IGM Wives and Daughters

Inter-Galactic Memo

To: All Personnel

Fr: W. Leavitt

Re: Wives and Daughters

7-8-2010

I have three daughters, and a son. This will be mostly about my wife and daughters, but I promise to say something nice about Grah in the future. It will be easy to do.

For forty years, off and on, at random moments, I will catch a glimpse of Nita, and she will take my breath away. My heart jumps in my chest. It still happens. She surpasses my understanding. Her beauty is inextricably tied to who she is, and her character cannot help but shine through into the outer world.

This is not always the case with human beings. (I will use Lindsey Lohan as exhibit A).

Perhaps I am able to see something no one else does. Although she has always been well-regarded by males, who have hovered around her with silly, surreptitious and hopeless longing.

And ever since my daughters became young women, and now simply women, the same thing happens, occasionally, when I look at them. It amazes me how much a momentary glance can speak so much of them to me. I see dedicated mother, and caregiver, student, teacher, artist, devoted wife (and girlfriend), and so many other things.

I see good. Honor, integrity, sacrifice—all the same things I have always seen in Nita. And in my daughters, the gestalt of these traits combine to create a rare kind of beauty often missing in the faces of women internationally known for a different, and lesser, kind of splendor.

Each has her own peculiar aspect. A radiance, an ethereal, inner glow that manifests with a turn of the head, in a stray beam of light, or a gentle shadow.

Aubrey, with decades of wisdom and love beyond her years in her eyes. A kind of celestial countenance shining through.

Jessica with that naturally blonde hair, that skin, and those eyes, with a mother’s love burning eternally in them.

Chani, with her crazy make-up and hair color of the week, that sparkle, that elfin smile.

And Nita, with . . . everything. Forever eyes. A whole set of smiles only I ever see. A tenderness and dedication beyond reason, beyond imagination.

A man should not be allowed such fortune; it is unfair to those with lesser beauty in their lives. But there it is, and nothing I can do about it.

And already I can see the same exquisite grace growing like a special blessing in my granddaughters. Naomi, the Gelfling Princess, Ellie, the wide-eyed gypsy-girl, Caroline, my perfect little shadow, with a smile that defines mischievous, Salem, the dark-eyed gift from another dimension, Cecily, whose beauty is so radiant, and intense, she retains its perfection even when frowning, or crying, or angry, and Tesla, so small and new, and already extraordinary, with the same other-worldly looks of her sister.

When—no, if—I find myself in a personal interview with Heavenly Father, the first thing I will ask Him is, why me? What did I do to deserve such singular people in my life, to be so well-loved by such completely beautiful women and girls? I don’t have a clue, but it must have been something pretty good.

IGM Connectivity

Inter-Galactic Memo

To: All Personnel

Fr: W. Leavitt

Re: Connectivity

6-19-10



Has anyone else noticed the radical speed with which our culture is allowing itself to be changed by emerging technology? We are in the midst of so much upheaval, from so many fronts, that I suspect most people are not comprehending the nature of the paradigm shifts. Plural. And neither do I.
Today, for the first time in known human history (I include that caveat because we have no idea what the level of technical civilization was prior to the Flood) we are in a state of unending, consistently mind-boggling, emergent technology. We have no time to assimilate, consider, or become familiar with implications before we are again inundated with the next wave. And as far as I can tell, no one is monitoring any of this, other than a few über techno-geeks writing for obscure online magazines. And my son.
What brought this situation to my admittedly scattershot attention, was a recent event on my Facebook account.

In fact, let me regress for a moment. I am a 60 year old American male, one of the last people born in the 40’s. I was old enough to remember the first television we ever got. I am one of the last of the Beatles and Beach Boys generation. And I have a Facebook account.

