Inter-Galactic Memo
To: All personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: I’m back . . . .
12-19-09
I’m back. Back from the brink, back from almost being an ex-human, at best a Zombie and at worst some nameless corpse lying in St James Infirmary.
Having read my daughters less-than-respectful announcement concerning my recent run of bad luck, I wish to set the record straight.
I was in fact kidnapped, and whisked to the Planet Zorg where I was tortured by mean Zorgians who ride T-Rex’s bare-back—that’s how mean they are.
The Zorgians, having coalesced into doctors, nurses and relatives, will be getting theirs. That’s all I have to say about that.
A quick update will have to suffice for the moment since being conscious for more than a 5 minute stretch brings on bouts of coughing violent enough to have created the word “lunger.”
It was the worst and best experience I have ever had. The worst because I almost died, and the best because I didn’t.
I am learning about muscles I didn’t know I had, all of which I apparently abused during my enforced incarceration. I am learning what “weak as a kitten” means. Our kitten, Frankie, routinely beats me not only at fly-batting now, but chess and Monopoly as well.
I believe I am learning the things this experience is meant to be teaching me. This is good and bad news for some of you. Good in that I am still teachable, bad in that I will be coming to some of your houses to pass along messages from the other side.
I am going to keep a journal for the next 6 months or so, and then maybe write a book, which I will call The Heart Attack. So keep those coupons if you prayed for me; they can be redeemed for a free copy.
One quick anecdote. (I was in a coma for about five days, so this comes from my daughter, Jessica.)
At some point—which she counts as blessed because it was the first time I looked up and recognized anyone—I asked her if she had any idea how many people were praying for me. She told me no, how many?
“About a hundred million,” I apparently answered. I laughed with everyone else when she told us the story, but now that I’ve had time to think about it, I believe my estimate was correct. I felt them. All my ancestors were helping, and all the people on this side as well.
There is a wonderful funeral scene in The Thirteenth Warrior where a woman is chanting her husband’s death.
“Lo, there do I see my Father,” she intones as she is raised above the waiting bier.
“Lo, there do I see my Mother.”
“Lo, there do I see my brothers and my sisters and the line of my people back to the beginning. They call to me, and bid me join them in Valhalla.”
That’s what it felt like to have the powers of Heaven called down and my spirit told to stay, it was not my time. Like it was all of them.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
IGM Nobel Prize
Inter-Galactic Memo
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: Nobel Prize
10-09-09
Which do we suppose was more inevitable? That the President would win the Nobel Peace Prize, or that I would comment on it? (Actually, I don’t think there are levels of inevitability—a thing either is or isn’t.) The Nobel committee is an autonomous organization and is free to choose anyone they want for any prize they want to award. As unbelievable as it is, they do not consult with me on these matters. Obama is the third President to be so honored, but the others had managed to do something first. Even the President’s supporters are stumped as to the choice, stumbling over themselves to let us know that it is the great hope and promise for a better, more peaceful world for which the President was selected. Jimmy Carter, another winner, came out first thing this morning to assure us all that it is the hope Obama engenders that makes him such a good candidate. Lech Walesa, another winner (for being instrumental in freeing Poland and the Eastern Bloc—an actual achievement) made a statement this morning saying that the prize for Obama was premature.
It would be possible, without a great deal of effort, to be critical of this choice. I would never do such a thing, but others are piling it on with gusto. But if I had known that all you had to do was talk about doing great things, make promises about doing great things, I would have been vying for the Prize years ago. Watch: “I hereby promise to do everything in my power and spend every waking minute (unless I’m playing basketball or vacationing or pitching Chicago for the Olympics or campaigning for re-election, etc.,) to make the world a better, more peaceful place . . . oh, and do away with all nuclear weapons.” There, now can I have my $250,000? C’mon, I promised! What more do you want?
This sounds a lot like some of my students who want to know why they are failing.
“Because you have an F on all your assignments,” I tell them.
“But I did them all! I should be passing!” Or; “because you haven’t done any assignments.” “but I come to class every day!”
This is the new idea of awarding potential rather than actual work in order to protect the sacrosanct concept of “self-esteem”. I guess Norway has jumped onboard.
Remember the good old days when merit was based on achievement? Boy, I miss all that.
If the Nobel Committee wanted to award a Peace Prize to someone, they should pick a person with a lifetime of commitment, effort, success, and achievement. I nominate Joan Baez. She has been consistently speaking out for peace and non-violence for fifty years, giving hundred of concerts as fund raisers, visiting the oppressed—sometimes at great personal risk—and enduring the ire of her fellow activists when she goes off-reservation in order to remain consistent with her principles. She is far more eligible than the President.
