I probably live more than 90% of my waking hours in jeans. Most of my jeans are carpenter style, not because I’m a handyman sort of guy. Quite the contrary. Gilda can convulse you with stories of my manual ineptitude, such as the time I tried to change a shower head in our previous home and gave up in frustration, only to have to hear for more than two decades now how Gilda simply walked into the shower and easily unscrewed the unwanted head. My insistence that I loosened the head has been unable to quiet her counter-insistence that I am physically challenged when it comes to handiwork.
Question: How many husbands named Murray does it take to change a shower head?
Answer: None. It takes a Gilda.
Enough of those “fond” memories and oh-so-true jokes. This is my blog, not Gilda’s, and I’m here (presumably, you too) to celebrate my achievements, not hers.
As I was saying, I live in carpenter jeans. For one simple reason—I like to carry my cell phone in the side leg pocket, where a real carpenter might carry one of his tools, such as a screwdriver. It’s a modern day version of the low-slung six-gun holster of the Old West. I never liked the look of a phone hanging from a belt or pants waist. A leg pocket is also more convenient than a regular pocket for reaching for a phone when in a car.
Having said all that, I was rather frustrated with a pair of Lee carpenter pants that in all ways but one served their purpose rather well. It wasn’t the leg pocket that disturbed me. Rather, it was the small, right side front pocket where I normally carry change, a nail clipper and lip balm. For some strange reason, Lee makes the pocket too shallow to be effective. I tolerated the condition for several months, but this morning couldn’t take it anymore. Looking closer at the pocket, it appeared the depth actually could be adequate if not for a double seam that appeared to cut the pocket in half. I plucked away at the seams, eager to either secure a proper pocket or resolved to destroy an otherwise perfectly good pair of jeans.
It’s an admittedly small accomplishment to report that my jeans are now perfect, small when compared to what many of you might accomplish today, such as signing a new sales contract, or writing a story, or helping a patient live a healthier life. But we on the home front take our victories where they come. And for me, having a better pair of jeans is a true-blue benefit.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Life Goes On
You never know how dispensable you are until you see life going on without you.
By life, I’m not referring to “life,” what your family and friends experience after you’ve passed on. Rather, I mean the everyday business of what passed as your daily activity, be it gainful employment or volunteer community work, or whatever kept you occupied while breathing.
No one is irreplaceable, we used to say at my old employer whenever someone left, voluntarily or otherwise. That truism has more meaning to me in the last few days.
For just the second time in the last 22 years I am not participating in and overseeing my former magazine’s signature, 3-1/2 day retail conference and exposition, SPECS (the first time being in 1996 when my mother died the day I was to fly to the event). SPECS ends today, concluding its 46th year as the premiere conference serving those involved in designing, building and maintaining stores. (SPECS is an acronym for Store Planning Equipment Construction Services Seminar.)
While overall registration at SPECS is down from a year ago when roughly 1,200 attended, it’s a function of the economy, not my absence. The same reason holds true for any softness in magazine and Internet advertising. That now old political line, “It’s the economy, stupid,” really does apply here.
Part of me wants to reject the notion I no longer am needed, that my successors as editor and publisher and chairman of SPECS have trekked on successfully without me. But more of me is proud I did what any good leader is supposed to do—I left in place managers who could assume command at a moment’s notice.
I might have been missed by some SPECS attendees, the same way I missed seeing old friends. But I learned early in my career as a journalist that the public cares more for the product than any one individual.
In business, with rare exceptions, we are all dispensable.
By life, I’m not referring to “life,” what your family and friends experience after you’ve passed on. Rather, I mean the everyday business of what passed as your daily activity, be it gainful employment or volunteer community work, or whatever kept you occupied while breathing.
No one is irreplaceable, we used to say at my old employer whenever someone left, voluntarily or otherwise. That truism has more meaning to me in the last few days.