Back to the future.
So, a few days ago, I got an email, inviting me to be ‘friends’ with someone. Most of us have experienced that annoying little game. (How many times have you received friend requests from people you do not know?)
It took me a minute. Her name was familiar, but did not ring any bells for a moment. Then it hit me. René. She was my first girlfriend when I went to Glen Burnie High School, in Glen Burnie, Maryland, in 1966-68. For those of us addicted to calculation (which does not include me), that is 44 years ago. And now we are in a position to reconnect. I almost always say yes to friend requests . . . and I don’t even know why. To be polite? Maybe it had something to do with that song, Walk Away René, which was popular when we were going steady. (Who did that? Was it the Left Bank?)
In the old world, people we knew half-a century ago, would be long-gone, forever and properly relegated to the obscure past, half memory, half fiction. In no sense are any of us the same people we were at seventeen, even though that kid still lurks in the hinterlands of our subconscious. So why bother?
I think the reason may be deceptively simple; because we can. Because technology makes it too easy. We do it, and don’t even question why. Well, some of us do. A lot of us. And for my childrens generation, it is much worse. They are immersed in the world of cyberspace. My grandchildren will no doubt be living in Tron.
So I clicked on the SUBMIT button, or whatever it is, and let René back into my life, if only peripherally. I liked René. She was cute, and insecure. A little too skinny—could’a used a few pounds . . . And she broke up with a senior to go with me. And then I broke up with her. Why? Who knows? I was young and stupid, and insensitive. And I took things like girlfriends very seriously, despite my total lack of cool, and my ultimate cluelessness. I was the only high school jock in history who wasn’t popular—not that I cared.

Another regression: I didn’t ‘date’. I was terrified of girls, and mesmerized by the mystery at the same time. Consequently, I either had a ‘girlfriend’, with whom I was hopelessly in love, or nothing at all. I didn’t do casual. I fantasized about marrying every one of them, and living happily ever after, in a cave, while I protected them from dragons and evil boys. Oh, what? Like you didn’t?

Back to the future.
So what do we talk about? How many bases we got to? (Just one—repeatedly.) Obama? Religion? Our lives? And what possessed her to ask in the first place? What kind of morbid curiosity would compel someone to reconnect with a high school boyfriend after all this time? (well, other than Gloria, who seems to make a habit of it. ) It’s not like I stayed in the area, or that we kept in touch. I haven’t seen, or talked to, or much thought about René for over forty years. Which is not meant to be a criticism, I was just getting on with my life, as I’m sure she has been. And admittedly, I’m sure I posses that same morbid bent. I’m still looking for Kay.

The point: Everything is changing, before our eyes. Connectivity is becoming a proper noun. I Googled Gadianton Robbers last night, and only got to Gadian—before the suggestions popped up and Gadianton Robbers was the first one. That’s a pretty obscure reference, and Google not only had it, but had it number one. Go ahead, try to Google something that doesn’t hit. Try and find a name on Facebook. (XKCD has a great cartoon about that. I’d send it with this IGM if the content wasn’t questionable.)
As an example, did you know that most photocopy machines (post about 2003) now have hard-drives in them? It speeds up the process. The first scan sends all the info to the hard drive, which then sends it to the copy brain, making it unnecessary to scan again and again, saving time. Think about all the documents you’ve scanned as a matter of course. All the personal information. Copy machines are storing it all. Who has access to it? No wonder people are trying to opt out of the grid, get off the net.
I can’t help but wonder where it’s all going to lead. Of course, it’s all fodder for a writer of speculative fiction, good and bad, but still . . . what happens when everything we are, and everything we know, and think, and do, is public knowledge, accessible to everyone? And how will it change the social dynamic when we all have ten thousand friends, and have not met any of them?

IGM The NASA Islam Connection

Inter-Galactic Memo
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: The NASA Islam connection
7-6-2010

In a surprise move right out if the old “Bat-**** insane” playbook, President Obama has given a brave new mandate to the new head of NASA. According to an article in Google News, which quotes the new space boss, Obama told him in no uncertain terms that NASA’s number one priority now, will be improving relations with Muslims, and Islamic nations.

