The Voice of Treason

“Oh Donny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer’s gone, and all the flowers are dying
‘Tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow
‘Tis I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Donny boy, oh Donny boy, I love you so.”

I woke up yesterday morning to hear on FOX & Friends speculation on who would take Scott McClellan’s place: Tony Snow, Victoria Clarke, or Dan Senor. Scotty’s gone? And then there he was, resigning. And Karl Rove is “shifting.” Um, I’m not reaching for the razor blades. But maybe the MSM should consider a couple martinis. They’re like a basket of terriers, all a-pant: Who’s next? Who’s next?

Please…calm yourselves. You’re acting like this is the first time the administration has made any changes. Maybe you’ve forgotten all the other moves because the individuals who left weren’t leaving in handcuffs. But trust me - there have been changes. Just not the ones you want. You want Rumsfeld to go. And Cheney. And Condi. And Bush. They are all going to leave. Eventually. Just be patient - 2009’s just around the corner.

I’ve written here before about how much I adore Dick Cheney, and I suppose that those who read The V.O.T. - uh, both of you, and you know who you are - think I’m being facetious. Uh…no, I’m not. I’ve always been fond of Dick. I’m as fond as Dick as I am of Rummy. I liked them back when they had hair, but I like them even more now. I like them because they are…dare I say it?…men.

Okay - there it is. I like men. Always have, always will. Kinda wanted to be one, I guess. They just seem so darned capable. You can talk to them about almost anything interesting: baseball, politics, food, beer, food, beer, and dogs. All the things I like!

And I do like Rumsfeld. A man with conviction. A man with a plan. A man who doesn’t care what they say, he knows what’s right and he’s gonna do it his way. He stands at a desk - he doesn’t sit. He isn’t ruffled by the media; instead, he squints at them through his spectacles as if he’s wondering if they’re really as unprepared and misinformed as they appear. He has a job to do - just shut the hell up and let him do it.

Bush, so far, is backing him. He’s as loyal as Cheney’s two Labradors - Dave and Jackson — and he better not back down. For now all there is to do is wait…and pick Scott’s replacement. I like Tony Snow a lot, but why would he want to subject himself to this stress of battling the press corps so soon after battling cancer? And Dan, who’s perfectly qualified, will get grief for his ties to Iraq — and someone’s likely to call him “Ari.” Put Victoria in there. The hypocritical press will be so busy criticizing her wardrobe and hair that they really won’t be listening to her.

I’ve mentioned how much I hate watching our local news because there’s always a horrible animal abuse story. I’ll tune in because I’m curious about what’s going on in the community, then — BAM! — ghastly animal abuse story. Would it really hurt to give a viewer some warning here? Like, “to all our viewers who love dogs, you might want to leave the room now.” They’ll never do that, so if I want to find out what’s happening around me, I have to take the chance that I’m going to hear something awful before I have time to “click” it away.

Well, if I watch the local news I’m going to hear something awful anyway - whether or not it has anything to do with animal abuse. The other night, for instance, there was a story about the state’s high school students’ “unpreparedness” for college. Their math and reading skills are so substandard that graduates must first enroll in remedial courses in order to learn what they didn’t learn in high school.

They flashed the numbers on the screen and I think I’ve remembered them accurately. If not, I know for a fact that they’re pretty damned close. Here are the percentages for students - by group - who need to take these remedial courses:

Native Americans 66%
Hispanics 58%
African-Americans 56%
Asians 38%
Whites 36%

This state has made even Asians stupid. How can this be? The irony, of course, is that the colleges here have a pretty good reputation. It’s a similar situation in California: the public schools are inferior, but the colleges and universities get high marks. Go figure.

When I first started thinking about enrolling in a college program here, I landed on a panel discussion on our local Public TV station. I paused to watch. There were representatives from each of the major public institutions and they all agreed that they had no issue enrolling students - the problem was they couldn’t seem to get them to graduate. They get in, fail, and drop out.

Businesses have been quick to pick up on this fact. It’s difficult for the state to entice corporations to move here, and if they do move here, it’s increasingly tricky to convince them to stay. I posted recently about a company that planned an expansion, but because it wasn’t confident about the skills of the state’s employees, it picked up and relocated.

