Eight years ago, would you have voted for George W. Bush if you had known things would end up so terribly? Would you have voted for him if you’d known he would ring in the 21st century with a $10 trillion debt that will be passed along to your children and grandchildren?
If you had known that Iraq had no weapons of mass destruction would you have sided with Bush on the war there? Even if you’d known that 4,100-plus American soldiers would die there to eliminate a dictator who was never a threat to U.S. lives? Do you continue to support the $600 billion war despite its 140,000 civilian deaths and millions of displaced families?
Debt and destruction only begin to describe what has been a disastrous administration. Private-sector job creation has been a sixth of what it was under Bill Clinton. Five million people have fallen into poverty. The number of Americans without health insurance has grown by 7 million, while average premiums have nearly doubled.
Bush’s economic policies have shift the relative tax burden from the rich to the rest. For the top 1 percent of us, the Bush tax cuts are worth, on average, about $1,000 a week; for the bottom fifth, about $1.50.
Sen. John McCain is not President Bush.
He’s worked hard over the past three months to convince you of that and to divorce himself from his embarassing ties to the president. But has he done enough to convince you he would be an appreciable change despite his voting record? How maverick could he be to have agreed with Bush a jaw-dropping 92 percent of the time?
In truth, McCain has become a demagogue of epic proportions. He abandoned his own immigration reform package because it wasn’t politically convenient. In February he voted against a ban on the torture techniques he’d denounced in the past.
His campaign has been characterized by meanness and lies, so much so that it seems obvious that he is willing to replicate some of the same underhanded methods that the Karl Rove machine deployed in 2000 to defeat McCain in South Carolina.
But even if McCain were a true “agent of change,” he’s run an unkind, laughable campaign beginning with the unsettling pick for vice president, Sarah Palin.
The Alaska governor and sprightly simpleton has been a terrible mistake from Troopergate and a $150,000 wardrobe to her disdain for the media and her charge that “pro-America” parts of the country vote red. How could America be expected to support a ticket where one of the candidates can’t even give you a good job description of the office she’s running for? (The vice president “controls the Senate???” What version of the Constitution was she reading?)
Palin has done much more to resurrect Lorne Michaels’ career than to boost McCain’s chances. She has no business being second in line to lead the country, especially considering her running mate is a 72-year-old man whose lifespan, it’s reasonable to expect, will be shaved by his time in a Vietnam torture cell.
Palin aside, McCain’s campaign has been a series of inane clichés: “Drill, baby, drill,” Joe the plumber, Robocalls. Come on. This nation — I hope — is smarter than that. We’re desperate for new ideas and a strong leader who will restore America’s confidence with the rest of the world.
On almost every issue, McCain and Barack Obama say they’ll bring reform, but only Obama has provided a convincing and developed vision. Obama is committed to reform that will restore economic stability while reducing taxes for the vast majority of the population.
Obama has called for greater regulation of the financial system and the creation of a National Infrastructure Reinvestment Bank, which would help patch roads, restore bridges and build mass-transit systems. His plan to transform the nation’s energy policy will mean 5 million green jobs over the next 10 years.
Say what you will about Obama’s relative inexperience. He was a state legislator from 1997 to 2004 and has been a U.S. senator since 2005. There are others who had less than Obama’s 11 years experience in elected office: Andrew Jackson, Teddy Roosevelt, Franklin Roosevelt, George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. They all turned out pretty well.
His steady demeanor, careful analysis of the issues and eloquence are clear improvements over George Bush, who has governed not with intelligence and reason, but from the gut over the past decade. It’s time for the political pendulum to swing more toward careful reason, away from audacious authority for a few years.
Millions will vote for McCain on the notion he fits more with their moral code. But a closer look might change some minds.
In 1999 McCain said he opposed overturning Roe v. Wade. By 2006, he said its demise “wouldn’t bother me any.” This year he no longer supports adding rape and incest as exceptions to his party’s platform opposing abortion.
If abortion is the key point you’re voting on, then John McCain is your guy. That is, until he changes his mind when his position becomes inconvenient.
Catholics should remember that the church’s teaching gives consideration to a host of other important topics, like just conduct in war, a fair economy and working wages, and stewardship of the earth.
