy of me. I could fall back on my old practice of sending off e-mails to record labels begging them to reissue favorite but long unavailable CD's (likely long unavailable because they're no one else's favorites). That's never really borne fruit in the past but it seems like a much healthier pastime. Let me know if you've got any other crusades you'd like me to join. Just so long as they're not the Michele Bachmann campaign.
I'm also going to stop saying petty and snotty things in public forums about Tony Sutton and Amy Koch. I'm just going to let those two fade quietly into the sunset of yesterday's political landscape to enjoy some quality time with their families. Who will be, I'm sure, happy to have them home a little more often. This will leave me only Curt Zellers to badmouth but his new haircuts have been a huge improvement over the former coiffure which I made light of. I may have to hope that he and his fellow (and sister) Repubs actually make big-ass fools of themselves over substantive, public affairs issues to find fodder for mockery. And what are the chances of that? What with the proposed sanctity of marriage amendment vote overshadowing all other pressing matters, there's little hope that the GOPers are going to take any wrong steps. Who says that government needs to step back and just leave us alone to live our lives and pursue our dreams? What a load of hogwash that is.
This is a tough one but I've resolved to stop drinking that $125 a bottle single-malt Scotch whiskey which I've grown fond of. What the hell's wrong wrong with Hudson's Bay Scotch? That's a time-honored name in the distillery business and so what if Hudson's Bay is a wee bit more than a hop, skip and a jump from the heather covered moors and highlands of my forebears? Let's keep it local.
I'm also giving up cigarettes, marijuana, smack, speed, meth, crack cocaine and chewing tobacco. I swear that I'm not going to indulge in these products and I further swear that I'm not going to traffic in them, either. At least not for my own gratification nor financial gain. I'm going to leave those markets to the professionals who are probably far better at what they do than I could ever hope to be. Notice that I said nothing about cigars.
And finally, I'm going to stop saving up my money, a quarter or two at a time, for that Formula 1 race car I've been eying. The thought behind that was that it could help speed me to and from work up and down I-94's W and E not to mention East River Road. Yeah, there are lots of plainly posted speed limits all along those stretches but nobody else seems to pay much attention to them. So, why should I? The cops don't seem to be out all that often either. But if the only thing that the new car can now speed me to at the end of the day is another workout in the 4-lane lap pool at LA in the Midway, then who needs it? If I'm going to pay real money in the way of membership fees to feel as crummy as I do after my not so brisk workouts then why would I really want to be in a hurry to get to them? Now, if it was to come home to running my street drug empire, there might be some compelling reasons to move things along. But, as I wrote above, I've given that stuff up for the New Year.
It seems like even when I keep my New Year's resolutions, I might not be all that much better off than I was before. What the hell!? Happy New Year everyone. Even Michele Bachmann.
Susan had walked all the way to Coastal Seafood (and back) for fish for the fish tacos we'd talked about for last night. And I was totally done in by my second workout at the 4-lane lap pool at LA Fitness in the Midway. And, even more draining, the media section at Target looking for movies to follow the fish tacos. She had given me a list of acceptable choices most of which, it turns out, are probably still exclusively in the theaters. So I picked up the one I could find that she'd OK'd but which I'm sure will be too bleak for her and some Meryl-Streep-as-one-of-five-sisters thing. I figured the five sisters theme would at least resonate.
The one movie that I'd thought about before I got to Target was Invictus and, by God, there it was: a spot on the shelf with a sale-price sticker at $3.98. Score!! But it was, of course, out of stock and, though I was given a rain check for the sale price good through February 15th, it's up to me to check back for it. The 15-year old red-shirt "helping" me scornfully told me so. Target Corp. apparently can't be bothered to robo-call or e-mail me when the damn thing comes back into the store. I'm almost certain that there's technology available to do that but they probably don't really want me back for the mere $3.98 sale which they know is about all they'd get out of me. Oh well, I brought the two home and we'll watch those; I'm going to try to slip in The Namesake and The Visitor, both having come highly recommended as uplifting. Lord knows we can stand some uplifting.
With all of this in mind and the TV newscasts reminding me of more important, if not especially uplifting, current events, I'm going to reveal some of my New Year's resolutions. I've never been much for New Year's resolutions given what I know about my basically weak and hungry-for- instant-gratification nature. I'd only've been setting myself up for even more failure and who need's that? But the resolutions I've come up with seem to be ones that even I can stick to.
