The Voice of Treason

“If you wanted the sky I would write across the sky
In letters that would soar a thousand feet high
To sir, with love…”

And, as much as I can appreciate this sentiment, one thing is clear: Call it whatever you want, but scrawl “a thousand feet high” is still graffiti. Several months ago I was driving around town and that’s when I started to see a lot of anti-war messages spray-painted on walls. Again, I appreciate the sentiment, but in a city that has a serious graffiti problem, could you please not vandalize others’ property?

It’s like when you’re combing a child’s hair and notice something unusual. Upon further investigation, you discover it is a louse. Or, after a day of hiking in the wilderness, you hop in the shower and lather up only to feel something on your thigh. Slowly, you take a look. It’s a tick. Or you’re brushing your teeth and think you see a dark spot on your tooth. You peer into the mirror. Pepper? No, it’s a cavity. Getting dressed, you feel a lump…

All these scenarios have one thing in common: that sinking feeling. Why sinking? Because you know when you find something like this, it just isn’t a good thing. Like when you think you’ve found the perfect house, but when you drive through the neighborhood you see something scrawled on a wall. It doesn’t matter if it’s “Jesus Loves You,” “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” or “Have a Nice Day” – this isn’t a mural. It’s graffiti.

I was reminded of this yesterday when T and I were at a baby birthday party/barbeque, and we were sitting with a group of friends – all Hispanic, all native Nuevo Mexicans who grew up in the local culture. Someone brought up the story of the kid who tagged the transformer.

“Oh, yeah. Spontaneous human combustion.”

“Did you hear? The kid died. He was painting “Our Hero” – I think a family member was in Iraq maybe – but the fumes caught fire or something and he burned up and they couldn’t save him.”

But it wasn’t “Our Hero,” at all. That’s what had been reported, but when I looked at what had been spray-painted I had the same reaction that I have when I see bad penmanship. I knew that wasn’t what it said, but I couldn’t really figure out what it was supposed to be. And if you’re spraying a wall and can’t form letters clearly so your message can be understood, why bother?

And then I found the half-page article in our Sunday Albuquerque Journal: “Tagger Remembered as Quiet, Artistic; Family Gathers To Mourn Youth.” What the kid had sprayed on the electrical substation before he suffered an intense shock and severe burns was this: “Gue Kemo.”

Family members explain that “Gue” is short for the 18 year-old’s nickname “Goober” and “Kemo” is the tag of the person who was with him when he burst into flames. The family says Goober wasn’t alone when he tagged the transformer – there was another male and a female with him, but the family doesn’t know their identity and neither has come forward.

“Artistry runs deep in the family.”

Relatives told the Journal that “they weren’t aware of Aaron’s tagging, which they prefer to call art.” They hope to turn this death “into something positive for the community. A place for young people to practice graffiti art, maybe?”

Graffiti art? May I suggest a place where there’s a supply of paper and canvas? Call me cold-hearted, but after a half-page tribute about a “boy” (I thought eighteen meant you were an adult) who sketched and painted and who amazed the doctors and nurses in the burn unit with his “yes, sirs” and “yes, ma’ams” I’m left somewhat confused. A few weeks ago students from a local middle school were on a field trip at the city’s BioPark and scratched their “art” on the tanks at the aquarium. Our mayor determined that this was not art; instead it was vandalism, and he wanted the students and their parents held accountable. The city would sue and someone would pay to repair the $30,000 in damages. To top it off, all students from this middle school would be forever banned from the BioPark.

This pronouncement sent shockwaves throughout the community. Talk radio was abuzz for days and the editorial pages were full of letters from readers. Most of these were handwringers about the socioeconomic status of these “children” and how one must realize that this behavior is a result of poverty and broken homes. We must “understand the reasons” why these “children” scratched up the shark tank. Some readers actually suggested that “we all share the blame.” Still others felt that because our leaders weren’t setting a good example, we shouldn’t be surprised that our “children” were engaging in this type of behavior.

What type of behavior? Criminal behavior? Vandalism? One lone voice on the letters page put it this way:

“The teenagers who vandalized the shark tank have achieved their goals. Everybody is talking about them. And the results will remain for all to see for as long as the shark tank stands. They will have a warm feeling inside every time they visit the BioPark and see their work. They will be admired by other vandals. They have made their mark in the world.”

Am I to believe that Leonardo da Vinci honed his skills by practicing on the walls of Milan and Florence? Unless he was commissioned and paid for his work, any “free” artistic expression not on canvas or paper, but on someone else’s property, was simply graffiti.