For just the second time in the last 22 years I am not participating in and overseeing my former magazine’s signature, 3-1/2 day retail conference and exposition, SPECS (the first time being in 1996 when my mother died the day I was to fly to the event). SPECS ends today, concluding its 46th year as the premiere conference serving those involved in designing, building and maintaining stores. (SPECS is an acronym for Store Planning Equipment Construction Services Seminar.)
While overall registration at SPECS is down from a year ago when roughly 1,200 attended, it’s a function of the economy, not my absence. The same reason holds true for any softness in magazine and Internet advertising. That now old political line, “It’s the economy, stupid,” really does apply here.
Part of me wants to reject the notion I no longer am needed, that my successors as editor and publisher and chairman of SPECS have trekked on successfully without me. But more of me is proud I did what any good leader is supposed to do—I left in place managers who could assume command at a moment’s notice.
I might have been missed by some SPECS attendees, the same way I missed seeing old friends. But I learned early in my career as a journalist that the public cares more for the product than any one individual.
In business, with rare exceptions, we are all dispensable.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Who's in Control?
Spent my birthday weekend visiting with Finley and family. The little guy is now three and a half months old, starting to gain control of the family schedule. It now revolves around his nap times (there seems to be a consistent napping theme in our family).
At a comparable age, his father, Dan, had control of our family, but in a much more negative way. Dan didn’t really nap. Dan, and by extension, his parents, suffered through severe colic. I went off to work every day, but Gilda had to contend with a baby who demanded he be held all the time and constantly cried. Each day when I'd call home around noon, the story was the same. Our beautiful-looking baby was a terror to live with, requiring total attention.
Most days Gilda found relief when I came home to assume primary responsibility for carrying Dan around until bedtime. When I traveled, however, she was on her own, and that could lead to almost inhumane torture. In late January, when Dan was a little more than three months old, I went to a conference for several days. When I came home, I called out but got no response. Gilda's car was in the driveway, the stroller was in the hallway, so they should have been home. But where were they?
As I made my way through the house the mystery remained unsolved. I entered our bedroom and heard some whimpering. I pulled back the comforter to discover Gilda and Dan. At wit's end, she had retreated with Dan to our bed, pulled the covers over their heads and resigned herself to endure until I came home. Both were crying.
I’d like to say Dan got better upon my return. He didn’t. Days turned to weeks turned into a month with no visible or audible improvement. I began to wonder how long Gilda’s sanity would last, how long she could hold out without breaking, without retaliating.
In late February I called home as usual around noon. No answer. 12:30—no answer. 1—no answer. 1:30—no answer. Gilda usually told me if she planned to go out around the time I would be calling. 2 pm—no answer. 2:30—no answer. Every half hour, no answer. Until 5 pm, when I normally called to say I was leaving work. Gilda answered the phone, not a trace of anything unusual in her voice. I asked where she had been. She giggled. I asked again. She giggled louder, a tinge of mystery now in her laugh. Seriously, where had you been? Maniacal laughter was her reply.
Thinking back to my discovery of her covered in bed, crying, I panicked and thought the worse. Gilda, I said, where’s Danny? Put Danny on the phone!
Now she really exploded in laughter, for she, too, deduced what I was thinking and fearing. She tried to reassure me everything, including Danny, was okay, but I was inconsolable and determined to get an explanation, not when I came home, but now, on the phone.
Turned out, Danny had woken up that morning happy as a lark, so Gilda took advantage of the moment by bundling him up in the car and going to my cousin in Middletown, NY. Paul was a jeweler. Gilda went to buy a gift for my 30th birthday.
It was a wonderful present, but even in the thoughtfulness of the gesture, it was controlled by the youngest among us.
Postscript—Dan’s colic lasted until he was five and a half months old. After that, he repaid his taxing times by being the most carefree, happy and easy to raise child you’d ever imagine.
At a comparable age, his father, Dan, had control of our family, but in a much more negative way. Dan didn’t really nap. Dan, and by extension, his parents, suffered through severe colic. I went off to work every day, but Gilda had to contend with a baby who demanded he be held all the time and constantly cried. Each day when I'd call home around noon, the story was the same. Our beautiful-looking baby was a terror to live with, requiring total attention.