I don’t know about you, but when I read something like that, I experience a moment of severe cerebral short-circuiting.
“What? . . . . I mean . . . WHAT?”

But then, after I thought about it for a moment, it made perfect sense. Because, what else would NASA be doing, right? After all, they are the National Space and Aeronautic Administration, which puts them at the forefront of relations-building with nations and cultures which can barely figure out a flush toilet, much less conceive a need for, and design, a commode that works in zero gravity.

The obvious question I suppose, is, why would Obama list such a thing as a priority at all, much less for NASA, the least likely of all government agencies to have anything to do with our relations with Islam? Is it possible the President has a soft spot for Islam? Could it be that he considers himself a Muslim? Lots of people have been making that claim lately, and this certainly bolsters that radical possibility. Not that being Muslim in any way disqualifies him from being President—that’s not what this country is about.

Here’s the thing: Contrary to popular belief, and Charlie Rangel, NASA’s annual budget is miniscule. Things like this need to be put into some kind of perspective. Human and Social Services, as an example, spends NASA’s budget about every nine days. With that in mind, who in their right mind would task the National Space agency to spend hundreds of millions of its very limited budget, building good relations with Muslim—or any other—countries? I mean, seriously . . . . . how are they supposed to even do something like that?
“And this is a spacesuit . . . it’s air tight!”
“Behead the infidel!”

I’m not suggesting that good, or better, relations with Islam is a bad, or unnecessary thing. On the contrary, I’m sure improvements in that area would be wonderful. What I am suggesting, is that it might be less than appropriate for a high-tech, scientific organization, which does things in space, for America, to be our good-will ambassador to third-world countries. Don’t we already have agencies and organizations designed for just such things?
One wonders what the President has in mind. Maybe we can partner with Afghanistan to put poppies in orbit. Or go in with Iran to help them improve their long-range ballistic missile program, or accelerate their nuclear ambitions, or even give them a heads up on superior, heat-resistant and ablative material so they can make better tents.

I mean, if this is a good idea, why not task the Bureau of Indian Affairs to get together with the people of Indonesia and the Sudan and do little compare-and-contrast sessions on culture and religious traditions? Muslims would love that, right?

The next thing we know, someone from NASA is going to say the wrong thing, or misinterpret some innocent Jihadist remark, and we will find ourselves with a Fatwa against astronauts, and all “devil-spawned” satellites. Then we’ll be in a pickle. We’ll have to put the entire NASA program in orbit, just to keep it safe. And that will work, because one thing we can count on is that the current iteration of Islam will never have the technical, cultural, or philosophical wherewithal to get off the ground, much less into space.

IGM YouTube

Inter-Galactic Memo

To: All Personnel

Fr: W. Leavitt

Re: YouTube

6-21-2010




I spend an inordinate amount of time watching YouTube videos, listening to music. Mostly, I go for stuff I already know, memory lane, as it were, but I’ve been known to venture off into uncharted territory as well. I never intend to spend that much time. I always have a specific video or song in mind, but as I’m listening/watching, that damn string of useful suggestions to the right of the screen beckons me like a Siren, and I click on another, and another, and suddenly it’s like whoa! Here’s a suggestion for someone else, and I haven’t heard that one in forever, or yikes! I didn’t know those two people ever sang together, etc., etc., and before I know it I’ve been up half the night, lost in a kind of musical reverie.

Sometimes I run across a real gem, hitherto unknown to me. Like when I looked for David Wilcox because I wanted to hear The Eye of the Hurricane song, and discovered this insane Canadian of the same name—a middle-aged madman, blues guitarist of extraordinary talent. Most of the new ones, however, come from my children, and most of those from Chani, because she is CONNECTED. I get my fix of weird from Grah, who finds stuff so esoteric that even the internet is surprised. Like The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets, or Depapepe. (Is that right? I’m not online right now.) I listen to a lot of Chani’s stuff, with her band, Rubik’s Hotel, and some Crowd of Small Adventures, and Hungry Cloud, because my second cousin (or first cousin once-removed, I can never remember), Jack Wilcox, the Human String Bean, fronts them both. (For those of you lucky enough to have seen Thor at the Bus Stop, Jack is the Milk Strider.)