First of all, I've resolved to withdraw my support for Michele Bachmann's campaign for the GOP nomination for president. And I haven't accepted any juicy payments from the competition to jump ship. It's not that I don't still think she's a great American and the one truest conservative in the race. But everyone else seems to be deserting her and I don't want to miss out on what might be a good idea; there have been so many good ideas that I've missed out on due to pure sloth. I've thought long and hard about all of the other GOP hopefuls and, despite Rick Santorum rocking a sweater vest like nobody else since my 11th grade analytic geometry and trig teacher, I've decided that I'm going to throw my support to Barack Obama. Even if he's never taken me up on my invite to stop by the house (if both he and the White Sox are in town at the same time) to watch the game and drink a couple of Old Styles and maybe sneak a quick smoke out on the back deck with those of our residents also having a tough time kicking the habit.
He is a Republican, right? I assume that he's the front-runner for the GOP nod based on how everybody else has been talking smack about him at the debates. Which he's been skipping to avoid making himself look as stupid as the rest of them have. He seems like the best hope of the party to wrest the White House out of the grips of the evil Dems. I hope that you'll join me in my support of Barack in the coming Iowa caucuses even though I've told Susan that there's no way we're driving down across the state line to caucus for him. After all, it is a school night.
I have also resolved to stop cyber-stalking Justin Bieber and Jessica Alba. It's not that their people have contacted me yet and told me to knock it off but I don't want it to go that far. I'm not sure what my replacement obsessions are going to be but I'm sure that they'll be a little more worthy of me. I could fall back on my old practice of sending off e-mails to record labels begging them to reissue favorite but long unavailable CD's (likely long unavailable because they're no one else's favorites). That's never really borne fruit in the past but it seems like a much healthier pastime. Let me know if you've got any other crusades you'd like me to join. Just so long as they're not the Michele Bachmann campaign.
I'm also going to stop saying petty and snotty things in public forums about Tony Sutton and Amy Koch. I'm just going to let those two fade quietly into the sunset of yesterday's political landscape to enjoy some quality time with their families. Who will be, I'm sure, happy to have them home a little more often. This will leave me only Curt Zellers to badmouth but his new haircuts have been a huge improvement over the former coiffure which I made light of. I may have to hope that he and his fellow (and sister) Repubs actually make big-ass fools of themselves over substantive, public affairs issues to find fodder for mockery. And what are the chances of that? What with the proposed sanctity of marriage amendment vote overshadowing all other pressing matters, there's little hope that the GOPers are going to take any wrong steps. Who says that government needs to step back and just leave us alone to live our lives and pursue our dreams? What a load of hogwash that is.
This is a tough one but I've resolved to stop drinking that $125 a bottle single-malt Scotch whiskey which I've grown fond of. What the hell's wrong wrong with Hudson's Bay Scotch? That's a time-honored name in the distillery business and so what if Hudson's Bay is a wee bit more than a hop, skip and a jump from the heather covered moors and highlands of my forebears? Let's keep it local.
I'm also giving up cigarettes, marijuana, smack, speed, meth, crack cocaine and chewing tobacco. I swear that I'm not going to indulge in these products and I further swear that I'm not going to traffic in them, either. At least not for my own gratification nor financial gain. I'm going to leave those markets to the professionals who are probably far better at what they do than I could ever hope to be. Notice that I said nothing about cigars.
And finally, I'm going to stop saving up my money, a quarter or two at a time, for that Formula 1 race car I've been eying. The thought behind that was that it could help speed me to and from work up and down I-94's W and E not to mention East River Road. Yeah, there are lots of plainly posted speed limits all along those stretches but nobody else seems to pay much attention to them. So, why should I? The cops don't seem to be out all that often either. But if the only thing that the new car can now speed me to at the end of the day is another workout in the 4-lane lap pool at LA in the Midway, then who needs it? If I'm going to pay real money in the way of membership fees to feel as crummy as I do after my not so brisk workouts then why would I really want to be in a hurry to get to them? Now, if it was to come home to running my street drug empire, there might be some compelling reasons to move things along. But, as I wrote above, I've given that stuff up for the New Year.
It seems like even when I keep my New Year's resolutions, I might not be all that much better off than I was before. What the hell!? Happy New Year everyone. Even Michele Bachmann.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
'tis what kind of a season?