Obama has been President for nine months. So far he has managed to build an international cult of personality, and spend a gazillion virtual dollars. He talks a good game. And he has made a lot of grandiose promises about hope and change. But so far, he hasn’t actually accomplished anything noteworthy. (Unless you count that cool photo op with Air Force One over New York City or losing the bid for the Olympics.) I hope he accomplishes great things for this country, I really do. But I agree with Lech; this award is premature.
BTW---The deadline for nominations was last February, which means Obama had been President for less than a month when he was nominated. Go figure.
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: Nobel Prize
10-09-09
Which do we suppose was more inevitable? That the President would win the Nobel Peace Prize, or that I would comment on it? (Actually, I don’t think there are levels of inevitability—a thing either is or isn’t.) The Nobel committee is an autonomous organization and is free to choose anyone they want for any prize they want to award. As unbelievable as it is, they do not consult with me on these matters. Obama is the third President to be so honored, but the others had managed to do something first. Even the President’s supporters are stumped as to the choice, stumbling over themselves to let us know that it is the great hope and promise for a better, more peaceful world for which the President was selected. Jimmy Carter, another winner, came out first thing this morning to assure us all that it is the hope Obama engenders that makes him such a good candidate. Lech Walesa, another winner (for being instrumental in freeing Poland and the Eastern Bloc—an actual achievement) made a statement this morning saying that the prize for Obama was premature.
It would be possible, without a great deal of effort, to be critical of this choice. I would never do such a thing, but others are piling it on with gusto. But if I had known that all you had to do was talk about doing great things, make promises about doing great things, I would have been vying for the Prize years ago. Watch: “I hereby promise to do everything in my power and spend every waking minute (unless I’m playing basketball or vacationing or pitching Chicago for the Olympics or campaigning for re-election, etc.,) to make the world a better, more peaceful place . . . oh, and do away with all nuclear weapons.” There, now can I have my $250,000? C’mon, I promised! What more do you want?
This sounds a lot like some of my students who want to know why they are failing.
“Because you have an F on all your assignments,” I tell them.
“But I did them all! I should be passing!” Or; “because you haven’t done any assignments.” “but I come to class every day!”
This is the new idea of awarding potential rather than actual work in order to protect the sacrosanct concept of “self-esteem”. I guess Norway has jumped onboard.
Remember the good old days when merit was based on achievement? Boy, I miss all that.
If the Nobel Committee wanted to award a Peace Prize to someone, they should pick a person with a lifetime of commitment, effort, success, and achievement. I nominate Joan Baez. She has been consistently speaking out for peace and non-violence for fifty years, giving hundred of concerts as fund raisers, visiting the oppressed—sometimes at great personal risk—and enduring the ire of her fellow activists when she goes off-reservation in order to remain consistent with her principles. She is far more eligible than the President.
Obama has been President for nine months. So far he has managed to build an international cult of personality, and spend a gazillion virtual dollars. He talks a good game. And he has made a lot of grandiose promises about hope and change. But so far, he hasn’t actually accomplished anything noteworthy. (Unless you count that cool photo op with Air Force One over New York City or losing the bid for the Olympics.) I hope he accomplishes great things for this country, I really do. But I agree with Lech; this award is premature.
BTW---The deadline for nominations was last February, which means Obama had been President for less than a month when he was nominated. Go figure.
IGM: Brilliant Idea
Inter-Galactic Memo
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: Brilliant Plan
10-09-09
I was having a conversation with a colleague (who will remain nameless in order to avoid prosecution) the other day. She (or he!) mentioned something a friend’s teacher-father told her/him years ago. The teacher thought if all the teachers at a school could choose five students and “take them out” at the beginning of the year, he thought he might be able to endure an entire career of facing adolescents.
Hmmmmmm . . . I think there might be some merit to this tongue-in-cheek fantasy. Let us reason together:
Let’s say we waited until the official count in September and then had a day during which every teacher could submit five names of problem children to be removed. Three weeks would be plenty of time to ascertain existing and potential problems. We could all have a two or three-tiered list of five kids each. If two or more teachers submitted the same name, that kid would be snatched and we would be allowed to submit another student from the next tier. Say we had 80 teachers. That would be 400 students; ostensibly the worst discipline problems in the building. Class sizes would be reduced and leveling would be simpler. Time and money spent on discipline and all its attendant challenges would plummet. The consumption of anti-depressants, anti-anxiety and anti-psychotic drugs would be drastically reduced, turn over would go down . . . there’s no down-side! Think of the money we’d save.