I submit that Obama’s view on each of these is decidedly more Catholic than his opponent:
* McCain has been an avid supporter of the deregulated conditions that led to the economic crisis of today. He notoriously said the “fundamentals of the economy are strong.” He has repeatedly sided with Bush on the most fiscally reckless administration in generations. McCain’s current plan to increase tax cuts could only exacerbate today’s dismal conditions.
Obama’s plan has its share of expensive and unrealistic goals, but it is surely more in the direction of fairness and fiscal health.
* Obama favors increasing the federal minimum wage.
McCain voted yes on legislation that would allow employers to pay less than the federal minimum wage if the state set a lower minimum. He has voted against raising the minimum wage 19 times.
The independent Tax Policy Center states McCain's tax cuts would primarily benefit those with very high incomes. It also states Obama’s tax cuts for the middle class will be three times those proposed by McCain. TPC’s Web site states, “Sen. Obama offers much larger tax breaks to low- and middle-income taxpayers and would increase taxes on high-income taxpayers.”
* McCain’s Republican every-man-for-himself ideology opposes publicly funded health care, universal health care or health coverage mandates. He favors tax credits of up to $5,000 for families to get health insurance. He doesn’t aim to do much to provide health care for those who can’t afford it.
Obama's health care plan would implement guaranteed eligibility for affordable health care for all Americans. His plan would reduce the number of uninsured by 18 million by 2009 and 34 million by 2018, covering nearly all children.
* The Sierra Club remarks that Obama has a "strong record of support for clean air, wetlands protection, and clean energy." The League of Conservation Voters in February gave McCain a 2007 score of zero on Senate votes the group sees as important for the environment. He has a lifetime rating of 24 (out of 100) by that group.
Rather than bending to the masses calling for offshore drilling, Obama’s environmental plan would reduce overall U.S. oil consumption by at least 35 percent by 2030 in order to offset imports from OPEC nations. Obama voted in favor of the Energy Policy Act of 2005, which provided incentives to reduce national consumption of energy and to encourage a wide range of alternative energy sources.
* Since the war began in 2003, more than 4,100 American soldiers and more than 1 million Iraqi soldiers and civilians have died. Each one of these deaths could be considered senseless killings given the Bush administration’s admittance that their reason for war, weapons of mass destruction, never existed there.
The war in Iraq has been a national catastrophe both in Iraq and at home.
McCain has supported the war from its inception. Obama opposed it. He would pull the bulk of American troops out of Iraq in a reasonable amount of time. McCain cannot define victory and has no exit strategy.
Our country really has a chance to say something about itself this year, to resurrect its fading image around the world. Barring an unspeakable turnout of silent racists on Nov. 4, Obama should win in a landslide. He has convinced the vast majority of Americans he is the better, brighter, more believable candidate.
McCain’s clueless camp is busy pointing fingers and name calling.
For the first time ever the hallowed words “all men are created equal” will have a new, true meaning in America. The New Yorker put it this way: an Obama victory “could not help but say something encouraging, even exhilarating, about the country, about its dedication to tolerance and inclusiveness, about its fidelity, after all, to the values it proclaims in its textbooks.”
In his convention speech in Denver, Obama said, “Government cannot solve all our problems, but what it should do is that which we cannot do for ourselves: protect us from harm and provide every child a decent education; keep our water clean and our toys safe; invest in new schools and new roads and new science and technology.”
I think you’ll hear more of the same when he’s sworn in this January.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Coping with age
Blue clouds of clove and patchouli drifted upward as paint-splattered Chuck Taylors darted past us in all directions.
A teen-ish emo couple fondled each other on the ground 10 feet away, seemingly oblivious to the hundreds filing into the lawn space around them.
“I feel old,” I told Tee. An understatement given that 90 percent of the crowd was younger than me. Probably more fleet of foot.
“I feel preppy,” she said. Without tie-dye or dreadlocks we were the clear minority.
“I’m straight up trounced, Bro!” Our neighbor’s eyes rolled back and his head flopped forward.