Officials are wringing their hands over this: How can we “align” high school competencies with college placement requirements to help reduce the number of students needing remedial courses in college?

Never fear. We now have a state government task force assembled to address this issue. Uh, but isn’t government the reason why these schools are so…oh, never mind.

“I am a Republican because I believe that freedom is more important than government-provided security. Sometimes I wish I were a Democrat because Democrats seem to have more fun. At other times I wish I were a Libertarian because Republicans are too much like Democrats.

– Franklyn Nofziger, 10/19/04

I was up early one morning watching FNC and I heard that Lyn Nofziger had died. My response was audible. I always liked the guy. I heard the news early, and I heard it once. A little while later it was announced that Caspar Weinberger, too, had passed. Another audible response. It was such odd timing that I thought it might have been possible that the first news story was incorrect. Maybe it hadn’t been Nofziger, after all; maybe a reporter got it wrong. Nofziger, Weinberger - these reporters are young: would they know the difference?

I should have gone online and looked for the story, because TV buried it pretty quickly once the news of Weinberger’s death broke. But I didn’t. Yesterday when I opened my new issue of National Review, there it was, confirmed. He was, indeed, gone. Again, I responded audibly.

A lot has been said of his rumpled appearance, his penchant for Bombay gin, and his puns and sly humor. When asked why he wasn’t chummy with Ron and Nancy, he quipped:

“I’m not a social friend of the Reagans. That’s by their choice and by mine. They don’t drink enough.”

Appearances were important and Nancy demanded some sense of decorum. When she criticized Nofziger’s, he told her that it made the President look that much better when they were standing together.

You know, if there were one reason to pursue fame, it would be that National Review might one day write of my death. Whether they love you or hate you, NR always produces a tasteful farewell. They have a knack for capturing the essence of a person, and theirs is truly the final word.

Lou Cannon, in NR, finishes the Nofziger obituary this way:

“Near the end of his life, as he battled cancer, Lyn became grateful for the prayers and phone calls from old friends and adversaries. He told one of them that he hadn’t helped enough people in his life. The caller replied that he had helped Reagan become president, which had rescued our country and changed the world. Lyn seemed to like that. He was a cut-up, all right, but he made a difference.”

Whew. Yet another audible response.

“There are some who desire knowledge merely for its own sake; and that is shameful curiosity. And there are others who desire to know, in order that they may themselves be known; and that is vanity, disgraceful too. Others again desire knowledge in order to acquire money or preferment by it; that too is a discreditable quest. But there are also some who desire knowledge, that they may build up the souls of others with it; and that is charity. Others, again, desire it that they may themselves be built up thereby; and that is prudence. Of all these types, only the last two put knowledge to the right use.”

– St. Bernard, Sermon on the Canticle of Canticles

One of those patron saints I was talking about - and one fine breed of dog, too. This particular Bernard - and there are many - is of Clairvaux. According to sources, every morning Bernard would ask himself, “Why have I come here?” I actually do that whenever I walk into a room. But I do like the representation of Bernard: bees, a book, a pen, a white dog. Powerful symbols all. I tell you, even if you’re not a Catholic…and I’m not…the patron saints are something to study. Just reading the details of some of their grisly deaths is reason to take an interest.

I’ve been up since four this morning, so don’t be surprised if I’m making absolutely no sense. I got up early so I wouldn’t oversleep. I needed to register for classes at 6:00 a.m. and I was logging into the system at 5:59. No access. Tried again. Six o’clock sharp, I’m in. How cool! The last time I registered for college courses I stood in long lines in the rain with a lot of wet paper because I attended my university during the years B.C. (before computers). I typed papers on a Smith Corona typewriter…which I still have for some reason. I registered each quarter in person, praying that all the people in line ahead of me were trying to get into other classes. There were no online systems or even phone systems back then. When I got kicked off the online system this morning, I grabbed my cell phone. Dying battery. It was still early so I had time for a cup of coffee and a bit of recharging. Then the phone system kicked me out, too.