I suppose we don’t have to actually shoot them. We could expel them for the year and let them try again next year. Oh, and this might be effective; anyone sent home during the “Teacher day of Deliverance” would be expected to pay tuition from then on, having abrogated their right to a free education due to inappropriate and unacceptable behavioral issues. Whatever the Community College is charging should suffice. Now, all you teachers out there sit back and relax, close your eyes for a moment and think about that handful of students who are causing you such pain and misery. Imagine them gone, the class quiet and reasonably well behaved, learning taking place. Would not, in this one case, the end justify the means?
Okay, open your eyes again. Welcome back to reality.
This message was brought to you by Prozac—the “teachers choice.”
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: Brilliant Plan
10-09-09
I was having a conversation with a colleague (who will remain nameless in order to avoid prosecution) the other day. She (or he!) mentioned something a friend’s teacher-father told her/him years ago. The teacher thought if all the teachers at a school could choose five students and “take them out” at the beginning of the year, he thought he might be able to endure an entire career of facing adolescents.
Hmmmmmm . . . I think there might be some merit to this tongue-in-cheek fantasy. Let us reason together:
Let’s say we waited until the official count in September and then had a day during which every teacher could submit five names of problem children to be removed. Three weeks would be plenty of time to ascertain existing and potential problems. We could all have a two or three-tiered list of five kids each. If two or more teachers submitted the same name, that kid would be snatched and we would be allowed to submit another student from the next tier. Say we had 80 teachers. That would be 400 students; ostensibly the worst discipline problems in the building. Class sizes would be reduced and leveling would be simpler. Time and money spent on discipline and all its attendant challenges would plummet. The consumption of anti-depressants, anti-anxiety and anti-psychotic drugs would be drastically reduced, turn over would go down . . . there’s no down-side! Think of the money we’d save.
I suppose we don’t have to actually shoot them. We could expel them for the year and let them try again next year. Oh, and this might be effective; anyone sent home during the “Teacher day of Deliverance” would be expected to pay tuition from then on, having abrogated their right to a free education due to inappropriate and unacceptable behavioral issues. Whatever the Community College is charging should suffice. Now, all you teachers out there sit back and relax, close your eyes for a moment and think about that handful of students who are causing you such pain and misery. Imagine them gone, the class quiet and reasonably well behaved, learning taking place. Would not, in this one case, the end justify the means?
Okay, open your eyes again. Welcome back to reality.
This message was brought to you by Prozac—the “teachers choice.”
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Igm Bid for the Olympics
Inter-Galactic Memo
To: All personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: The bid for the Olympics
10-06-09
Well, President Obama did his best. He flew Air Force One (along with the two Air Force heavy-lifters, a dozen automobiles, a few helicopters and about a hundred people) over to Denmark in order to show the IOC how serious we all were about getting Chicago into the games. That’s what we all wanted, right? Actually, I didn’t even know Chicago was in the running so I may not have been as enthusiastic as the President might have hoped.
There has been some talk—criticism even, if you can believe it—about whether or not stumping for an Olympic bid is worthy of his time and attention. Nonsense. What else has he got to do? Health Care is tanking, he’s ignoring Afghanistan, and Michelle apparently has all the clothes and hamburgers she needs. So by all means, why not make a bid for a City—not the country mind you, just one of its cities.
But here’s the unbelievable part; he didn’t get it. The leader of the free world flies his (admittedly impressive) entourage all the way to Copenhagen, talks to hundreds of people, wines and dines them, explains why he should get things his way, and after all that, he loses.
Here’s what I think happened, and I assumed it would pan out this way the moment I heard what he was doing. The President goes out of his way to curry favor with the IOC, lending the prestige of his office and his personal cache to the effort. This had to be seen as a blatant attempt to pressure the committee into doing his bidding, and would inevitably become a pissing contest. The IOC had to save face, show the world in no uncertain terms that it was not the toady of the United States. The moment Obama paid any attention to the selection process, Chicago was doomed. It was the worst thing he could have done for the effort, and I’m surprised no one mentioned this at the time. It was poorly conceived and poorly executed. At this point a lesser person would make some kind of cheap shot about this kind of thing becoming a trend with this administration, but not me. It’s a tough job requiring high levels of skill, intelligence, wisdom and experience. I’m sure the President will develop these traits eventually.
Still, I can see how it would be tempting to go to bat for one’s home town, or even adopted hometown. There is a certain amount of pride involved, and I have to ask myself the question; if I were President would I do the same for Las Vegas, which is where I was born? And I have to be honest. The answer is no, absolutely not. Such a stunt would be unseemly and distracting, especially in the midst of war, severe economic challenges and domestic debates of national importance.
