Sex and the City (Politic), Curse of the Cursive, Summer Memories

I blame the Yankees. 

You might have noticed I'm blogging less often these days. It's not for lack of something to say, but rather because I'm spending hours watching NY Yankees baseball games. I had every intention of blogging Sunday afternoon but wound up hooked on the Yankees-Orioles game. After Mariano Rivera blew his second save of the season by giving up a two-run homer to Adam Jones in the top of the ninth, I was too depressed to write. 

That explains Sunday. What about the rest of the week? Well, most Yankees games are in the evening, so I while away (some would say, waste away) my time staring at the TV screen. I better finish this blog and post it before the first pitch this evening. ...

Sex and the City: Now that Eliot Spitzer has declared his candidacy for comptroller of New York City on the heels (stiletto heels?) of Anthony Weiner’s bid to become mayor, it is not too presumptuous to say the Big Apple has a taste for scandal-plagued politicians. I don’t mean that disrespectfully. I never really followed Weiner’s rise (pun intended) to stardom, but I was a fan of the former governor. Two years ago when Spitzer appeared on Real Time with Bill Maher and began writing Op-Ed pieces I foresaw his return to politics. You might not agree with his zeal or holier-than-thou attitude (not really tempered since his fall from grace), but one cannot deny that his positions are progressive and that he voices noble sentiment for the masses not often heard from most politicians.  

Will Weiner’s and Spitzer’s sexual indiscretions hamper their electability? Doubtful. Even in socially conservative areas like South Carolina and Georgia voters supported Mark Sanford and Newt Gingrich despite their failure to live up to their wedding vows. And many New Yorkers still like Rudy Giuliani despite his less than faithful allegiance to his former wife. 

Bottom line—As long as their campaign platforms don’t undermine their name recognition advantage, Weiner and Spitzer are in strong positions to win their contests.

Curse of the Cursive: When I went off to journalism graduate school at Syracuse University back in the late summer of 1971, I took along for hanging on my apartment wall a copy of the Declaration of Independence reprinted on the full back page of the first section of the July 4th edition of The New York Times. (Time out for a short history lesson: for those who might not be aware of it, the Declaration was not in fact signed on July 4, 1776. Independence was voted on and declared on July 2. The text of the Declaration was adopted by the Continental Congress on July 4. Most of the signatures were affixed on August 2. And that famous picture of the delegates signing the document, which hangs in the rotunda of the Capitol—never happened. A figment of the artist’s imagination.)

Back to the point at hand. It was, admittedly, not easy reading the text of the Declaration. Written in script common to the colonial era—a large lower case “f” where an “s” would normally be, and other oddities of the day—the document is dense reading, in its appearance and content. When I left Syracuse the following June with my diploma I didn’t take the Declaration with me. No matter. Each July 4 The Times would reprint a copy. Sometimes at Independence Day barbecues my friends and I would read the text out loud, haltingly, to be sure, as we struggled to decipher the cursive writing. 

I’m not sure if this was the first year The Times did it, but it was the first time I noticed the newspaper no longer reprints the Declaration in its original form across the full back page of the first section. Instead, the reproduction is an inset while the text is printed in regular type. Sure, it’s easier to read, but is The Times sending a subtle message that our population’s script-reading skills have deteriorated to the point where a majority of us cannot read cursive writing? For a look at some of the debate on the value of cursive writing, check out these articles and opinion pieces: http://query.nytimes.com/search/sitesearch/#/cursive+handwriting/365days/

Summer Memories: While we’re on the subject of the Fourth of July, I was reminded that for 15 years I attended summer camp but cannot recall with any clarity any celebration of our nation’s birthday. True, these were Jewish, Zionist, sleepaway camps in the 1950s and 1960s, but we did raise the American flag every day and pledged allegiance. 

What I do vividly recall is another commemoration, more somber. Tisha B’Av. The ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av, the day attributed to many calamities that befell the Jewish people through the ages, including the destruction of the First and Second Temples in, respectively, 586 BCE and 70 CE. 

Tisha B’Av is a fast day, and since Jewish days begin at sunset, we’d eat dinner early. After the meal the staff would rearrange the dining hall, turning benches over on their sides. Lights were shut off. On top of every bench, four to a bench, candles inside scooped out potatoes, were placed, to provide light by which we sang the Book of Lamentations. You can imagine the first impression this austere ceremony had on a boy of seven, and my subsequent years at camp. The fireworks of the Fourth of July did not hold a candle to the evocative sorrow of Tisha B’Av. Tisha B’Av will begin next Monday night. 

Media Daze

Every time I hear Eliot Spitzer I get sooooo angry. Not because I don’t like him. Rather, because I generally agree with what he says and his fall from grace has deprived New York and country of a leader who could have made a difference. Now, he’s just another talking head, albeit one who makes sense and isn’t too pompous and self-righteous. Like most pols, he has an ego, but he’s working hard to control it.