It’s the whole prerequisite thing. My transcripts are taking forever to get here, so the new school has no info on me. My future looked very grim this morning. But there was an article in yesterday’s paper about how grit and perseverance are sometimes the tools of success when intelligence, skills, and talent fail. Plenty of smart, capable, gifted people out there living under viaducts. A lot of gritty people are running things. I had a choice: give up and go back to sleep, or be gritty.

“Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education alone will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan ‘press on’ has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.”

– John Calvin Coolidge

I chose to be gritty. Not only did I locate copies of my diploma, credential, test results, and resume, but I found several copies of my transcripts - some that were still hermetically sealed. I hadn’t produced these documents previously because I’d thought any documents that hadn’t come directly from my alma mater would be suspect. So I gathered all my paperwork and all the envelopes (six total) for tax returns and checks, and drove to the post office to drop those in the mail first. Then I was off to one of the many campus branches that are scattered over town. The girl who was filling in today from another campus - even if she had no access to her account on an unfamiliar computer - was extremely pleasant and helpful. (Thank you, Jessica! She just called me a few minutes ago to follow-up. Yowza. I have to say I’ve been dealing with some very nice people at this institution. Ugh - there, I’ve jinxed it.) Anyway, she had tried to contact someone at another campus and couldn’t, so she faxed my paperwork there and agreed to leave voicemail messages when I said I’d head over to the other campus, twenty miles away, and try to locate the person who could solve my problem.

Got there, and the person I needed to see wasn’t there. Give up, or get gritty? To make an extremely long story shorter, I pressed on and got what I needed and it looks like I’m officially a full-time college student again. At least for the summer. Funny, there was a woman registering for courses at the first campus this morning and she was just giddy: “Imagine! I’m actually taking college courses. I’m seventy years old and I’m back in school! Who’d have thought?”

Now that’s some grit.

For some reason I thought it was today, but it was actually yesterday. Maybe I missed it because I was still feeling the pain from handing over all that cash to the government. It’s a minor thing, but yesterday - April 15 - was the first anniversary of The Voice of Treason. Hmmm. And maybe that’s why I got nailed on taxes, who knows?

Gee willickers. Anyway, to commemorate this “event,” T has altered the look of The V.O.T. today. Broadened it a bit - maybe to reflect all that Havarti The V.O.T. has consumed in order to support the Danes. Less border now, and the text stretches across the monitor to fill it up. Much like the way The V.O.T. is filling up her jeans these days.

Okay, so speaking of food, I went to the grocery store today…uh, excuse me one moment. T is here, standing in the hall behind me, telling me that one of our squirrels has issued a demand.

“Hey, f*cker! Tell yo’ b*tch I need some carrot and apple out here - pronto!”

See, when we moved out here eleven years ago, there were no squirrels. Now, I grew up with squirrels in Chicago, and I remember like it was yesterday when my French teacher - who also was principal of our elementary school - told us, with that peculiar dreamy look in her eye…um, kinda like Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter when he’s talking about eating organ meat…that she sat in her kitchen eating fava beans - no, toast - and drinking Chianti - no, tea - and she saw two squirrels eyeing each other from opposite sides of the power lines.

“They saw each other. Then, on little cat feet, they crossed the wire to introduce themselves. They hesitated. Like chess pieces they moved forward. They stopped. Frozen. I held my teacup and trembled, waiting. They moved again. My heart pounded. Closer. Closer. Oh, the antic…i…pation. Moving forward…closer…closer…so close…and then - and then…and then they touched. There was a sound…a spark…they fell to the ground. Dead. Dead. So dead.”

Scarred for life, I was. Thank you, Chicago public schools. Anyway, years later I’m in California and there are squirrel fights in my mother’s yard. Squirrel gladiators, I tell you. Epic battles. They start making noise and the cats duck for cover and the dogs run out to try to break it up but they can’t. Brown squirrels, grey squirrels, red squirrels. The big red one - we called him Ivan - is shagging the other squirrels around the yard. My mother has put out food and they’re fighting over it.

In high school, I had fantasies about Palo Alto. I went to The Good Earth and The Varsity Theater - or did they call it The NEW Varsity? - every chance I got because I was so smitten with the area around University. I would drive there and watch the squirrels.