When she was younger, my sister loved horses. She made me read all the Marguerite Henry books and, inspired by the illustrations in Misty of Chincoteague and King of the Wind, she began drawing horses. We walked to school one day, and when I realized I was still carrying one of her textbooks, I went upstairs to where the upper grades were, and opened the door of her Algebra classroom.

The teacher looked at me. “Yes?”

I nervously approached her. “I think this is my sister’s Algebra book.”

She stared at me, then reached for the book. When she opened it all my sister’s horse drawings fell out. After a pause, then a sigh: “It is.”

I’m not sure why my sister was so enamored; perhaps it was genetic. We’d heard that my father’s family had raised horses in the Shenandoah Valley and he, at sixteen, had left the horse farm with his Boston Terrier, Sally, hopped on a train and never looked back. Our family history is a mystery; a few years ago a family member none of us had ever met found one of us online and sent a packet of research on our father’s family. It appears that many of the relatives had left Virginia and later settled in Kentucky.

My sister didn’t know this when she was younger, but she dreamt of days on the horse plantation, sipping juleps, and every year she made me watch the Triple Crown races. But I always had mixed feelings about this. She made me watch Lassie, too, but as much as I adored that Collie, I always cried during the opening credits because I knew at some point something bad was going to happen. Some poor little animal would be crossing the track and a paw would get caught: Would Lassie get help before the train crushed the furry victim? Childhood was difficult enough – I didn’t need this added stress. But my sister always assured me that these were professional actors and the raccoon, stuck on the track, was a graduate of HB Studio in New York and this was his job.

Years later, I stopped watching the races and I only visited the racetrack here in Albuquerque once. I don’t keep up on the individual horses so I don’t know what their chances are going into the Derby. The last time I bothered to tune in I did what I’d always done: watch the horses file in one by one, and then pick a winner based on a name or a certain look or behavior. When I saw Barbaro, I picked him. There was just something about that horse. He won, but then… well, we know what happened.

Time has passed, and I’d thought about watching the Preakness, but then I’d heard about Mending Fences “breaking down” earlier in the day. Such things happen quickly. A race begins, a horse falters, and then a decision is made, and a life is gone.

I held the remote in my hand, watched the horses file by for another minute, then clicked over to C-SPAN.

“It’s designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything is new again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains comes, it stops, and leaves you to face the fall alone.”

– A. Bartlett Giamatti

Picture this. It’s the bottom of the ninth: bases are loaded, batter’s at the plate. The count: three balls, two strikes. The pitcher winds up, extends his arm, and the ball is released from his glove. It’s directly over the plate – hittable – but the batter just watches it go by. Game over.

At the start of every Cubs game, at some point – maybe when they’re playing the national anthem – there is always that feeling. Hope. It is spring again, and something wonderful is just around the corner. But then comes the missed opportunities, runners stranded at second and third, dropped balls, bad throws; the errors pile up and the other team just sits back, watches, and wins.

“Rooting for the Cubs in the late 1940s and early 1950s, I became gloomy, pessimistic, morose, dyspeptic and conservative. It helped out of course that the Cubs last won the World Series in 1908, which is two years before Mark Twain and Tolstoy died.”

– George Will

George and I have much in common. He has said something that reminds me of how utterly miserable it was to go to Candlestick Park to watch the Cubs and be harassed by Giants fans. Truth be told, Mets fans at Shea were kinder to me.

Says George: “It took courage to be a Cubs fan.”

Yes, George, you’re right about that. And being a Cubs fan early in life was probably good training for handling the abuse that would come later, defending the Republican Party. With each campaign, it is spring again, and we go into the cycle with such hope. But then, after the anthem, it’s all downhill. So many times I’ve found myself defending the Cubs by explaining that individual players throughout their history have accomplished the spectacular. But the response is always the same. “If the players are so good, then why can’t the team manage to win ballgames?” Too often, I’m afraid, I find myself using the same argument to defend the GOP.

I’d mentioned that T had felt Ron Paul won the MSNBC debate, and I wanted him to watch the FOX debate when he returned from Kansas City and score the candidates again. He watched, made some notes, added up the points, and announced that Paul had dropped almost to the bottom of his list. Only one other candidate scored lower.

I appreciate T’s analysis because he isn’t partisan. As I’ve said, he’s polignostic, and refuses to align himself with any particular party. As an atheist, he believes religion is wicked, responsible for most of what is wrong with the world; as a polignostic, he says pretty much the same about politics. He criticizes me for being such a zealot.

“Don’t you know that politicians – no matter who they are or what party they represent – don’t care about you? They just don’t. You might want to believe they do, but they don’t. They’ll sell you out in a heartbeat.”