Most days Gilda found relief when I came home to assume primary responsibility for carrying Dan around until bedtime. When I traveled, however, she was on her own, and that could lead to almost inhumane torture. In late January, when Dan was a little more than three months old, I went to a conference for several days. When I came home, I called out but got no response. Gilda's car was in the driveway, the stroller was in the hallway, so they should have been home. But where were they?
As I made my way through the house the mystery remained unsolved. I entered our bedroom and heard some whimpering. I pulled back the comforter to discover Gilda and Dan. At wit's end, she had retreated with Dan to our bed, pulled the covers over their heads and resigned herself to endure until I came home. Both were crying.
I’d like to say Dan got better upon my return. He didn’t. Days turned to weeks turned into a month with no visible or audible improvement. I began to wonder how long Gilda’s sanity would last, how long she could hold out without breaking, without retaliating.
In late February I called home as usual around noon. No answer. 12:30—no answer. 1—no answer. 1:30—no answer. Gilda usually told me if she planned to go out around the time I would be calling. 2 pm—no answer. 2:30—no answer. Every half hour, no answer. Until 5 pm, when I normally called to say I was leaving work. Gilda answered the phone, not a trace of anything unusual in her voice. I asked where she had been. She giggled. I asked again. She giggled louder, a tinge of mystery now in her laugh. Seriously, where had you been? Maniacal laughter was her reply.
Thinking back to my discovery of her covered in bed, crying, I panicked and thought the worse. Gilda, I said, where’s Danny? Put Danny on the phone!
Now she really exploded in laughter, for she, too, deduced what I was thinking and fearing. She tried to reassure me everything, including Danny, was okay, but I was inconsolable and determined to get an explanation, not when I came home, but now, on the phone.
Turned out, Danny had woken up that morning happy as a lark, so Gilda took advantage of the moment by bundling him up in the car and going to my cousin in Middletown, NY. Paul was a jeweler. Gilda went to buy a gift for my 30th birthday.
It was a wonderful present, but even in the thoughtfulness of the gesture, it was controlled by the youngest among us.
Postscript—Dan’s colic lasted until he was five and a half months old. After that, he repaid his taxing times by being the most carefree, happy and easy to raise child you’d ever imagine.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Happy Bear-day
Do you share a birthday with anyone you know? Not just the date you were born, but the actual day?
I do.
For years I would tell people I was born on the date the Alamo fell, March 6. Now I tell people I was born the same exact day (and same year, for those who may be confused about this) as Maxine Clarke.
Most people reading this blog probably never heard of Maxine. Her business title is Chief Executive Bear. She is the founder and head of Build-A-Bear Workshops.
I’ve known Maxine for close to 30 years, but only in the last 10 or so did we discover our birthday link. When I first encountered her, Maxine was VP Marketing for Venture Stores, a poor facsimile of Target Stores. Based in St. Louis, Venture was part of the May Department Stores Company. Led by David Farrell, known in the retail industry as King David, May had a steel-firm policy of not talking to the press. Under his direction and that of Julius Seeherman, chairman of Venture, Maxine kept a tight lip. Even after she left Venture to be president of Payless ShoeSource, at the time another May division which was spun off, Maxine kept a profile lower than her under-five-foot stature.
In 1997, after leaving Payless, Maxine developed the idea for Build-A-Bear and opened her first store in St. Louis. She’s been talking to me about her project from the get-go and has become one of the more accessible executives I have ever met. The company is now publicly traded and has more than 400 stores around the world.
There are few, if any, more imaginative, creative, effervescent, community-minded and dedicated retailers than Maxine. She and husband Bob Fox have no children of their own, but millions of kids cherish the loving companions they created through her entrepreneurial genius.
I do.
For years I would tell people I was born on the date the Alamo fell, March 6. Now I tell people I was born the same exact day (and same year, for those who may be confused about this) as Maxine Clarke.