I'm almost looking forward to the political campaigns swinging into high gear. It's the prospect of the onslaught of abrasive nonstop TV ads which brainless glued-to-the-tube morons like me have inflicted on us. It's hard to imagine that I can actually be looking forward to Michele Bachmann spots. You know; the ones in which she contemptuously spits out the mantra of the evils of Obama-care in her very best Minnesota church-basement, nasal whine. I probably should have my head examined.
But I swear that the onslaught of abrasive nonstop Christmas season TV ads from the auto industry has got me on the verge of dreaming of more face time with the likes of the Congresswoman. When you think about it though, the car ads and the Bachmann ads are really cut from just about the same cloth. I doubt that anyone who's bothering to read this needs any additional convincing that she's a truly heinous political boor. Stupid, smug, smarmy, sacrosanct, small-minded, self-important...I could go on. And that's just a few adjectives out of the S section of the dictionary. She is truly the ugly American in ways that Marlon Brando couldn't have come close to bringing to the big screen back in the day.
But the car ads that are making my stomach lurch every morning and have me knocking shit off the kitchen counters in my haste to grab the remote are every bit as ugly and embarrassingly American. Who on God's green earth would seriously be moved to go out and drop something in excess of a middle class annual income on a new holiday Lexus or BMW? Jeez, ya got me. Oh, wait...I know! It's the same heinous boors who are funding Michele Bachmann's run up the flagpole and the same boors who are doing their damnedest to keep anyone with a middle class annual income a permanent part of the lower middle class.
The ideal that these ads paint of a warped, demented, Mercedes-driven American elite is pure fuel for the Occupy crowd. And enough to gag most anyone even a tiny smidge to the left of the GOP boors, louts and oafs who strut their stuff on Capitol Hill these days. Like I said, it's enough to make me wish for grating attack ads from the campaign trail. In those media-bites, you can at least see the actual faces of the ugly Americans instead of the repulsively sanitized models we see in the holiday ads. And this is all the more bitter as the last of the St. Paul Ford Plant workers ponder their futures from the barstools at Tiffany's.
Maybe I'm just feeling a little jaded from too many hours of chasing down used textbooks and checking on an unending supply of just-invented ISBN's attached to textbooks which I will never in a million years chase down as used copies. Maybe I'm jealous that the velvet-collared overcoat crowd can afford new Infinitis (or so we're led to believe) while I can't even afford the cover charge to get onto a dealer's showroom floor to smudge the wax job on one of those damned things.
It must be a seasonal affective thing. I'm even getting tired of hearing Burl Ives's take on Holly Jolly Christmas and Bruce Springsteen's on Santa Claus is Comin'. How un-American is that?
Happy Holidays to all. Count your blessings.
But I swear that the onslaught of abrasive nonstop Christmas season TV ads from the auto industry has got me on the verge of dreaming of more face time with the likes of the Congresswoman. When you think about it though, the car ads and the Bachmann ads are really cut from just about the same cloth. I doubt that anyone who's bothering to read this needs any additional convincing that she's a truly heinous political boor. Stupid, smug, smarmy, sacrosanct, small-minded, self-important...I could go on. And that's just a few adjectives out of the S section of the dictionary. She is truly the ugly American in ways that Marlon Brando couldn't have come close to bringing to the big screen back in the day.
But the car ads that are making my stomach lurch every morning and have me knocking shit off the kitchen counters in my haste to grab the remote are every bit as ugly and embarrassingly American. Who on God's green earth would seriously be moved to go out and drop something in excess of a middle class annual income on a new holiday Lexus or BMW? Jeez, ya got me. Oh, wait...I know! It's the same heinous boors who are funding Michele Bachmann's run up the flagpole and the same boors who are doing their damnedest to keep anyone with a middle class annual income a permanent part of the lower middle class.
The ideal that these ads paint of a warped, demented, Mercedes-driven American elite is pure fuel for the Occupy crowd. And enough to gag most anyone even a tiny smidge to the left of the GOP boors, louts and oafs who strut their stuff on Capitol Hill these days. Like I said, it's enough to make me wish for grating attack ads from the campaign trail. In those media-bites, you can at least see the actual faces of the ugly Americans instead of the repulsively sanitized models we see in the holiday ads. And this is all the more bitter as the last of the St. Paul Ford Plant workers ponder their futures from the barstools at Tiffany's.