No doubt about it, the four of us were strangers in another world at last night’s Radiohead concert. Two friends, Tiffany and I had gone to Tampa for the show. We were joined by every Bay-area adolescent who skirted curfew or begged off the Blockbuster night shift.
We were a bit uneasy when a hippie’s misshapen tit plopped out of the satchel she was wearing as a makeshift top. Later we were downright shaken when she cheered and a full-on afro erupted from her pits.
At 7 p.m. the opening act, the Liars, ignited in a sort of experimental percussion bomb. The sun setting on their electronic-crap collage was the unofficial wink for smugglers to spark a doob. The smell reminded me of college and my 56-year-old uncle’s room at Grandma’s house. (He still lives at home, get it?!)
Our friend Stacey, preggers for the past four months, ducked under the plume while her reformed husband Brian leaned back for a deeper whiff. This whole adventure was my idea, so if their unborn baby ever fails the third grade, I’ll be indirectly responsible.
I started feeling terrible about the youth around us. I was jealous. It wasn’t so long ago that I was one of those smelly kids, I thought. At age 30 I love my life and my future wife, I just miss the days of guilt-free summers and sneaking around the authorities without a care in the world.
But then, just as I was about to wave a white flag in surrender to my age, Tee pointed to a shining ray of hope, a symbol that would help me get through this night and maybe even bridge the final gap into being an adult!
Nearby a stoner with shoulder-length hair bobbed to the rhythm as the bald spot on the back of his head screamed to me, “Mellow the fuuuuuuuck out, Dude!”
“That’s really sexy,” Tee joked. She’d much rather I have a peppery “do” than a chrome dome. Plus, a hookah-sized patch like this one made the guy look like a real douche bag.
Crazy as it sounds, that quiet bald spot was enough to scream a cheer of solace at me for the night. IT was right – you’re only as old as you feel and I was at a Radiohead concert, the band’s second stop on a huge world tour!
I gulped my pride, dipped back for a deep breath of second-hand smoke and soaked in the music.
The next two hours were blissful, even if my recreational drug — cold beer at $10 a pop — probably cost about the same without delivering half the punch as the illegal substances around us.
We made it home by after midnight. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stayed up that late on a work night. I kissed Tee good-night and nestled my head into a fluffy pillow. Before nodding away I thanked God for great friends, great family, great music and great genes that spared me from male pattern baldness.
The humor of this story ends here. If you care to know about the music of Radiohead, read on below.
As for the concert it was kinda like my take on the band itself: pretty cool, not great. Before the show two huge flat screens broke some bad news to the faraway crowd: “Due to artist request television screens will not be turned on. Thank you for understanding.” That was another way of stating “All you poor schleps who wouldn’t spring for seats are going to have to just sit back and listen.”
Our seats were in the lawn, approximately 7 miles from the stage. The performing band may as well have been surviving members of Color Me Badd.
Radiohead sounded great; they were tight, fluid. Played a good mix of old and new for about two hours. But you go to a concert to watch the band, y’know? This would have been one kick ass show had we actually seen it.
************************************************************************************************
Radiohead setlist, Ford Amphitheatre
All I Need
There There
Lucky
Bangers + Mash
15 Step
Nude
Pyramid Song
Optimistic
Weird Fishes/Arpeggi
National Anthem
Idioteque
You And Whose Army?
Reckoner
Everything In Its Right Place
Airbag
Bodysnatchers
Videotape
First Encore
The Gloaming
The Tourist
Just
Faust Arp
Exit Music (For A Film)
Second Encore
The Bends
House Of Cards
A teen-ish emo couple fondled each other on the ground 10 feet away, seemingly oblivious to the hundreds filing into the lawn space around them.
“I feel old,” I told Tee. An understatement given that 90 percent of the crowd was younger than me. Probably more fleet of foot.
“I feel preppy,” she said. Without tie-dye or dreadlocks we were the clear minority.
“I’m straight up trounced, Bro!” Our neighbor’s eyes rolled back and his head flopped forward.
No doubt about it, the four of us were strangers in another world at last night’s Radiohead concert. Two friends, Tiffany and I had gone to Tampa for the show. We were joined by every Bay-area adolescent who skirted curfew or begged off the Blockbuster night shift.