A few nights ago, I got an itch to hear “In My Room,” by the Beach Boys. It maybe my favorite song by them. So I got on YouTube and found it and listened, and loved it again, and then how could I not listen to “Little Deuce Coup, and then there was “Surfer Girl,” Brain Wilson’s favorite of his melodies, and on it went, "Good Vibrations", "Be True to Your School", until I found an interview with Brain. Brian Wilson is one of my hero’s, and a universal cautionary tale. I listened to an interview from the 60’s, with Mike Douglas, and then a long one from the 90’s. Brain is fried. His mind is gone, his brain burned to a crisp—which he readily admits in the second interview. Drugs, and poor mental health, combined to destroy one of the most creative and brilliant musical minds of our century. Oh, he’s still articulate, in his own way (and by that I mean he was never articulate), but he has trouble concentrating, and is the king of non-sequiturs. He wanders, and has a tendency to protect himself by breaking into song at odd moments.

Here’s this perfectly normal California kid, with a gift from God, who at 16 puts together a band of his brothers, a cousin, and a family friend, and somehow brings normally talented teenagers up to the levels of greatness by the time he is 19. And they let him, They listen to him, because his brain is on fire with melodies, and harmonies, and arrangements both manically complex, and angelically sophisticated. Then—because of issues with an overbearing and physically abusive father, his own innate emotional instability, DRUGS, and a manipulative, greedy, despicable, Svengali-like therapist—he is brought down into a living hell for decades. And through all of it, he manages to write and arrange—and produce—some of rocks most enduring anthems. He couldn’t perform live, though. Six months after their first big hit, which I believe was “Surfin’ USA,” he was home in bed, where he stayed for three years. In the interview with Douglas, Brain sounds like a PSA against drugs. He describes the many times he took (among others) LSD, and how wonderful it was, but what it did to him as well. He was very frank, very candid. Then, in the newer interview, the guy asks him if he ever took LSD. Brian says “oh sure,” and goes into some random, wandering diatribe, then suddenly stops. “At least I think I did,” he says, then looks off into space. “Maybe not . . . I’d have to ask somebody.” He looks at the camera. “I don’t remember.”

I probably listened to 30 songs that night, thinking about all of this, dismayed, and amazed at what he did, what he went through, and curious about what might have been under different circumstances. Then, towards the end of the long interview, he mentioned his two older daughters, Carnie, and Wendy, whom he barely knew while they were growing up, and I was off into a search for Wilson Phillips.
As you may recall, they were a female trio from the 90’s with a few good hits. Carnie and Wendy were Brian’s girls, and the other one, Chynna, was the younger daughter of Papa John and Michelle Phillips, who founded the Mama’s and the Papa’s. How she survived her father’s bizarre lifestyle is anyone’s guess. But those girls could sing. It was top-notch pop music, with a legacy unparalleled in music history. Nothing profound, but “hold on just one more day,” is a fine sentiment for a song, evoking all kinds of possibilities. I listened to all the stuff of theirs available, watching them, trying to imagine the dynamics in which they had grown-up, and were formed, and the serendipity that might have brought the unlikely pairing to fruition.

Maybe the reason I spend so much time doing that, reading about all these people, listening to them, and wondering about them, is because of the emotions it makes me feel. Music—even obviously commercial music—has a strong effect on me. Musicians fascinate me. What they do is so hard, and requires so much time and commitment before anything can really begin. I know just enough about that to make me particularly susceptible to the struggle, and the miracle of talent at that level. Hell, even the 1910 Fruit Gum Factory had talent. And although it makes me nauseous to admit it, even the Rolling Stones have talent.