There were shiny black squirrels in the parks in Palo Alto - shiny like black cats. Big velvety black squirrels running up and down trees, chasing each other. It was painful to think that I had moved to a place where there were no squirrels.

Nuclear holocaust. We came here for the first time during the winter. The dead grass crackled under our feet. No birds. No squirrels. No signs of life. A dead place. Then one day, we saw King Nut. A squirrel on the Westside of town.

Cue “Westside Squirrels” - Pet Shop Boys. Thank you.

I was transfixed! A squirrel! Then came Queen Nut. I ran out and bought a bag of pumpkin seeds. The brand name? ChuckaNut. A third squirrel appeared. You can guess what we named him.

Our squirrels are ratty, but feisty. Time has passed and we now have a community of squirrels. I’m out of pumpkin seed, and they’re timid about approaching the bird feeders, so I’ve put out dried corn and apples and carrots.

Oh - T is here again. “Two squirrel alert!” See, we’ve been watching our squirrels beat the crap out of one another. We grab adult beverages and settle in for the show. Yesterday, there was a cat on the retaining wall, threatening our squirrels. We had to act.

Cue the song, “I’m a Squirrel Watcher.” Thank you.

T went up on the retaining walls and carefully placed the treats I produced for our squirrels. I have to admit that we spent most of yesterday watching two of them chase each other all over the walls. Yes, I know. It’s time to go back to work. I guarantee you that years from now my fond memories won’t be of work - they’ll be those squirrels, beating the crap out of each other, and sneaking into the yard thinking they’re stealing food.

Anyway, I was saying that I went to the grocery store. It doesn’t feel like Easter. I wished the bag boy a happy Easter and he wished me one at exactly the same time. I really had thought that by this time in my life I would have subscribed to a particular religion, but I haven’t. I spent a portion of a day this week reading about Passover. It was exhausting. The part about cleaning the kitchen with toothpicks and Q-tips wore me out.

Today, I started to look at the lists of patron saints. There are so many. I wasn’t in church today, but I made sure the birds and squirrels had a banquet. Our dogs went for a romp on the mesa and saw jackrabbits. Easter bunnies.

As much as I’m drawn to Judaism - I was raised in a Jewish neighborhood - I still find myself intrigued by Christ. In college, there was a professor I admired enough to enroll in several of his religion courses. I remember sitting with him on campus one spring day like this, lamenting my choice of majors. I was unhappy about making the wrong choices. This was not a marketable path I’d carved out for myself.

He laughed. “I think you should major in French. Maybe Philosophy.”

“That’s even worse than what I’m majoring in!”

“Not at all. You’re here to major in life. It’s why we’re all here. Study what you enjoy now. In a few years, you might not even be interested in working in that field, but it’s what you love now. Relish that. Enjoy that. Take as many classes as you can in as many subjects that interest you - and learn as much as you can now. Use this time. Enjoy this time. Study. Learn. It doesn’t matter what you do when you’re out there. You’ll change. Your tastes will change. Your interests will change. You don’t know what will happen. Study what excites you now. There will be a place for it. No matter what you end up doing for a paycheck.”

It didn’t sound very practical, but on some level what he said made sense. It doesn’t matter what you believe - today is a special day. I chose to celebrate by feeding the animals in our yard - including Martha and the rest of her pigeon friends, and watering the trees and shrubs, flowers and houseplants. The dogs will be going on another walk in a few minutes.

It is a holy week. Spend your time well. Have a few bottles of wine. Eat Danish cheese. Be kind to animals. Kiss your pets. Breathe the air, watch plants burst to greet this season. It’s a time of such promise.

It’s spring again. And it doesn’t last very long.

Ouch. I just got royally screwed and I still have the expense of postage ahead of me. Yes, I’m talking about taxes. Rush Limbaugh has always said that if you’re getting a refund, then you’re doing something wrong. Note to Rush: I definitely did nothing wrong, so no refund.