We were a bit uneasy when a hippie’s misshapen tit plopped out of the satchel she was wearing as a makeshift top. Later we were downright shaken when she cheered and a full-on afro erupted from her pits.
At 7 p.m. the opening act, the Liars, ignited in a sort of experimental percussion bomb. The sun setting on their electronic-crap collage was the unofficial wink for smugglers to spark a doob. The smell reminded me of college and my 56-year-old uncle’s room at Grandma’s house. (He still lives at home, get it?!)
Our friend Stacey, preggers for the past four months, ducked under the plume while her reformed husband Brian leaned back for a deeper whiff. This whole adventure was my idea, so if their unborn baby ever fails the third grade, I’ll be indirectly responsible.
I started feeling terrible about the youth around us. I was jealous. It wasn’t so long ago that I was one of those smelly kids, I thought. At age 30 I love my life and my future wife, I just miss the days of guilt-free summers and sneaking around the authorities without a care in the world.
But then, just as I was about to wave a white flag in surrender to my age, Tee pointed to a shining ray of hope, a symbol that would help me get through this night and maybe even bridge the final gap into being an adult!
Nearby a stoner with shoulder-length hair bobbed to the rhythm as the bald spot on the back of his head screamed to me, “Mellow the fuuuuuuuck out, Dude!”
“That’s really sexy,” Tee joked. She’d much rather I have a peppery “do” than a chrome dome. Plus, a hookah-sized patch like this one made the guy look like a real douche bag.
Crazy as it sounds, that quiet bald spot was enough to scream a cheer of solace at me for the night. IT was right – you’re only as old as you feel and I was at a Radiohead concert, the band’s second stop on a huge world tour!
I gulped my pride, dipped back for a deep breath of second-hand smoke and soaked in the music.
The next two hours were blissful, even if my recreational drug — cold beer at $10 a pop — probably cost about the same without delivering half the punch as the illegal substances around us.
We made it home by after midnight. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stayed up that late on a work night. I kissed Tee good-night and nestled my head into a fluffy pillow. Before nodding away I thanked God for great friends, great family, great music and great genes that spared me from male pattern baldness.
The humor of this story ends here. If you care to know about the music of Radiohead, read on below.
As for the concert it was kinda like my take on the band itself: pretty cool, not great. Before the show two huge flat screens broke some bad news to the faraway crowd: “Due to artist request television screens will not be turned on. Thank you for understanding.” That was another way of stating “All you poor schleps who wouldn’t spring for seats are going to have to just sit back and listen.”
Our seats were in the lawn, approximately 7 miles from the stage. The performing band may as well have been surviving members of Color Me Badd.
Radiohead sounded great; they were tight, fluid. Played a good mix of old and new for about two hours. But you go to a concert to watch the band, y’know? This would have been one kick ass show had we actually seen it.
************************************************************************************************
Radiohead setlist, Ford Amphitheatre
All I Need
There There
Lucky
Bangers + Mash
15 Step
Nude
Pyramid Song
Optimistic
Weird Fishes/Arpeggi
National Anthem
Idioteque
You And Whose Army?
Reckoner
Everything In Its Right Place
Airbag
Bodysnatchers
Videotape
First Encore
The Gloaming
The Tourist
Just
Faust Arp
Exit Music (For A Film)
Second Encore
The Bends
House Of Cards
Seeing Springsteen
Gaylord Entertainment Center, April 12, 2000
The Ties That Bind
The Promised Land
Two Hearts
Darkness on the Edge of Town
Darlington County
Mansion on the Hill (dedicated to Hank Williams)
The River
Youngstown
Murder Inc.
Badlands
Out in the Street
Tenth Avenue Freeze-out
Working on the Highway
The Ghost of Tom Joad
Born in the U.S.A.