To: All personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: The bid for the Olympics
10-06-09
Well, President Obama did his best. He flew Air Force One (along with the two Air Force heavy-lifters, a dozen automobiles, a few helicopters and about a hundred people) over to Denmark in order to show the IOC how serious we all were about getting Chicago into the games. That’s what we all wanted, right? Actually, I didn’t even know Chicago was in the running so I may not have been as enthusiastic as the President might have hoped.
There has been some talk—criticism even, if you can believe it—about whether or not stumping for an Olympic bid is worthy of his time and attention. Nonsense. What else has he got to do? Health Care is tanking, he’s ignoring Afghanistan, and Michelle apparently has all the clothes and hamburgers she needs. So by all means, why not make a bid for a City—not the country mind you, just one of its cities.
But here’s the unbelievable part; he didn’t get it. The leader of the free world flies his (admittedly impressive) entourage all the way to Copenhagen, talks to hundreds of people, wines and dines them, explains why he should get things his way, and after all that, he loses.
Here’s what I think happened, and I assumed it would pan out this way the moment I heard what he was doing. The President goes out of his way to curry favor with the IOC, lending the prestige of his office and his personal cache to the effort. This had to be seen as a blatant attempt to pressure the committee into doing his bidding, and would inevitably become a pissing contest. The IOC had to save face, show the world in no uncertain terms that it was not the toady of the United States. The moment Obama paid any attention to the selection process, Chicago was doomed. It was the worst thing he could have done for the effort, and I’m surprised no one mentioned this at the time. It was poorly conceived and poorly executed. At this point a lesser person would make some kind of cheap shot about this kind of thing becoming a trend with this administration, but not me. It’s a tough job requiring high levels of skill, intelligence, wisdom and experience. I’m sure the President will develop these traits eventually.
Still, I can see how it would be tempting to go to bat for one’s home town, or even adopted hometown. There is a certain amount of pride involved, and I have to ask myself the question; if I were President would I do the same for Las Vegas, which is where I was born? And I have to be honest. The answer is no, absolutely not. Such a stunt would be unseemly and distracting, especially in the midst of war, severe economic challenges and domestic debates of national importance.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
IGM Carbon Credits
Inter-Galactic Memo
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: Carbon Credits
9-22-09
Something a friend said to me the other day has me thinking. He had his tongue planted firmly in his cheek, but came up with the germ of a brilliant idea having to do with carbon credits and the Cap and Trade plan which is coming down on us like a vengeful but “ultimately helpful” super-volcanic eruption.
He mentioned that he drives motorcycles mostly. A nice BMW touring bike and an ancient, restored Russian Military bike with a sidecar, also a BMW, I think. He gets, compared to most of us, really, really good mileage. In fact he told me the Russian bike is so old and underpowered, it doesn’t have a speedometer, it has a day-planner. (Ba-da-bing) He wanted to know why he couldn’t trade or sell his carbon credits. Good question. Why can’t he?
Folks, this is a ground-floor opportunity. Right now, there are no laws, guidelines or regulations concerning Cap and Trade and-or carbon credits. A lot of people probably have them and don’t realize it. Nita and I are big recyclers, and aggressive energy-efficiency czars in our own home. (I know, what a shock to learn that the conservative fascist recycles and conserves. Surprise.)
In the last few years we have doubled the insulation in our ceiling, put whirly-gig vents in the roof, replaced all the windows with high-efficiency, double-paned, gas-filled ones, replaced the leaky sliding glass door with nice insulated, double-paned, gas-filled French doors, have a new, energy efficient air-conditioner, and several other things. We only flush the toilet when someone does a dookie. “If it’s yellow it’s mellow . . . if it’s brown flush it down.” That’s our motto.
And we recycle everything. Twice a week we take all our garbage, organic, plastic, paper, glass, metal, wood, all of it, and put it in special containers. A private company comes around in big trucks and picks it up for us and takes it to a special place called a “land fill” where we pay them to dump it, store it, and cover it up. This is a communal operation because we believe in community, people helping people. When we all run out of everything, we can go out there and dig it up and voila! There it is, waiting to be recycled and re-used. (Unless it was biodegradable, in which case it’ll make great compost for our survival gardens.)
We drive fairly new vehicles, which, according to our annual “Smog tests,” are very efficient and burn very cleanly, especially compared to 30 or 40 years ago. I’ve been thinking about riding roller-blades to work, but I’d have to have them on my hands and feet, and knees and elbows and hips and who-knows-where-else, which would be cost-prohibitive. Or a bike, but the only ones that would hold me up would weigh more than the Bismarck, which sort of defeats the purpose.