Well, actually, there was one small thing I did wrong. I had income. A pittance from employers and a pittance from cashing out my 401k, but together it was enough for me to get totally…well, you fill in the blank. Not only did I pay a chunk when I cashed it out, but I just got to pay another big ‘un to the Feds and a big ‘un to the state.

And I’m not talking a lot of income here. This was money I’d hoped to live on for a while, but now a good portion of it is gone. It’s like when I left a job and received a severance package and over half of it was taken for taxes. It would have been an opportune time to have had that entire amount, but no, that would have made sense.

See, I had this zany idea about taking some time off - a sabbatical - and addressing some issues with all the geriatric cases around me. Human and canine. I wanted to get out of “I-have-to-have-a-job” mode and just think about something else I’d rather do. I thought, I researched, and then I decided that I would like to go back to school full-time this summer, then - based on how that worked out - go back to work full-time and continue school on a part-time basis. Now my master plan is…well, maybe it’s not going to happen.

I suspect that nothing is going to come of tax reform any time soon, so I am toying with the idea of pursuing low paying jobs in the future and stop saving any money to avoid further penalties. You know what they say: “The more you make, the more they take.” And then we take it, right up the…well, you fill in the blank. Say, maybe I can sign up for some government program - maybe something like food stamps - and try to score a little bit of my retirement fund back before I die.

When I went to work for a non-profit arts organization, I was earning about a third of what I had been earning. And I was paying for my insurance out of my pathetic little paycheck. And the organization one day decided to stop paying for the insurance, yet continued to keep taking money out of our checks. SAY! WHY DOESN’T THE IRS GO AFTER THEIR ASSES???

Just curious. So after a few years out of the middle class, I was in again for one year in 2005 - and that’s just enough to get kicked in the…well, you fill in the blank.

Six retired generals are now on record for calling on Donald Rumsfeld to step down. I shall list the names here for the record:

John Batiste
Gregory Newbold
Paul Eaton
Anthony Zinni
John Riggs
Charles Swannack

So, in the event of a 2008 win, which of these retirees will be the Democrats’ Secretary of Defense? Just want to be able to check back here in a couple years to see who sucked whose ass, that’s all.

Caught most of the results of Harvard’s Institute of Politics survey on C-SPAN this week and, out of curiosity, I went to iop.harvard.edu to take their little IOP political personality test. I took it twice. The first time I leaned right on the economic, terrorism, and tax questions, and more moderate on social issues. Then I got my result. I went back and leaned further left on the social issues and submitted again. Same result. I guess my far right answers completely cancelled out any leftist ones. According to Harvard, I am a “Traditional Conservative.”

According to the Libertarian Party and their little test, I’m a flaming Libertarian. Hmmm. Based on Harvard’s definition of a Traditional Conservative, I’m not sure where I see Libertarianism fitting into the picture. Maybe I’m a Libertarian Conservative. Or perhaps I’m a Conservative Libertarian. Or maybe I’m just…nuanced.

You don’t think these test questions were engineered to get specific responses, do you? I mean, they don’t conduct polls that way, do they? Why, that would be producing biased results, wouldn’t it?

Nah - I must have just hit the wrong buttons or something. These polls have to be accurate. I mean, considering how much we depend on them and everything. They are, aren’t they?

The British press is having a tizzy fit because Tiger Woods referred to himself as a “spaz.” It seems one cannot say “spaz” in the UK - it’s on the list of taboo words. Interesting, because a former boss - a wee little man from Scotland - named his dog “Spaz.” I think she was a Border Collie, so the name made sense.

Now, before the Border Collie people start coming after me, here’s one definition from The Urban Dictionary:

4. spaz: someone who is hyperactive, or overly energetic (as in “She can never sit still, she is a bit of a spaz.”)

I don’t know if I’m more offended by the British press for being upset and for having a list of contraband words, or by the American press for editing Tiger’s original quote. One journalist chose to use “wreck” instead. Did Tiger say “wreck” or did he say “spaz?”

From Reuters:

“When asked about his play on the last day at Augusta, Woods replied: ‘I putted atrociously today. Once I got on the greens, I was a spaz.’

In several countries, ’spaz’ is an offensive term for people affected with spastic paralysis, a form of cerebral palsy.