Backstreets
First Encore
Light of Day
Bobby Jean
Born to Run
Second Encore
Thunder Road
If I Should Fall Behind
Land of Hope and Dreams
Ramrod
St. Pete Times Forum, April 22, 2008
Backstreets
Radio Nowhere
Lonesome Day
No Surrender
Gypsy Biker
4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)
Growin' Up
Atlantic City
Because the Night
Darkness on the Edge of Town
She's the One
Livin' in the Future
The Promised Land
Waitin' on a Sunny Day
Brilliant Disguise
Racing in the Street
The Rising
Last to Die
Long Walk Home
Badlands
Out in the Street
Encore
I'll Fly Away
Rosalita
Born to Run
Tenth Avenue Freeze-out
American Land
September 12, 2009, Ford Amphiteatre
Badlands
Out In The Street
My Lucky Day
Spirit In The Night
Outlaw Pete
She's The One
Working On A Dream
Seeds
Johnny 99
Point Blank
Raise Your Hand
All Or Nothin' At All (first since 1992!)
Growin' Up
Jole Blon (Cajun standard)
Waiting On A Sunny Day
The Promised Land
Racing In The Streets
Lonesome Day
The Rising
Born To Run
Encore
Hard Times
Rosalita
American Land
Bobby Jean
Dancing In The Dark
Hungry Heart
Thunder Road
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Now entering the blogosphere: a short bio
Hello, everyone! If you're reading this, I'll assume you're either friend, family or foe looking to plot my demise. Let's hope you're a member of the former two groups. And if you're foe, well then, I just HATE you... and I hate your ... ass... FACE!
I'm a southern boy born and raised in Clarksville, Tenn. (Now hiring!) When I was 9 my folks and I moved to the 'burbs -- Bucolic Sango where no mailbox is safe from marauding teens and tobacky barns outnumber blacks 500 to 0. My parents raised me to be a real good writer. And they also had two other guys, who I'm proud to call my brothers. Sadly, Jonathan and Luke didn't come along until I was 10 and 13, respectively. A lonely child, I grew up with pretend friends, Tooteo and Tatteo. They were nice, but never returned calls.
I'm two months from turning 30. I'm a proud alum of my beloved University of Tennessee. I attended that grand facility from 1996-2000, during which time I did significant damage to my internal organs attending Volunteer football games. I consider myself incredibly blessed to have been enrolled there when Super Bowl MVP Peyton Manning was a classmate and when the Vols became the very first National Champion under the current, if flawed, BCS system.
We went 13-0 in 1998 and celebrated that January with a glorious party experience when we floated as many kegs in two nights as we had victories in four months. Along the way I helped storm the field when we beat the villainous Florida Gators [Suck it, Spurrier.].
I was a journalism major who somehow found work in my field after college. In one of the more questionable moves of my life, I relocated from Knoxville back home to the Queen (Latefah?) City. I was hired by the Fort Campbell Courier, a small weekly publication that allowed me to pretty much write whatever I wanted, within reason. There I met some good friends and good writers most of whom would eventually serve in Iraq.
After two and a half years I needed a change. The drunken, humdrum nightlife wasn't quite filling the void. And the dreary winters had taken their toll. I sent my unspectacular resume across the Sunshine State in search of greener pastures.
And boy, did I find them.
In Oct. 2003, I received a call from what would become the best boss I ever had, Kim Folstad who was editor of the Marco Island Eagle. After my first conversation with her, I knew I was coming to Florida. I just knew it. I interviewed in November, and was taken out to lunch with a wonderful trio of future co-workers, one of whom would become the love of my life, Tiffany. More on her later.
By the first week of December, my father and I had driven all my things down to Naples, Fla., and I was working as a general assignment reporter at The Eagle. My first New Year's was spent on Miami Beach with a friend. It was sunny and a perfect 73 degrees on Jan. 1, 2004. I knew then that I'd made the right decision.
Tiffany and I flirted around a bit in the early summer of that year and by July 4 we were creating fireworks of our own on the coast of Marco Island. We've been going strong ever since. (Tee is a gorgeous Louisiana girl and LSU grad who takes delight anytime her Tigers beat the Vols thanks to ill-timed interceptions thrown by Eric Ainge.)
After a couple years' resume building, we incredibly both got jobs at the Bradenton Herald. Tiffany became one of Bradentucky's premiere features writers. I was a GA, once again, but made may way up through the ranks to become the primary pain in the ass of Manatee County government. Yes, the meetings are long and boring, but it's fulfilling work since much of the community's biggest news stories come from the county seat.