We often marvel at how easy and effortless they make it look. But most of us don’t delve deeply enough to discover the years of sacrifice, of obsessive practice, repetition, and compulsive dedication it takes to be one of the great ones. Eddie Van Halen says he locked himself in his bedroom with one of Eric Clapton’s albums, and a guitar, and didn’t come out for three years—essentially his adolescence—until he could play every note of every song perfectly. You wanna see extreme skill? Go to Youtube and call up a band called Dragonforce. You won’t like them. They are a “speed metal” band, “shredders,” but they have a unique sound. Watch part of a video, listen to the drums and the lead guitars. It is impossible to play that fast, much less complex arrangements that fast, that perfectly, for that long. I can’t even describe the speed. You have to experience it. It makes one wonder where the limit is. What can’t humans do? Remember the 5 minute mile? The unbreakable barrier? Now housewives run faster than that, in sneakers, on concrete. And usually really ugly outfits . . . . nothing personal, housewives.

Sometimes people wonder how I can possibly know some of the stuff I do. Especially about music. First of all, I don’t know all that much compared to someone who really does. It’s easy to impress people who don’t know anything about something. And second of all, I can’t help it. I remember it. (Actually, my memory is terrible, chaotic. Except in a few narrow areas. ) I’ve read the back of every album I’ve ever owned (a lot), I’ve read countless articles, books, biography’s, I watch documentaries endlessly, heck, I used to subscribe to Rolling Stone—who does that? and I was a music major for a while. And now that YouTube is around, well . . . it’s even worse. I get to see them too. Ultimately, it comes down to curiosity.

It’s like the people who think I’m a pretty good musician. I know better. They usually only think that because they aren’t one at all. I think we all experience that. Yeah, I write better than people who don’t write, but I’m not kidding myself. I’m no Mark Helprin or Cormack McCarthy. I’m not even Larry McMurtry or Tom Clancy, or Anne Rice. Such is the nature of talent, of “the gift”. It is an infinite spectrum, a river into which we are all dipped, like Achilles. Some are dipped deeper than others. And like Achilles, something about the experience often renders us tragic, as well as gifted. Look at Brian Wilson.

IGM The Perception of Reality

Inter-Galactic Memo

To: All Personnel

Fr: W. Leavitt

Re: The Perception of Reality

6-18-10




I've been thinking about a statement one of my responders made, concerning the recent series of guest blogger contributions, and how some of us reacted. The statement was;

"The problem isn't corporate America, it is corrupt government."