Maybe I'm just feeling a little jaded from too many hours of chasing down used textbooks and checking on an unending supply of just-invented ISBN's attached to textbooks which I will never in a million years chase down as used copies. Maybe I'm jealous that the velvet-collared overcoat crowd can afford new Infinitis (or so we're led to believe) while I can't even afford the cover charge to get onto a dealer's showroom floor to smudge the wax job on one of those damned things.
It must be a seasonal affective thing. I'm even getting tired of hearing Burl Ives's take on Holly Jolly Christmas and Bruce Springsteen's on Santa Claus is Comin'. How un-American is that?
Happy Holidays to all. Count your blessings.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
thanks have been given
There's always plenty to give thanks for here on Laurel Avenue, even during the seasons when giving thanks isn't officially recognized with paid days off work. There's usually enough to eat and drink around here and the two new cats give us plenty of laughs. I'm sure that I give Miz Susan plenty of laughs, too, even if some of those are the rueful what-in-the-hell-was-I-thinking sort.
We've moved in and out of the 4-day Thanksgiving season (6 or 7 days if you count the pre-frenzy housekeeping and food-shopping work that the season demands) and we may have slid irretrievably into winter. I suspect this because I just spent a couple of hours shoveling sidewalks and sweeping off cars. I cleaned off 3-4" of the 1-2" which we'd been told to expect from the latest Gulf moisture-sucking low pressure system meets northern cold front event. I ignored that first little blast we had a couple of weeks ago which turned every street in St. Paul into a multi-car pileup just waiting to happen. I didn't bust out the shovels back then; by rights, all of that first snow should have melted off, what with temps getting up into the 40's. But the weather people keep muttering about sun angles and cloud cover and other weather jargon. All this technical talk just seems like lame excuse-making but it might explain why there was still snow on the ground (and our sidewalk) when it snowed again yesterday.
I even cleared off the back deck which is usually Susan's responsibility. That falls to her because I don't really give a good goddamn about clearing off the back deck. It's not like it's warm enough to have dinner out there for awhile, is it? But she seems to think that it makes sense to keep a path clear to get the trash out to the alley. I thought we did just fine last year when we had to drive our garbage up the block and then down the alley because we had like four feet of snow in the back yard. But she's like that and besides she's got certain entertainments out on the deck which require access. Like confirming that rabbits are nasty and messy in all sorts of ways and that we should figure out how to get rid of all of them. If anyone needs rabbits, c'mon over. I don't have any ideas on how to cull the herd legally but I'll take notes if anyone else does.
I guess I'll know it's winter for good when the commutes to and from Brooklyn Park and EnHenn start nudging the hour-plus marker on the dashboard clock. Can't hardly wait. I'm still dabbling with the idea of checking motel rates out there in the NW suburbs. This could come in handy for the nights when the roads are impassable to the point that anyone with enough smarts will wonder if they don't really have to drive home to St. Paul. Let's see: $2.50 in gas in the Toyota vs. $40 for a room at the Motel 6 plus $15 for the big-ass pizza which would cover dinner and breakfast expenses. Not to mention a twelver of MGD. Probably not such a good idea.
At any rate, the back deck is definitely cleared off to the point where I can grill a steak out there. Last winter, the grill got iced over sometime in January and, even if every once in a while I could clear a path to it, it was mostly out of commission for a couple of months. Grilled steak every so often seems like something else to give thanks for.
I also feel like I owe gratitude to someone or something for our lively political scene. My favorite local Republican bigshot, Tony Sutton, just recently announced that he he's quitting his job as state GOP chair and planning to spend more time with his family. That's a nice sentiment though I haven't heard how the family feels about that. Every time I suggest to Miz Susan that I quit my job so as to spend more time with her, she reminds me that I've already tried that and that she thinks that she's still caught up on one-on-one time with me. I will miss Tony though. His conspiracy theorizing after every lost election was always thought-provoking. He'll be missed but, thankfully, Michele Bachmann doesn't seem to be going away anytime soon; her family's possibly made it clear how they feel about her spending more time with them. Just this morning, she was on the GOP-TV Network, oops...I meant the Fox News Network, and she was still promising us that she's going to hold that nasty little Barack Obama accountable for his policies and principles, as if he has any. I love that kind of talk. And I love the thought of her as our President. I'm sort of wondering how she's going to parlay the solid 3% of support she's got (and that's among the party faithful, some of whom can still recognize a nutball when they see one) into a set of keys of her very own to the White House. I know that might make me sound like something of a naysayer. But I am counting on the "suspension" of the Cain campaign to send a surge of energy and money and prospective voters her way. If only Rick Santorum doesn't grab all that swag up first. Hmmmm, Bachmann-Santorum, Santorum-Bachmann. So many candidates and only one spot on the ballot; how's a right-thinking Republican going to make up his or her mind? I guess that, sometimes, there can be too much (or too many) of a good thing. Maybe this is a bounty that we don't have to be all that thankful for.