Anyway, I’m sure we have scads of carbon credits. Probably most people do because we’re not huge, corrupt, money-hungry corporations out to destroy the planet. But probably lots of people don’t have any as well. Some people could use a few carbon credits. Remember, under the Cap and Trade philosophy, it doesn’t matter what the total amount of carbon being produced is, it only matters that the debit-credit balance sheet comes out even. Because, c’mon, everyone knows it’s a delusional scam, right?
So we should set up some kind of bank thingie, and start trading, beat the government and the global community at their own game. And by game, I mean disingenuous, star-chamber-conspiracy, global shell-game. That kind of game.
We could trade on Craig’s List and EBay. They could start up whole new sections for us. “The People’s Community Carbon Exchange.” And since no one has a clue what a carbon credit is, or looks like, or how much it weighs or what it’s worth, we can sort of make all that stuff up. Half of us will get rich and the other half will have the satisfaction of being able to pretend they did something meaningful for the planet. It’s win-win people. (Win-Win. That reminds me of a tattoo business I made up in one of my books. The great granddaughter of Steve Wynn, Who’s name is Wynn Kerkorian, owns the shop, but the tattoos—which are printed with a retrofitted Cat Scan machine and a commercial printing head with several hundred needles in it—all computer-controlled of course—are really inimical printed circuits which destroy the world. Metallic salts . . . look it up. Anyway the name of the parlor is Wynn-Wynn Tattoos.)
The advantage of this operation should be obvious. No pesky definitions, no regulations, no permission. It’s like LSD in the sixties before they made it illegal. Or the opposite of America, circa today.
So if you need to buy or sell some carbon credits, send me an email and I will set you up. I know people. (I plan to be a broker for the fledgling empire; they get money from both ends. And, unlike the government, I can be trusted to fleece you within reason and no more.)
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: Carbon Credits
9-22-09
Something a friend said to me the other day has me thinking. He had his tongue planted firmly in his cheek, but came up with the germ of a brilliant idea having to do with carbon credits and the Cap and Trade plan which is coming down on us like a vengeful but “ultimately helpful” super-volcanic eruption.
He mentioned that he drives motorcycles mostly. A nice BMW touring bike and an ancient, restored Russian Military bike with a sidecar, also a BMW, I think. He gets, compared to most of us, really, really good mileage. In fact he told me the Russian bike is so old and underpowered, it doesn’t have a speedometer, it has a day-planner. (Ba-da-bing) He wanted to know why he couldn’t trade or sell his carbon credits. Good question. Why can’t he?
Folks, this is a ground-floor opportunity. Right now, there are no laws, guidelines or regulations concerning Cap and Trade and-or carbon credits. A lot of people probably have them and don’t realize it. Nita and I are big recyclers, and aggressive energy-efficiency czars in our own home. (I know, what a shock to learn that the conservative fascist recycles and conserves. Surprise.)
In the last few years we have doubled the insulation in our ceiling, put whirly-gig vents in the roof, replaced all the windows with high-efficiency, double-paned, gas-filled ones, replaced the leaky sliding glass door with nice insulated, double-paned, gas-filled French doors, have a new, energy efficient air-conditioner, and several other things. We only flush the toilet when someone does a dookie. “If it’s yellow it’s mellow . . . if it’s brown flush it down.” That’s our motto.
And we recycle everything. Twice a week we take all our garbage, organic, plastic, paper, glass, metal, wood, all of it, and put it in special containers. A private company comes around in big trucks and picks it up for us and takes it to a special place called a “land fill” where we pay them to dump it, store it, and cover it up. This is a communal operation because we believe in community, people helping people. When we all run out of everything, we can go out there and dig it up and voila! There it is, waiting to be recycled and re-used. (Unless it was biodegradable, in which case it’ll make great compost for our survival gardens.)
We drive fairly new vehicles, which, according to our annual “Smog tests,” are very efficient and burn very cleanly, especially compared to 30 or 40 years ago. I’ve been thinking about riding roller-blades to work, but I’d have to have them on my hands and feet, and knees and elbows and hips and who-knows-where-else, which would be cost-prohibitive. Or a bike, but the only ones that would hold me up would weigh more than the Bismarck, which sort of defeats the purpose.
Anyway, I’m sure we have scads of carbon credits. Probably most people do because we’re not huge, corrupt, money-hungry corporations out to destroy the planet. But probably lots of people don’t have any as well. Some people could use a few carbon credits. Remember, under the Cap and Trade philosophy, it doesn’t matter what the total amount of carbon being produced is, it only matters that the debit-credit balance sheet comes out even. Because, c’mon, everyone knows it’s a delusional scam, right?