Most people reading this blog probably never heard of Maxine. Her business title is Chief Executive Bear. She is the founder and head of Build-A-Bear Workshops.
I’ve known Maxine for close to 30 years, but only in the last 10 or so did we discover our birthday link. When I first encountered her, Maxine was VP Marketing for Venture Stores, a poor facsimile of Target Stores. Based in St. Louis, Venture was part of the May Department Stores Company. Led by David Farrell, known in the retail industry as King David, May had a steel-firm policy of not talking to the press. Under his direction and that of Julius Seeherman, chairman of Venture, Maxine kept a tight lip. Even after she left Venture to be president of Payless ShoeSource, at the time another May division which was spun off, Maxine kept a profile lower than her under-five-foot stature.
In 1997, after leaving Payless, Maxine developed the idea for Build-A-Bear and opened her first store in St. Louis. She’s been talking to me about her project from the get-go and has become one of the more accessible executives I have ever met. The company is now publicly traded and has more than 400 stores around the world.
There are few, if any, more imaginative, creative, effervescent, community-minded and dedicated retailers than Maxine. She and husband Bob Fox have no children of their own, but millions of kids cherish the loving companions they created through her entrepreneurial genius.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
A Hitchcockian Note
I love my Toyota Avalon XLS. I’m also very thankful it’s relatively old, a 2002 model, so far unaffected by recall-mania.
It’s my second Avalon, the first one being a 1999 lease. I bought the current transport when the lease offered in 2002 was 30% higher for a car whose sticker price remained the same, plus the dealer wanted about $2,500 up front.
Not being hung up having to drive the newest and flashiest car means I have kept most of my wheels for double-digit years. In 1999, it was time to replace my 13-year-old Mazda 626 which had replaced my 13-year-old Chevy Vega. Nothing really wrong with it, but Gilda and I were turning 50 and she thought it was time for us to get a grown-up car. So I test-drove our friend Jacob’s Avalon on the way to another friend’s son’s bar-mitzvah party in the city and liked it. I haven’t regretted the decision. Nor has anyone, especially larger than average passengers, who have sat in the back, as there’s plenty of room there even behind the driver’s seat.
Only one sign signals the age of my black beauty. Actually, it’s more than one sign. It’s multiple signs. Along the right rear passenger door is a series of pock marks where the door from Gilda’s car has claimed territorial rights in our garage. No matter how careful Gilda tries to be, the Jeep door invariably opens into, and I do mean into, the Avalon’s door. That’s another reason I’m not rushing out to replace the Avalon. I can’t imagine being so tolerant and forgiving is she were beating up a new car.
But I do hope Toyota fixes its problems quickly. By the time I’m ready for a new car I want to have renewed confidence in their product.
Snow Days Feedback: Reader feedback is always exciting and welcome, but a comment on my recent Snow Days blog (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2010/02/snow-days.html) made me scurry around town to find its meaning. Here’s the message: 酒店美女照片.
I didn’t know which language it was, much less what it meant, so this morning I made the rounds of our Korean dry cleaner and a Japanese grocer, only to be told it was Chinese. I remained frustrated because four Chinese restaurants I stopped at had not opened. Finally, a Chinese worker at an Oriental food mart translated the missive: “Liquor store pretty lady picture.”
Damned if I know what that’s supposed to mean. If Alfred Hitchcock were still alive I’m sure he could use it as a clue in one of his mysteries.
Spring Alert: The calendar still says winter but there are telltale signs of spring. Seen lots of robins around the bird feeders lately. More significantly, three times in the last two days I’ve noticed men walking around in shorts.
Be alert—daylight savings time begins 2 am March 14. We lose an hour’s sleep as the clock moves ahead by one hour.
Nap Time Followup: Speaking of sleep, after seeing my recent blog on napping (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2010/02/nap-time.html), Gilda clipped an article from Tuesday’s free Metro newspaper. “Naps, diabetes linked” blared the headline above a story of a Chinese study of 20,000 adults, 50 and older. According to Reuters, the study found people who usually napped four to six days of the week were more likely to suffer from type 2 diabetes. About 15% had diabetes vs. about 12% for those who napped less often or not at all.