Britain-based disability organization Scope, formerly The Spastics Society, said of Woods’s comments: ‘Once again, Tiger Woods demonstrates that we are two nations divided by a common language. Although in the U.S. the term spaz may not be as offensive as it is here in the UK, many disabled people here will have taken exception to his likening a golf stroke to that of a spaz. UK disability charity Scope is confident that Tiger Woods would be devastated to learn that something he said could offend his fans, disabled or non-disabled.’

Wood’s remark drew little attention in the U.S. where ’spaz’ is a slang term for someone considered clumsy or inept.”

From the BBC:

TOP TEN WORST WORDS

1. Retard
2. Spastic
3. Windowlicker
4. Mong
5. Special
6. Brave
7. Cripple
8. Psycho
9. Handicapped
10. Wheelchair-bound

Well, isn’t that…special? Offensive, too, is that our local school district is backing off its original statement about suspending any students who walked out of class to participate in the protests. Students who subjected themselves to school that day should be ticked off that others were allowed to escape and work on their tans without consequence.

Then T mentioned he was watching Cavuto interview a woman who was angry that the temps who didn’t show up to work in order to go protest lost their contracts. She insisted it wasn’t fair - they have the right to go protest. Cavuto explained that if he didn’t give his boss advanced warning and just didn’t show up to work, Rupert Murdoch would fire him. Didn’t matter if he had a right to protest. She countered with: “Well, they should have just closed the business for the day.” The funny thing about being a temp is that you really have no rights. Your obligation is to show up and make them think that you’re so good that they offer you a position so you don’t have to be a temp anymore. If you don’t show up, well…you’re just a more temporary temp. This woman just wouldn’t let go of the unfairness factor. Look, lady. Having to go to work when you’d rather be doing something else is just the way it is. Get used to it. Plan ahead next time.

Then there’s the DA who’s dissing DNA. He figures that it doesn’t matter that there’s no DNA evidence because DNA’s not that important in this case. Tell that to all the guys who were sent to prison, then released years later after DNA results proved their innocence.

Hate to offend the Brits, but the windowlickers are out there in big numbers and we should be allowed to call them what they are. (After reading about the last election, it’s obvious the Italian press doesn’t have a contraband word list. Bellissimo.)

No surprises here - Silvio Berlusconi’s fifteen minutes are up. It’s time for the Italians to pick out a new government - kinda the way most people pick a wine for supper or choose a tie for work. The BBC was kind enough to compile the low points - actually, some of these might be considered high points - of this election:

Opposition leader Romano Prodi on Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi in a face-to-face TV debate on 3 April:

“The prime minister clings to data in the way a drunkard clings to lamp-posts - not for illumination, but to keep him standing up.”

Berlusconi’s response to Prodi during the same debate:

“Prodi is like a useful idiot - he lends his cheery parish priest face to the left, which is 70% made up of former communists.”

Prodi on Berlusconi, who is said to be Italy’s richest man, and his party Forza Italia:

“Forza Italia’s Hueys, Leweys and Deweys defending Uncle Scrooge are pathetic.”

Berlusconi on Piero Fassino, leader of the main opposition party Democrats of the Left:

“Fassino is very sought after by the lobby of funeral directors, they want him as their main promoter.”

Berlusconi on left-wing voters at a conference of retailers on 4 April:

“I trust the intelligence of the Italian people too much to think that there are so many pricks around who would vote against their own best interests.”

Neo-Fascist leader Alessandra Mussolini addressing the transgender communist candidate Vladimir Luxuria during a TV debate:

“Better to be a Fascist than a poofter.”

Italian Communist leader Oliviero Diliberto on the ruling coalition:

“We must get rid of these scoundrels in government.”

Defense Minister Antonio Martino on the opposition:

“We have the duty to prevent Italy ending up in the hands of this gang of scoundrels.”

Roberto Calderoli, leading member of the right-wing Northern League, on left-wing plans to allow same-sex unions:

“Enough of these absurd demands by poofters for privileges.”

And they turned out in record numbers to vote out Silvio? But he had some of the best lines! Then again, this is Italy - if you wait a few minutes, he might be back. Mamma mia!