So we should set up some kind of bank thingie, and start trading, beat the government and the global community at their own game. And by game, I mean disingenuous, star-chamber-conspiracy, global shell-game. That kind of game.
We could trade on Craig’s List and EBay. They could start up whole new sections for us. “The People’s Community Carbon Exchange.” And since no one has a clue what a carbon credit is, or looks like, or how much it weighs or what it’s worth, we can sort of make all that stuff up. Half of us will get rich and the other half will have the satisfaction of being able to pretend they did something meaningful for the planet. It’s win-win people. (Win-Win. That reminds me of a tattoo business I made up in one of my books. The great granddaughter of Steve Wynn, Who’s name is Wynn Kerkorian, owns the shop, but the tattoos—which are printed with a retrofitted Cat Scan machine and a commercial printing head with several hundred needles in it—all computer-controlled of course—are really inimical printed circuits which destroy the world. Metallic salts . . . look it up. Anyway the name of the parlor is Wynn-Wynn Tattoos.)
The advantage of this operation should be obvious. No pesky definitions, no regulations, no permission. It’s like LSD in the sixties before they made it illegal. Or the opposite of America, circa today.
So if you need to buy or sell some carbon credits, send me an email and I will set you up. I know people. (I plan to be a broker for the fledgling empire; they get money from both ends. And, unlike the government, I can be trusted to fleece you within reason and no more.)
Sunday, September 20, 2009
IGM Interesting Quote
Inter-Galactic Memo
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: Interesting Quote
9-20-09
It is Sunday afternoon and my brain just exploded because I was watching George Steponallofus interview President Obama. It was an accident—I was channel surfing. They were talking about race in politics and the President artfully side-stepped the issue, rightfully deciding that most Americans didn’t care about his race. But then it turned to Health Care Reform. George wanted to know why the President was having so much trouble with the reform
Obama seemed a little nonplussed as he answered. I can’t quote him because the transcripts won’t be out until tomorrow morning, but it went something like this:
“I’m not sure George. I think I’m making a modest proposal. I’m not suggesting any radical new programs or changes.” That’s when my brain exploded. (Don’t worry . . . I found most of the pieces and put it back together with a mixture of flour and water—I’m organic all the way. The glue will eventually disappear to be replaced by calcium carbonate, so there will be a little rigidity slipping into my thought processes, but they’re so rigid already you probably won’t notice.)
But he wasn’t done. Then he claimed that his reform wasn’t designed to add much in the way of expenditures.
Here’s the thing. I was paying attention, watching his body language. He was absolutely sincere. He really believes these proposals are “modest”, and that there is nothing radical going on at all. I believe that his sincerity is troubling. He doesn’t see it. His world view, his political and philosophical foundations, are so out of touch with mainstream America, (And when I say Mainstream America, I mean me) that he actually believes most of us are jake with the wholesale deconstruction of the culture and social landscape of this country.
Now, I know a lot of us like this guy. I have nothing against him, at least not like a did with Clinton or Carter, or Bush senior. I know a lot us are concerned about the welfare of the uninsured. So am I. I absolutely agree that change is needed.
But it is worrisome when the President refers to these draconian proposals as “modest”, insists nothing radical is going (when his friends and appointments are all self-confessed radicals of one sort or another) and then strongly implies that it won’t cost much. How is 2-3 trillion dollars “not much?” He blithely admitted that this new health-care was going to cost about thirteen percent of the income earned by someone making about $66,000 a year. 13 percent! And George said, “And that doesn’t include co-payments or prescriptions,” and they both smiled. Then; “you can see how people might view this as a big tax increase.” (I didn’t hear the answer because by then I was bending over and picking up pieces of brain and it was making me light-headed. Get it?) How is going from private-sector health care based on a hybrid capitalist-Federal oversight system to—let’s call it what it is—socialized, government-controlled, rationed health-care, a “modest proposal?”
Even the people over at Moveon.org should be able to see that he seriously misspoke. (But they won’t admit it because it goes against their official dogma).
Wouldn’t it have made more sense, and wouldn’t his supporters (as well as detractors) have felt better about his remarks, if he’d said something like; “you know George, it’s a huge mess. And it’s going to take a huge fix. We have to make major changes. It’ll take a lot of time and a lot of money, and when we come out the other side, yes, things will look different. But I was elected with a mandate. My job is to secure major changes and improvements in health care in this country and that’s what I’m going to do.”
That’s what I would have said. And I don’t even own a teleprompter.