You know where to find us. Drop us a line about the things you're thankful for.
We've moved in and out of the 4-day Thanksgiving season (6 or 7 days if you count the pre-frenzy housekeeping and food-shopping work that the season demands) and we may have slid irretrievably into winter. I suspect this because I just spent a couple of hours shoveling sidewalks and sweeping off cars. I cleaned off 3-4" of the 1-2" which we'd been told to expect from the latest Gulf moisture-sucking low pressure system meets northern cold front event. I ignored that first little blast we had a couple of weeks ago which turned every street in St. Paul into a multi-car pileup just waiting to happen. I didn't bust out the shovels back then; by rights, all of that first snow should have melted off, what with temps getting up into the 40's. But the weather people keep muttering about sun angles and cloud cover and other weather jargon. All this technical talk just seems like lame excuse-making but it might explain why there was still snow on the ground (and our sidewalk) when it snowed again yesterday.
I even cleared off the back deck which is usually Susan's responsibility. That falls to her because I don't really give a good goddamn about clearing off the back deck. It's not like it's warm enough to have dinner out there for awhile, is it? But she seems to think that it makes sense to keep a path clear to get the trash out to the alley. I thought we did just fine last year when we had to drive our garbage up the block and then down the alley because we had like four feet of snow in the back yard. But she's like that and besides she's got certain entertainments out on the deck which require access. Like confirming that rabbits are nasty and messy in all sorts of ways and that we should figure out how to get rid of all of them. If anyone needs rabbits, c'mon over. I don't have any ideas on how to cull the herd legally but I'll take notes if anyone else does.
I guess I'll know it's winter for good when the commutes to and from Brooklyn Park and EnHenn start nudging the hour-plus marker on the dashboard clock. Can't hardly wait. I'm still dabbling with the idea of checking motel rates out there in the NW suburbs. This could come in handy for the nights when the roads are impassable to the point that anyone with enough smarts will wonder if they don't really have to drive home to St. Paul. Let's see: $2.50 in gas in the Toyota vs. $40 for a room at the Motel 6 plus $15 for the big-ass pizza which would cover dinner and breakfast expenses. Not to mention a twelver of MGD. Probably not such a good idea.
At any rate, the back deck is definitely cleared off to the point where I can grill a steak out there. Last winter, the grill got iced over sometime in January and, even if every once in a while I could clear a path to it, it was mostly out of commission for a couple of months. Grilled steak every so often seems like something else to give thanks for.
I also feel like I owe gratitude to someone or something for our lively political scene. My favorite local Republican bigshot, Tony Sutton, just recently announced that he he's quitting his job as state GOP chair and planning to spend more time with his family. That's a nice sentiment though I haven't heard how the family feels about that. Every time I suggest to Miz Susan that I quit my job so as to spend more time with her, she reminds me that I've already tried that and that she thinks that she's still caught up on one-on-one time with me. I will miss Tony though. His conspiracy theorizing after every lost election was always thought-provoking. He'll be missed but, thankfully, Michele Bachmann doesn't seem to be going away anytime soon; her family's possibly made it clear how they feel about her spending more time with them. Just this morning, she was on the GOP-TV Network, oops...I meant the Fox News Network, and she was still promising us that she's going to hold that nasty little Barack Obama accountable for his policies and principles, as if he has any. I love that kind of talk. And I love the thought of her as our President. I'm sort of wondering how she's going to parlay the solid 3% of support she's got (and that's among the party faithful, some of whom can still recognize a nutball when they see one) into a set of keys of her very own to the White House. I know that might make me sound like something of a naysayer. But I am counting on the "suspension" of the Cain campaign to send a surge of energy and money and prospective voters her way. If only Rick Santorum doesn't grab all that swag up first. Hmmmm, Bachmann-Santorum, Santorum-Bachmann. So many candidates and only one spot on the ballot; how's a right-thinking Republican going to make up his or her mind? I guess that, sometimes, there can be too much (or too many) of a good thing. Maybe this is a bounty that we don't have to be all that thankful for.
You know where to find us. Drop us a line about the things you're thankful for.
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