We live happily with our two cats, Rube and Tiny whose name has become an ironic misnomer. Our cozy condo is seven minutes from the beach, 15 minutes from Sarasota, 25 minutes from St. Pete and about seven hours from our home towns.
I'm going to wrap up this chapter of the blog and start on another now. If you've read this far, thanks for tuning in. I look forward to posting plenty of stuff on this handy new blog, including opinions, thoughts and lists of my favorite things. I'll try to keep it fun and light-hearted as possible. Your feedback is welcome, but negative comments will be cut into little pieces.
I'm a southern boy born and raised in Clarksville, Tenn. (Now hiring!) When I was 9 my folks and I moved to the 'burbs -- Bucolic Sango where no mailbox is safe from marauding teens and tobacky barns outnumber blacks 500 to 0. My parents raised me to be a real good writer. And they also had two other guys, who I'm proud to call my brothers. Sadly, Jonathan and Luke didn't come along until I was 10 and 13, respectively. A lonely child, I grew up with pretend friends, Tooteo and Tatteo. They were nice, but never returned calls.
I'm two months from turning 30. I'm a proud alum of my beloved University of Tennessee. I attended that grand facility from 1996-2000, during which time I did significant damage to my internal organs attending Volunteer football games. I consider myself incredibly blessed to have been enrolled there when Super Bowl MVP Peyton Manning was a classmate and when the Vols became the very first National Champion under the current, if flawed, BCS system.
We went 13-0 in 1998 and celebrated that January with a glorious party experience when we floated as many kegs in two nights as we had victories in four months. Along the way I helped storm the field when we beat the villainous Florida Gators [Suck it, Spurrier.].
I was a journalism major who somehow found work in my field after college. In one of the more questionable moves of my life, I relocated from Knoxville back home to the Queen (Latefah?) City. I was hired by the Fort Campbell Courier, a small weekly publication that allowed me to pretty much write whatever I wanted, within reason. There I met some good friends and good writers most of whom would eventually serve in Iraq.
After two and a half years I needed a change. The drunken, humdrum nightlife wasn't quite filling the void. And the dreary winters had taken their toll. I sent my unspectacular resume across the Sunshine State in search of greener pastures.
And boy, did I find them.
In Oct. 2003, I received a call from what would become the best boss I ever had, Kim Folstad who was editor of the Marco Island Eagle. After my first conversation with her, I knew I was coming to Florida. I just knew it. I interviewed in November, and was taken out to lunch with a wonderful trio of future co-workers, one of whom would become the love of my life, Tiffany. More on her later.
By the first week of December, my father and I had driven all my things down to Naples, Fla., and I was working as a general assignment reporter at The Eagle. My first New Year's was spent on Miami Beach with a friend. It was sunny and a perfect 73 degrees on Jan. 1, 2004. I knew then that I'd made the right decision.
Tiffany and I flirted around a bit in the early summer of that year and by July 4 we were creating fireworks of our own on the coast of Marco Island. We've been going strong ever since. (Tee is a gorgeous Louisiana girl and LSU grad who takes delight anytime her Tigers beat the Vols thanks to ill-timed interceptions thrown by Eric Ainge.)
After a couple years' resume building, we incredibly both got jobs at the Bradenton Herald. Tiffany became one of Bradentucky's premiere features writers. I was a GA, once again, but made may way up through the ranks to become the primary pain in the ass of Manatee County government. Yes, the meetings are long and boring, but it's fulfilling work since much of the community's biggest news stories come from the county seat.
We live happily with our two cats, Rube and Tiny whose name has become an ironic misnomer. Our cozy condo is seven minutes from the beach, 15 minutes from Sarasota, 25 minutes from St. Pete and about seven hours from our home towns.
I'm going to wrap up this chapter of the blog and start on another now. If you've read this far, thanks for tuning in. I look forward to posting plenty of stuff on this handy new blog, including opinions, thoughts and lists of my favorite things. I'll try to keep it fun and light-hearted as possible. Your feedback is welcome, but negative comments will be cut into little pieces.
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