Despite being thin, I’m proof that weight has nothing to do with susceptibility to diabetes. I’m borderline; I try to avoid sweets as much as possible. I also try to stay away from processed starches and carbohydrates that turn into sugar once digested. Hard not to eat good bread when dining out, though.
Despite my resident medical expert’s constant care (for those not aware, Gilda is a nurse practitioner), here’s some dietary advice sure to amuse you from Dr. Sum Ting Wong, passed along by my friend Milton who received it from a mutual friend, Walter: http://misty20001.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!5F44E10329175E2F!925.entry.
The Good Doctor: One more medical note—the other day I watched The Last Angry Man, starring Paul Muni as a dedicated general practitioner in the Brownsville section of Brooklyn in the late 1950s. A good, not great movie from 1959, but one with deep overtones and uncanny prescience to not only the current health care debate but also to the spate of reality shows flooding the airwaves. Rent it or catch it next time it’s on Turner Classic Movies.
Political Forecast: Joe Biden will be 70 years old in 2012. Assuming he and Obama win re-election, he’d be 74 at the end of their second term, too old to seek the presidency. My prediction—despite being a good vice president, Biden will either choose not to run again or be eased into making that decision. Obama will select Evan Bayh as his replacement. Bayh will be 57 in 2012.
Though he recently announced he won’t seek re-election to the Senate because he is fed up with the Washington bickering scene, Bayh would make a strong VP candidate. He’s a moderate, has shown he can win even in GOP-leaning Indiana and, if the Democrats maintain control of the White House in 2012, Bayh gives them a chance to extend their hold even longer. Remember, you read it first here.
It’s my second Avalon, the first one being a 1999 lease. I bought the current transport when the lease offered in 2002 was 30% higher for a car whose sticker price remained the same, plus the dealer wanted about $2,500 up front.
Not being hung up having to drive the newest and flashiest car means I have kept most of my wheels for double-digit years. In 1999, it was time to replace my 13-year-old Mazda 626 which had replaced my 13-year-old Chevy Vega. Nothing really wrong with it, but Gilda and I were turning 50 and she thought it was time for us to get a grown-up car. So I test-drove our friend Jacob’s Avalon on the way to another friend’s son’s bar-mitzvah party in the city and liked it. I haven’t regretted the decision. Nor has anyone, especially larger than average passengers, who have sat in the back, as there’s plenty of room there even behind the driver’s seat.
Only one sign signals the age of my black beauty. Actually, it’s more than one sign. It’s multiple signs. Along the right rear passenger door is a series of pock marks where the door from Gilda’s car has claimed territorial rights in our garage. No matter how careful Gilda tries to be, the Jeep door invariably opens into, and I do mean into, the Avalon’s door. That’s another reason I’m not rushing out to replace the Avalon. I can’t imagine being so tolerant and forgiving is she were beating up a new car.
But I do hope Toyota fixes its problems quickly. By the time I’m ready for a new car I want to have renewed confidence in their product.
Snow Days Feedback: Reader feedback is always exciting and welcome, but a comment on my recent Snow Days blog (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2010/02/snow-days.html) made me scurry around town to find its meaning. Here’s the message: 酒店美女照片.
I didn’t know which language it was, much less what it meant, so this morning I made the rounds of our Korean dry cleaner and a Japanese grocer, only to be told it was Chinese. I remained frustrated because four Chinese restaurants I stopped at had not opened. Finally, a Chinese worker at an Oriental food mart translated the missive: “Liquor store pretty lady picture.”
Damned if I know what that’s supposed to mean. If Alfred Hitchcock were still alive I’m sure he could use it as a clue in one of his mysteries.
Spring Alert: The calendar still says winter but there are telltale signs of spring. Seen lots of robins around the bird feeders lately. More significantly, three times in the last two days I’ve noticed men walking around in shorts.
Be alert—daylight savings time begins 2 am March 14. We lose an hour’s sleep as the clock moves ahead by one hour.