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: Interesting Quote
9-20-09
It is Sunday afternoon and my brain just exploded because I was watching George Steponallofus interview President Obama. It was an accident—I was channel surfing. They were talking about race in politics and the President artfully side-stepped the issue, rightfully deciding that most Americans didn’t care about his race. But then it turned to Health Care Reform. George wanted to know why the President was having so much trouble with the reform
Obama seemed a little nonplussed as he answered. I can’t quote him because the transcripts won’t be out until tomorrow morning, but it went something like this:
“I’m not sure George. I think I’m making a modest proposal. I’m not suggesting any radical new programs or changes.” That’s when my brain exploded. (Don’t worry . . . I found most of the pieces and put it back together with a mixture of flour and water—I’m organic all the way. The glue will eventually disappear to be replaced by calcium carbonate, so there will be a little rigidity slipping into my thought processes, but they’re so rigid already you probably won’t notice.)
But he wasn’t done. Then he claimed that his reform wasn’t designed to add much in the way of expenditures.
Here’s the thing. I was paying attention, watching his body language. He was absolutely sincere. He really believes these proposals are “modest”, and that there is nothing radical going on at all. I believe that his sincerity is troubling. He doesn’t see it. His world view, his political and philosophical foundations, are so out of touch with mainstream America, (And when I say Mainstream America, I mean me) that he actually believes most of us are jake with the wholesale deconstruction of the culture and social landscape of this country.
Now, I know a lot of us like this guy. I have nothing against him, at least not like a did with Clinton or Carter, or Bush senior. I know a lot us are concerned about the welfare of the uninsured. So am I. I absolutely agree that change is needed.
But it is worrisome when the President refers to these draconian proposals as “modest”, insists nothing radical is going (when his friends and appointments are all self-confessed radicals of one sort or another) and then strongly implies that it won’t cost much. How is 2-3 trillion dollars “not much?” He blithely admitted that this new health-care was going to cost about thirteen percent of the income earned by someone making about $66,000 a year. 13 percent! And George said, “And that doesn’t include co-payments or prescriptions,” and they both smiled. Then; “you can see how people might view this as a big tax increase.” (I didn’t hear the answer because by then I was bending over and picking up pieces of brain and it was making me light-headed. Get it?) How is going from private-sector health care based on a hybrid capitalist-Federal oversight system to—let’s call it what it is—socialized, government-controlled, rationed health-care, a “modest proposal?”
Even the people over at Moveon.org should be able to see that he seriously misspoke. (But they won’t admit it because it goes against their official dogma).
Wouldn’t it have made more sense, and wouldn’t his supporters (as well as detractors) have felt better about his remarks, if he’d said something like; “you know George, it’s a huge mess. And it’s going to take a huge fix. We have to make major changes. It’ll take a lot of time and a lot of money, and when we come out the other side, yes, things will look different. But I was elected with a mandate. My job is to secure major changes and improvements in health care in this country and that’s what I’m going to do.”
That’s what I would have said. And I don’t even own a teleprompter.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
IGM: Mary Travers
Inter-Galactic Memo
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: Mary Travers
9-17-09
It is with a profound sense of loss and a quiet sense of personal satisfaction that I announce the death of Mary Travers. After a long and painful struggle with leukemia, she has finally won the battle at age 72. Loss because I will miss having her in the world, and satisfaction because of a life well-lived and one of the greatest gifts I have ever been given. The gift of music.
Many of you will not be familiar with Mary. She was the full-throated blonde in the folk trio, Peter Paul and Mary. They hit it big in the early sixties singing traditional folk songs, and then expanded their repertoire to include protest music, and uplifting songs about peace and love and stuff like that. They won five Grammys and maintained an active career well into the eighties, and accidently got rich. I have no idea how many albums they sold, but I have one or two of all of them. (And by album, I mean vinyl.)
I was probably fourteen or so when I first heard them, and they changed my life forever. Peter Paul and Mary remain the single biggest musical influence in my life. By the time I was in high school in the late sixties I was playing guitar and singing their songs, then jointly formed a trio (two guys and a girl) of my (our) own and we became PP&M clones. We eventually branched out a little and did Dylan (so did PP&M . . . so did everybody) and Donovan and other, less well know stuff—like the Sons of the Pioneers—including some of our own. We played the coffee house circuit between Baltimore and D.C. In some ways, that was the “best time of my life”, to quote Bryan Adams. It is difficult to describe the extent to which their music touched me, moved me, and still does today. Those beat-up, scratchy records are still the ones that get played the most, despite the size and breadth of my collection. My kids were all raised on folk music and classic rock and roll, but if you asked them, I think they would tell you the folk was their favorite when they were growing up. (Their kids have all been raised listening to Donovan’s “For Little Ones”, among others.) Their arrangements and harmonies, their passion and technical superiority affected me immensely, and informed my own brief career in the music business.