The former governor and attorney general of New York, or Client #9 in the federal sex probe that cost him his leadership of New York State and potential national candidacy, is now a host on Current TV. Yesterday he was interviewed on WNYC’s Leonard Lopate Show. ‘Twas an earnest analysis of issues, well worth your listening to: http://www.wnyc.org/shows/lopate/2012/may/02/eliot-spitzers-viewpoint/

Holy Communion: I find myself in the unusual position of agreeing with some of the positions emanating from the Catholic Church. I support its call for a higher minimum wage in New York. 

But my real communion is for the criticism Catholic bishops have heaped on Rep. Paul Ryan, a fellow Catholic, for his budget proposal that would strip government support for the needy. As explained by Father Thomas Reese of Georgetown University on Tuesday’s The Colbert Report, the Catholic hierarchy believes Ryan’s budget would cut benefits to the poor and hungry while enriching the rich. 

Here’s a clip of Stephen Colbert’s interview with Father Reese. You’ll also see and hear how duplicitous politicians can be and how easy it is to expose them in this age of everything-you-say-is-recorded-and-will-be-played-back-at-some-future-date: http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/413499/may-01-2012/paul-ryan-s-budget---thomas-reese.

Let’s Get Real: Over lunch yesterday I caught up with last Friday’s Real Time with Bill Maher. I won’t tax you with another link. Instead, here’s a quote from Bill himself I thought was particularly cogent: 

“Mitt Romney is running on the question, ‘Can I run this economy better than Barack Obama?’ 

“How can you run on this idea that I’m going to take over an economy that my party ruined?” 

Like Maher, I’m baffled that anyone, even die-hard Republicans, would believe the ideas of the party that turned a record surplus into two debt-producing wars and an unpaid prescription drug benefit program could be palatable to any voter with memory.

Catch Up, Not Ketchup: Here’s another example of why my wife is a foodie. For years Gilda’s been an advocate of dark meat when it comes to eating chicken. It seems the rest of the consuming world is catching up to her. Cluck along as you read this: http://m.apnews.com/ap/db_268802/contentdetail.htm?contentguid=Wff78MGb

Rider of the Purple Sage: Last weekend Gilda enlisted me (notice I didn’t volunteer) to help with some yard work. Heavy lifting stuff, like moving five 50 lb. bags of potting soil. After she trimmed some bushes I collected the discarded branches, some for kindling, the rest for collection by city crews. I noticed the pile of brush resembled a tumbleweed, which brought back memories of my one and only trip to Reno 34 years ago. I was in Nevada to cover the opening of a J.C. Penney catalog distribution center. 

As I sped down the highway—everybody speeds along Nevada highways—I saw tumbleweeds blowing towards me. There were tumbleweeds in every lane. They were as wide as my car. Have you ever collided with a tumbleweed? I hadn’t. I’m not ashamed to say I was pretty scared. I couldn’t take any evasive action. We collided. At least that’s what I think happened, for you see, when a tumbleweed hits a car it vaporizes into thin air. All that frenzy and fear for nothing more than “poof!” 

Victory, At Last: I had expected to post this blog entry last night but wound up enthralled by the triple overtime NY Rangers 2-1 win over the Washington Capitals in the second round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. The game, which started at 7:40, didn’t end until 12:14 am this morning. 

During high school and through college I was a rabid hockey fan; I lost interest in the Rangers when most, if not all, of my favorite players retired or were traded. My passion renewed during the Mark Messier era of the early 1990s. When Messier delivered on his promise of a Stanley Cup in 1994, the first one for the Rangers in 54 years, I was the most happy for any championship any of my teams in any sport ever won. When the Rangers let Messier go in a contract dispute a year or so later, my allegiance became dormant again. I didn’t follow the team during this past regular season, so I’m a little lost recognizing players by their numbers or faces. Nonetheless, the viewing intensity is still there. 

Watching Stanley Cup hockey wears you out. Scoring is typically low; every touch of the puck can be a game changer, every miscue can result in a goal, or a fantastic save. Gilda was fast asleep when the game ended, so I couldn’t shout “goooooal” when Marian Gaborik poked a perfect pass from Brad Richards through the pads of Washington goalie Braden Holtby to finally end the contest four and a half hours after it began. Sudden death. Sudden victory. 

Catching Up

Just back from four nights in Finley-land. It’s a lot easier being a grandparent than a parent. I’m sure all grandparents adore their grandkids, but I must say, had our children been as “easy” as Finley, Gilda and I definitely would not have stopped at two.