Nap Time Followup: Speaking of sleep, after seeing my recent blog on napping (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2010/02/nap-time.html), Gilda clipped an article from Tuesday’s free Metro newspaper. “Naps, diabetes linked” blared the headline above a story of a Chinese study of 20,000 adults, 50 and older. According to Reuters, the study found people who usually napped four to six days of the week were more likely to suffer from type 2 diabetes. About 15% had diabetes vs. about 12% for those who napped less often or not at all.
Despite being thin, I’m proof that weight has nothing to do with susceptibility to diabetes. I’m borderline; I try to avoid sweets as much as possible. I also try to stay away from processed starches and carbohydrates that turn into sugar once digested. Hard not to eat good bread when dining out, though.
Despite my resident medical expert’s constant care (for those not aware, Gilda is a nurse practitioner), here’s some dietary advice sure to amuse you from Dr. Sum Ting Wong, passed along by my friend Milton who received it from a mutual friend, Walter: http://misty20001.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!5F44E10329175E2F!925.entry.
The Good Doctor: One more medical note—the other day I watched The Last Angry Man, starring Paul Muni as a dedicated general practitioner in the Brownsville section of Brooklyn in the late 1950s. A good, not great movie from 1959, but one with deep overtones and uncanny prescience to not only the current health care debate but also to the spate of reality shows flooding the airwaves. Rent it or catch it next time it’s on Turner Classic Movies.
Political Forecast: Joe Biden will be 70 years old in 2012. Assuming he and Obama win re-election, he’d be 74 at the end of their second term, too old to seek the presidency. My prediction—despite being a good vice president, Biden will either choose not to run again or be eased into making that decision. Obama will select Evan Bayh as his replacement. Bayh will be 57 in 2012.
Though he recently announced he won’t seek re-election to the Senate because he is fed up with the Washington bickering scene, Bayh would make a strong VP candidate. He’s a moderate, has shown he can win even in GOP-leaning Indiana and, if the Democrats maintain control of the White House in 2012, Bayh gives them a chance to extend their hold even longer. Remember, you read it first here.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Scarlett O'Hara Palin
Did you see her last night? Did you see Sarah Palin doing stand-up on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno as part of her victory sprint through the psyche of the American electorate as she refashions her image? (To view several segments of her appearance, go to http://www.hulu.com/search?query=sarah+palin+on+tonight+show&st=1.)
Oh, she’s so cute and so disingenuous as she explains that joining Fox News as a contributing commentator was her way of trying to bring back fair and balanced reporting to the national media. Only someone delusional could believe and say with a straight face that Fox News was fair and balanced.
She plays the perfect victim—she’s the Scarlett O’Hara of politics. Whenever exposed for contradictions, inconsistencies or incompetency, she smiles away her predicament and the darlin’ public melts. Even Tina Fey’s dead-on satiric caricature she now uses to her advantage, to humanize a calculating politician, for who doesn’t like a pol who can’t take a joke? But the joke’s on us.
Trust me when I tell you that from the get-go I considered Sarah Palin long-term trouble for the Democratic Party and the country at large. Like many, I laughed at her naivete and just plain dumbness. But I quickly realized that her “aw-shucks” traits would strike a deep chord with many of the electorate who have proven time and again they vote with their hearts, not their minds, they vote with their rose-colored, patriotic, bi-focaled mis-beliefs rather than their pocketbook balances.
Sarah Palin is just one of us, they believe. She, along with George W. Bush, give rise to the absurd belief that anyone can be president. No! Anyone should not become president. I want someone who’s smarter than I am. I want someone in the Oval Office who understands economics, understands world history and diplomacy, who understands science (OK, maybe not an A student, but at least someone who doesn’t let religion undermine scientific advancement). I want someone who understands sociology, who understands how people interact, and can do so for the greater good. I want someone who did not major in cafeteria, as I did.
Sarah Palin. She’s not the problem. The problem is we are a nation of too many idiots. Too many crazies.