Some of us took umbrage with that. But could it be possible that it isn’t either-or, but that they are both right? That the problem is corporate America, and corrupt government? At which point, the next question should be; "which fosters which?" Is one responsible for the other? If we look at a family metaphor, in which the behavior of the parent is modeled by the child, we could argue that the private sector takes its cues from the government. On the other hand, if a government is weak enough, it will kowtow to the pressure and demands of corporations. It isn't difficult to find examples of either. We need look no further than Mexico to see what can happen when powerful companies (in this case an Oligarchy) run roughshod over the government. Now, with drug cartels, it is even worse.
But what if government and corporate America are the same thing? Can a case be made for such a cabal? We may be assuming that one entity maintains a higher level of ethics that the other. Some of us think big business is more moral, and some of us think government is more moral. But what if neither can be considered moral? What if our situation is on a par with the Book of Mormon, where the Gadianton robbers become more powerful than the government, and have infiltrated the government at all levels? What if criminals sit in the "judgment seat," and we have essentially become them? And how do we know?
On the other hand, is it possible, in any kind of practical way, to assign concepts of morality to non-corporeal, non-sentient entities, which exist only in a legal sense? Can a government be moral or immoral? Can a corporation? Or can such considerations only be assigned to human beings, who work in and for these organizations? Is there a tipping point at which too many amoral or immoral people render the organizations behavior immoral?
Could a case be made for sufficient corruption, greed, and ineptitude on the part of both systems? For example, the entire country is divided as to where to place the blame for the BP oil spill. Is it a corporate or government responsibility? How would each of us answer this question: would the oil spill be more likely to not have happened if BP were more ethical, or if the government were bigger--exercised greater control and oversight?
Can presumed authority overcome dedicated greed?
Can corporate ethics overcome governmental corruption? I repeat my question from an earlier IGM; why did BP have no reliable and effective contingency plan in place for such an event? And, conversely, why did the government not require such a plan and/or technology? And if government did require it, why did they not know it was not in place and functioning?
We could chose from far too many examples besides the oil spill, but why bother?
How do our mind-sets gravitate to one set of assumptions or another? What is the process?
And if everything happens more or less in a causative vacuum, how would we ever arrive at any kind of explanation? Of course, perhaps it doesn't work that way. Maybe the world isn't ruled by coincidence and randomness. Maybe there is no such thing as a coincidence. But if that is true, how do we trace the inevitable pattern of necessary events which lead to all other events? Is all that really just a matter of opinion?
It might be interesting to take some kind of poll, find out where we agree and disagree on specific issues, and basic principles. And remember, issues and principles are not the same thing. Issues have no principles; but principles define and control issues. The oil spill is a perfect example. Was the explosion and resultant spill the result of a failure of issues or of misapplied principles? Does that even make sense?
And we need to remember that it appears as if the application of principles to specific issues can be wildly divergent, even when we adhere to the same basic principles. For example, we all believe in the necessity of laws, and protecting the public interest, and the necessity of incarceration for people who violate said laws and interests. But how we deal with the specific issues involved is often varied. Some of us accept the concept of the death penalty, some do not. Some insist on rehabilitation, and others insist that rehabilitation is ineffective and largely useless. Look at how we argue over such fundamental things like the Bill of Rights. There is no disagreement on their importance and desirability, but get more than three people together and how we interpret those Rights, and apply them, is all over the map. Why is that?
To quote Steve Stills, “there’s something happening here . . .” But do any of us agree as to what is happening, and why it’s happening?

And for those of you who have no idea what a Gadianton Robber is, I guess you’re just going to have to read the Book of Mormon. How sly is that?

--
You don't use science to show that you're right; you use science to become right.
XKCD

IGM A Positive Experience

Inter-Galactic Memo
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: A Positive Experience
6-1-10