As babies, Dan and Ellie resisted going to bed early, and when they did finally succumb they wouldn’t let Gilda sleep more than two hours in any one stretch, even into their toddling years (for those wondering why Gilda suffered and I didn’t, as much, it’s because she was breastfeeding them). Finley, on the other hand, adheres to a schedule. Most nights, without complaint, he’s put to bed around 7 and doesn’t wake up until 3ish, then it’s back to bed till around 7. He takes two hour naps in the morning and afternoon. He smiles a lot, plays by himself, doesn’t require constant holding. He even enjoys the solid, or rather mush, food he’s getting—peaches, peas, bananas and, his favorite, apple sauce. His “dessert” treat is a few swigs of water through a double handled tippy-cup.

Sorry if I’m gushing like a proud granddad. Can’t help it. (For more on the wunderkid, plus pictures, visit http://findingfinley.blogspot.com.)

Being with Finley finally triggered my decision to pick GM as my grandparent name. I had previously rejected GM (Grandpa Murray) in deference to my nephew-in-law’s prior employment with the Ford Motor Co. But the more I thought about it, including my recent blog reminder about Henry Ford’s anti-semitism, the less inclined I was to honor that decision. So GM it is, along with GG for Grandma Gilda.


Fearless Prediction 1: My last political prediction was that President Obama would pick Hillary Clinton to succeed John Paul Stevens on the Supreme Court as a means of diffusing partisan debate on the nomination and also to remove any possibility that she would consider running for president in 2012. I also thought it was important to have at least one Protestant on the court (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2010/04/justice-for-clinton.html).

Well, unless Elena Kagan really muffs it as she begins today her Senate confirmation process, my fearless prediction will have to wait until another vacancy arises (hopefully on the Conservative—hard to call it simply Republican—side of the bench).

It was no comfort to read Noah Feldman’s Op/Ed piece in today’s NY Times that six Catholics and three Jews on the Supreme Court would be a good thing (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/28/opinion/28feldman.html?scp=1&sq=noah%20feldman&st=cse). Feldman may be a law professor at Harvard, but I believe he is wrong. The strength of this country lies in its diversity and acceptance of different cultures. Yes, it’s wonderful that White Anglo-Saxon Protestants (WASPs) no longer have a stranglehold on power. But it is equally important their views and heritage be incorporated into the deliberations of our highest (not necessarily the best) legal minds.


Fearless Prediction 2: The McChrystal debate raged on in Mamaroneck yesterday. Was the four-star general shrewd or not in venting before a Rolling Stone reporter? I’m not going to relate the arguments put forward at the afternoon get-together. But I will go on the record with my next fearless political prediction:

Stanley McChrystal will be touted as a 2012 Republican presidential candidate. Never mind that he doesn’t have any elective office background. Forget that he disregarded the chain of command, that he dissed the president, the vice president and countless other civilian officials. All those “negatives” will be viewed as positives by Republicans, especially Tea Partiers.

Like McClellan during the Civil War and MacArthur during the Korean War, he’s a military man who will seek the White House, or at the very least be sought after as the GOP savior-warrior. Maybe it’s the “Mic” sound at the start of their names that hotwires all these generals to go rogue and defy their commanders-in-chief.

Can you really trust someone who eats just one meal a day? Sounds very Bin Ladenish to me.


Fearless Observation: My observation that Eliot Spitzer was riding high and hard on the rehabilitation trail (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2010/04/fear-of-falling.html) proved accurate with the announcement last Wednesday that he will co-host a new CNN prime time talk show beginning in the fall. Seems hardly a week goes by without some politician or public figure being ensnared in a sex scandal. The public’s ability to keep track of all the dirty linen would be sorely tested if not for all of the celebrity gossip shows, YouTube videos and our overall fascination with sleeze.

The more I learn about our nation’s history the more I am coming to understand this fixation is not new, that the Internet, TV and gossip magazines are mere instruments of our sexual hangups and curiosity. As far back as Dolley Madison, if not earlier, politicians and pundits wondered if the presidency was sullied, even obtained, by sexual favors.

So let the pols play on. It diverts our attention from such pressing matters as immigration reform, energy policy, peace in the Mideast and any number of other issues that cloud the national debate on whether Al and Tipper or Bill and Hillary are representative of marriage today.


Return of the Wasps: Notwithstanding my earlier comment about the need for more WASPs on the Supreme Court, I was surprised this afternoon by the return of a wasp to my master bathroom. Over the years wasps have filtered down from the attic through the fan vent above the shower. Curiously, this year the fly-ins rarely occurred. I wondered if wasps were suffering the same vanishing fate as bees.

As much as I dislike, even fear, wasps, they do provide a service, eating up other insects. But my tolerance has its limits. Invade my living quarters, and you no longer enjoy my hospitality, as this afternoon’s wasp found out.