We’ve allowed our “government of the people, by the people, for the people” to become a government captive of fringe people.
I don’t consider Sen. Kay Hutchinson to be a moderate. But compared to Gov. Rick Perry of Texas, she is. So she lost her state’s primary bid for the gubernatorial nomination because she was considered to be too centrist.
Our nation is polarizing. It used to be along racial lines, then economic lines. We increasingly are carved up into too many non-interlocking segments. We’re no longer a melting pot stew of shared experiences and aspirations. We’re a stew of conflicting emotions and prejudices.
Politics used to be the art of compromise. Today, politics is the art of deception. Of obstruction. At least with Sarah Palin, her script is out in the open. She’s obvious, to a fault. And that’s the truly scary thing—too many of our fellow citizens are drinking her Kool-Aid.
Oh, she’s so cute and so disingenuous as she explains that joining Fox News as a contributing commentator was her way of trying to bring back fair and balanced reporting to the national media. Only someone delusional could believe and say with a straight face that Fox News was fair and balanced.
She plays the perfect victim—she’s the Scarlett O’Hara of politics. Whenever exposed for contradictions, inconsistencies or incompetency, she smiles away her predicament and the darlin’ public melts. Even Tina Fey’s dead-on satiric caricature she now uses to her advantage, to humanize a calculating politician, for who doesn’t like a pol who can’t take a joke? But the joke’s on us.
Trust me when I tell you that from the get-go I considered Sarah Palin long-term trouble for the Democratic Party and the country at large. Like many, I laughed at her naivete and just plain dumbness. But I quickly realized that her “aw-shucks” traits would strike a deep chord with many of the electorate who have proven time and again they vote with their hearts, not their minds, they vote with their rose-colored, patriotic, bi-focaled mis-beliefs rather than their pocketbook balances.
Sarah Palin is just one of us, they believe. She, along with George W. Bush, give rise to the absurd belief that anyone can be president. No! Anyone should not become president. I want someone who’s smarter than I am. I want someone in the Oval Office who understands economics, understands world history and diplomacy, who understands science (OK, maybe not an A student, but at least someone who doesn’t let religion undermine scientific advancement). I want someone who understands sociology, who understands how people interact, and can do so for the greater good. I want someone who did not major in cafeteria, as I did.
Sarah Palin. She’s not the problem. The problem is we are a nation of too many idiots. Too many crazies.
We’ve allowed our “government of the people, by the people, for the people” to become a government captive of fringe people.
I don’t consider Sen. Kay Hutchinson to be a moderate. But compared to Gov. Rick Perry of Texas, she is. So she lost her state’s primary bid for the gubernatorial nomination because she was considered to be too centrist.
Our nation is polarizing. It used to be along racial lines, then economic lines. We increasingly are carved up into too many non-interlocking segments. We’re no longer a melting pot stew of shared experiences and aspirations. We’re a stew of conflicting emotions and prejudices.
Politics used to be the art of compromise. Today, politics is the art of deception. Of obstruction. At least with Sarah Palin, her script is out in the open. She’s obvious, to a fault. And that’s the truly scary thing—too many of our fellow citizens are drinking her Kool-Aid.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Cover Story
As the editor and publisher of a business magazine on retailing, I let my staff have wide latitude with the articles they wrote. They decided which topics to cover and how to frame the issues involved. In short, I was a mostly hands-off editor.
Except when it came to main feature articles, the ones usually reserved for cover stories. Those articles commanded my interest. If I disagreed with a writer’s premise and presentation, I would counsel change. If the writer resisted, I permitted a rebuttal. But if I remained unconvinced and the writer continued to persist, I invoked my authority as chief editor, and my responsibility to lead, to run the story the way I wanted it to read.
A little more than a year ago I had high expectations for progressive, thoughtful leadership at the highest national level. Today, I am a frustrated citizen, frustrated that Barack Obama, along with Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi, have allowed both Republican and Democrat senators and congressmen to usurp their leadership roles. Obama, in particular, is trying to be a conciliator. All fine and dandy. But what we need is a leader, someone who viscerally demonstrates he was elected president because of his ideas and programs, not because he possessed the traits of a nursery school teacher trying to get all the kiddies to play nice together.