PP&M were socially conscious. They stood for principles. Not always shared by me, but they were sincere and consistent. They donated huge sums of money to causes and did nearly as many benefits as paying concerts. They were one of several acts who performed on the Mall in DC when MLK gave his famous “I have a dream” speech. It is one of the main disappointments of my life I never got to see them live, but in his later years Nita and I went to see Peter Yarrow at a small venue in Albuquerque. He was just out of prison for cavorting with under-aged groupies (he says they lied to him) but it was a great show. Now I never will.
Mary will be missed. Her oddly put-together face, the way she snapped her head and made her hair flop around when she wanted to emphasize something. Those bangs. That throaty, hard-driving voice of hers and her sense of humor. Late in their careers they made an album called Peter Paul and Mommy, a collection of tunes for children, which is an absolute gem. At one time I knew most of the songs on that album and wore out my guitar singing them to our kids and their friends.(“Daddy’s taking us to zoo tomorrow . . .”) In fact, doing some of those songs for my wife’s little nieces (Nita and I had just met) at dinner one night, was instrumental in her deciding to marry me.
Mary will never stop singing. One of the best things about technology is our being able to save—and savor—music and art into the eternities. Peter and Paul (Noel) will eventually die as well, sooner, later, who knows? And So will I. But until I do, I will be listening to their music, and, in that sense, keeping them alive forever.
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: Mary Travers
9-17-09
It is with a profound sense of loss and a quiet sense of personal satisfaction that I announce the death of Mary Travers. After a long and painful struggle with leukemia, she has finally won the battle at age 72. Loss because I will miss having her in the world, and satisfaction because of a life well-lived and one of the greatest gifts I have ever been given. The gift of music.
Many of you will not be familiar with Mary. She was the full-throated blonde in the folk trio, Peter Paul and Mary. They hit it big in the early sixties singing traditional folk songs, and then expanded their repertoire to include protest music, and uplifting songs about peace and love and stuff like that. They won five Grammys and maintained an active career well into the eighties, and accidently got rich. I have no idea how many albums they sold, but I have one or two of all of them. (And by album, I mean vinyl.)
I was probably fourteen or so when I first heard them, and they changed my life forever. Peter Paul and Mary remain the single biggest musical influence in my life. By the time I was in high school in the late sixties I was playing guitar and singing their songs, then jointly formed a trio (two guys and a girl) of my (our) own and we became PP&M clones. We eventually branched out a little and did Dylan (so did PP&M . . . so did everybody) and Donovan and other, less well know stuff—like the Sons of the Pioneers—including some of our own. We played the coffee house circuit between Baltimore and D.C. In some ways, that was the “best time of my life”, to quote Bryan Adams. It is difficult to describe the extent to which their music touched me, moved me, and still does today. Those beat-up, scratchy records are still the ones that get played the most, despite the size and breadth of my collection. My kids were all raised on folk music and classic rock and roll, but if you asked them, I think they would tell you the folk was their favorite when they were growing up. (Their kids have all been raised listening to Donovan’s “For Little Ones”, among others.) Their arrangements and harmonies, their passion and technical superiority affected me immensely, and informed my own brief career in the music business.
PP&M were socially conscious. They stood for principles. Not always shared by me, but they were sincere and consistent. They donated huge sums of money to causes and did nearly as many benefits as paying concerts. They were one of several acts who performed on the Mall in DC when MLK gave his famous “I have a dream” speech. It is one of the main disappointments of my life I never got to see them live, but in his later years Nita and I went to see Peter Yarrow at a small venue in Albuquerque. He was just out of prison for cavorting with under-aged groupies (he says they lied to him) but it was a great show. Now I never will.
Mary will be missed. Her oddly put-together face, the way she snapped her head and made her hair flop around when she wanted to emphasize something. Those bangs. That throaty, hard-driving voice of hers and her sense of humor. Late in their careers they made an album called Peter Paul and Mommy, a collection of tunes for children, which is an absolute gem. At one time I knew most of the songs on that album and wore out my guitar singing them to our kids and their friends.(“Daddy’s taking us to zoo tomorrow . . .”) In fact, doing some of those songs for my wife’s little nieces (Nita and I had just met) at dinner one night, was instrumental in her deciding to marry me.
Mary will never stop singing. One of the best things about technology is our being able to save—and savor—music and art into the eternities. Peter and Paul (Noel) will eventually die as well, sooner, later, who knows? And So will I. But until I do, I will be listening to their music, and, in that sense, keeping them alive forever.
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