This month Nita and I will be celebrating our 40th wedding anniversary. (No applause, please. But feel free to send money.) As you can imagine, I have been wracking my brain to think of an idea worthy of her, and the big 4-0. Most of my anniversary attempts have been on the order of,
“happy anniversary, honey, how about dinner and a movie?” Or even more likely, "hey, wasn't it our anniversary last month?"
Although once, a few years ago, I surprised her with a weekend trip to Zion National Park, and that was a huge success. Except it was a valentine’s present, and we went to the Park in Feb. But it was still awesome—we had the place pretty much to ourselves.
So I have to at least top that, right?
Then it hit me. I knew the perfect gift. Let me now include a little background;
Years ago, Nita and I started to go to a bluegrass festival held every fall in Logandale, NV. A good friend of ours (he was a Bishop at the time) was in a bluegrass band, and they were very good, and we loved going to hear them play. So one day he invited us to come to the festival, and we did, and listened to good music for eight hours a day for two days. We were hooked. By the way, the band is called “The Warburton’s”, and several years ago they took the top prize at the very prestigious Wolftrap International Bluegrass something-or-other. They are two brothers, a sister, and a good friend. (I just looked, and couldn’t find them on Youtube, so I’ll have to email Kelly and yell at him.) You’ve gotta hear “Lehi Roller Mills,” a song Marty, the leader, wrote about summer employment in a misspent youth.
Anyway, ever since, Nita has been in love with the mandolin, and has fantasized about playing one. As far back as the early 70’s, she loved the sound of Joni Mitchell’s lap dulcimer, and I was always going to make one for her (from a kit), but never have.
So this morning I bought her a mandolin. I have been looking online all week, searching the internet, emailing people, trying to get some ideas as to what brand to buy, how much to spend, etc. Well, I found a place called the Mandolin Store, and it is in, of all places—are you sitting down?—The Wickenburg TRIANGLE. That’s right, the tiny little store is in the city of Wickenburg, AZ.
But that’s not why I called you all together this morning. I did that, so I could tell you about the wonderful experience I had dealing with Dennis, at the Mandolin Store. It was all via email, other than this morning, when he called to get a credit card number. (I used yours, Leah) I told him what I was looking for, and that I had this one in mind, on his website, and that I knew nothing about mandolins—mando’s to the initiated. He was incredibly helpful, and patient, and knowledgeable.
When I am communicating via the internet, I always write to everyone as if we are long-lost friends; very informal, very personal, and chatty. (No! Really?) Most people no doubt think I’m from Mars when I do that (close, but no cigar), and ignore it. Dennis, picked it right up and gave it back. I told him all about my heart attack and surgery, and how our 40th was coming up and my wife has always wanted a mandolin. He told me happy anniversary, and all about having to move a bunch of furniture over the long weekend, and how he wouldn’t be able to get to the mandolin until today. It was fun; it felt just like it should have. He told me he had one of the model I was looking at, and that for my budget, it was far and away the best pick. (What an eye, huh?) But then he told me he had 4 new ones coming in, and he’d be happy to wait a few days, so he could sample them all and choose the best one for me. He assured me he would have the mandolin “set up” for beginners, and pick out a book and CD he thought would be appropriate for a 60-year old madwoman.
From beginning to end, it was a positive, life-affirming, loads of fun experience. The kind we see all too rarely.
So . . . if you do a Google search for The Mandolin Store, Dennis should come up. If you click on the site, you will see a photo of the tiny little building with the Arizona desert in the background. Dennis sells other things too, like guitars and banjos, and does repairs. Check him out, say hello, and if you’re ever in the market for an acoustic instrument, give him a chance to win you over.
And if you’re ever passing through Wickenburg, stop in and say hello—I know I will. But be careful . . . because the place might have vanished into the arcane and mysterious depths of the dreaded, Wickenburg Triangle!
Now don’t tell Nita about any of this! She doesn’t get the mando until June 13th. Happy anniversary, baby.

IGM The Most Popular President in History

Inter-Galactic Memo
To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: The most popular president in the history of the world
5-24-10

I was reading an article on the latest Rasmussen report this morning. Some interesting trends are continuing, and growing stronger. It seems that President Obama’s popularity has slipped again, down to 44%. My my, that must sting to see that number while one is being the Most Popular President in the History of the World.
And, as if that weren’t bad enough, the much vaunted health care plan isn’t faring much better. An astounding 63% of the voting public is now in favor of repealing the bill. Already. Before it’s even seen the light of day. So much for “well, I suppose we should at least give it a try . . .”
But neither of these is the really interesting statistic. That award goes to the “Political Class,” which is what the pundits and pollsters call the body of our elected officials. 77% of those guys and gals are still strongly in favor of the health care bill, and believe it will be good for the country. One can’t help but wonder if there might be some connection to the fact that they are elected, and stand to gain a good deal of power and wealth—indirectly of course—through the thousands of pages of regulation. Some of us may be just a bit jaded over their motives, and be wondering if the Political Class might have a different opinion if they were subject to the same health care policy as the rest of us.
This is a good indication of the disconnect between us and them. It is remarkable, really. They are elected representatives, and it should be clear to even the most hopeful among us, that the representation is no longer happening. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m listening to my Doc Watson radio station on Pandora, I would probably be having another heart attack right now. Doc and the boys are powerfully soothing.
It will be interesting to watch the coming election unfold. Personally, I think Doc Watson would make a better President than Obama, and I’m thinking of starting a grass roots internet campaign. But then, I think any one of you would make a better president. Anybody want to run?