Reid and Pelosi, with Obama’s assistance, must strong arm, yes, strong arm, their members to vote the party line. Pass legislation through reconciliation, just like the GOP did when it was in power but lacked the super majority needed to fend off a filibuster. Stop being Mr. Nice Guys. There’s too much at stake.
A few weeks ago the president, his secretary of defense and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff came out in favor of allowing gay men and women to serve openly in the armed services. Last week, two top generals testified they opposed such a move. Fine. They are constitutionally allowed to express opinions. But let them do so as private citizens. If they can’t support their commander in chief, the defense secretary and the top ranking military officer, they should either resign or be fired for insubordination. Sometimes, you need to kick some ass to show you really mean what you say. Bush fired the general who disagreed with the assessment of how many troops it would take to control Iraq. Bush was criticized for it, but he showed conviction, however wrong he turned out to be. Obama has to back up words with action.
Obama let the health care debate be framed by others, inside and outside his party. Last week he tried to corral kittens at the health care forum at Blair House. Nice theater. Poor leadership. Obama was elected with the largest majority in decades in the House and Senate. He has squandered the opportunity to use that leverage to enact his agenda.
I am proud that we have a cerebral president. But I want a little more action, more leadership. I want to support a second Obama term based on accomplishments, not out of fear of Palin or Romney or some other far-right yahoo who believes that tearing down government is the answer to our national problems.
At the end of the day, who’s imprint will be on the cover story for this administration? Obama’s or someone else’s?
Except when it came to main feature articles, the ones usually reserved for cover stories. Those articles commanded my interest. If I disagreed with a writer’s premise and presentation, I would counsel change. If the writer resisted, I permitted a rebuttal. But if I remained unconvinced and the writer continued to persist, I invoked my authority as chief editor, and my responsibility to lead, to run the story the way I wanted it to read.
A little more than a year ago I had high expectations for progressive, thoughtful leadership at the highest national level. Today, I am a frustrated citizen, frustrated that Barack Obama, along with Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi, have allowed both Republican and Democrat senators and congressmen to usurp their leadership roles. Obama, in particular, is trying to be a conciliator. All fine and dandy. But what we need is a leader, someone who viscerally demonstrates he was elected president because of his ideas and programs, not because he possessed the traits of a nursery school teacher trying to get all the kiddies to play nice together.
Reid and Pelosi, with Obama’s assistance, must strong arm, yes, strong arm, their members to vote the party line. Pass legislation through reconciliation, just like the GOP did when it was in power but lacked the super majority needed to fend off a filibuster. Stop being Mr. Nice Guys. There’s too much at stake.
A few weeks ago the president, his secretary of defense and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff came out in favor of allowing gay men and women to serve openly in the armed services. Last week, two top generals testified they opposed such a move. Fine. They are constitutionally allowed to express opinions. But let them do so as private citizens. If they can’t support their commander in chief, the defense secretary and the top ranking military officer, they should either resign or be fired for insubordination. Sometimes, you need to kick some ass to show you really mean what you say. Bush fired the general who disagreed with the assessment of how many troops it would take to control Iraq. Bush was criticized for it, but he showed conviction, however wrong he turned out to be. Obama has to back up words with action.
Obama let the health care debate be framed by others, inside and outside his party. Last week he tried to corral kittens at the health care forum at Blair House. Nice theater. Poor leadership. Obama was elected with the largest majority in decades in the House and Senate. He has squandered the opportunity to use that leverage to enact his agenda.
I am proud that we have a cerebral president. But I want a little more action, more leadership. I want to support a second Obama term based on accomplishments, not out of fear of Palin or Romney or some other far-right yahoo who believes that tearing down government is the answer to our national problems.
At the end of the day, who’s imprint will be on the cover story for this administration? Obama’s or someone else’s?
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