This is, in effect, the equivalent of telling a child that there is no Santa Claus. Even if I’ve watched my parents quietly place gifts under the tree, then polish off the milk and cookies left by the fireplace, on some level I still want to believe that Santa will come.

It was T – before any of the Democrat presidential candidates declared a position – who said he was against going into Iraq. His reasoning was that the Iraqis had not yet demonstrated a strong enough desire to take back their own country: “If they want to overthrow Saddam, fine – then I have no problem offering our help. But they have to make the first move.” Four years later he’s asking me why Bush isn’t doing anything about Iran and North Korea when it’s clear they have WMD. And even though it’s become more difficult, I still find myself defending the administration’s decision to go into Iraq because I feel that it’s an issue I can defend. The original idea was noble. If the situation ever works out the way it was supposed to it’ll all be worth it. And the alternative now is just unthinkable.

T’s second big bugaboo has always been securing the border, and now we have this new immigration legislation. I have my own issues with the administration — and the party in general — but I’ve always been able to muster up some sort of argument for the defense.

But the party that I support because there is no other choice has left me, again, with no other choice. I’m being asked to defend a policy that is, essentially, amnesty. I’m being asked to support yet another layer of useless, expensive, badly engineered bureaucracy. I’m being asked to support legislation that rewards criminality.

I found myself explaining that this was strategery. Obviously the administration has to put something out there before a Democrat administration, with the assistance of a Democrat Congress, signs off on an even worse piece of legislation.

But this isn’t the right legislation. And it isn’t right to put it forth, believing that the Democrats will win in 2008 and do something even worse. There is no principle in this and there is no joy here in Mudville.

T’s right. He says they’ll sell us out in a heartbeat. And they just did.

Woot woot, yeah, uh, yo, a-b…, qiizoo up in da bitch… [repeat 5 times]
Who be da one ponyin’ up da taxes
Fetchin’ coffee ‘n’ mutha f*ckin’ faxes
Payin’ 3 dot thizzle-fiiiive
Fightin’ ‘muter traffic tryin’ ta stays alive
Gots 2-large to keeps ma home
Honky needs a white Malcom

We busts all d’zay jus’ fo’ 4/15
Juz to see da bens go down da latrine
Payin’ fo’ shit dat jus’ come outta ma dime
Wanna take some schoolin’ but ain’t got da time

Workin’ all days an’ keep payin’ through ma nose
Get ma f*ckin pay stub an’ see how I been hosed
Callin’ on da man to ask fo’ freakin’ help
But dey too bizzy givin’ urchins f*ckin’ kelp

George Bush be sayin’ somethin’ ah can’t believe
Offrin’ up illegals all dis amnesty
Weez already payin’ fo’ oil an’ da wind
Mo’ f*ckin’ solah — when’s it gonna end?
Cruzin’ now in a blinged out Prius
When’s whitey Malcom gonna come ‘n’ free us?

Woot woot, yeah, uh, yo, a-b.., qiizoo up in da bitch…. [repeat 5 times]

– T-Dawg ‘n’ D-Voice, Da Rapublicans

So what can I do for you?

Well, I’m going to need to take some PTO this week.

What’s the problem?

No problem. I’m just going to need some personal time. Some time off.

Family issue?

No, just need to address some issues.

Issues?

Yeah. Just need to address something.

And that is?

Just give me my time off, okay?

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now let’s not get hostile here.

Look. I get personal time, right? I need to have some time off to take care of some things and I don’t think I need to get specific about it, that’s all.

Doctor’s appointment?

No.

Dentist?

No.

Parent-teacher conference?

No.

Goin’ fishing?

No.

Well, we can’t very well give you time off if we don’t know there’s a valid reason.

It’s my time. I don’t need a reason.

Well, actually you do.

Since when?

You have responsibilities here. You’re making it sound like there’s something more important than being here. We just need to know what that is.

Excuse me?

Before we can okay this, we need to know why you aren’t going to be here.

You’re serious?

Dead serious. We’re running a business here. We need to know we can count on you. And now you’re saying that you need to be somewhere else. How are we supposed to react to that?

But I get personal time off.

True. But it has to approved. We can’t have people taking time off whenever they feel like it. You need a good reason. And before I can sign off on this, I need to hear the reason.

My grandmother’s not well.

What’s her name?

What?

What’s her name?

Why do you need to know that?

If she’s not well, the company would like to send her a card. We’ll need an address and a statement from her physician.

What?

You heard me. You want time off, we’ll need to know why.

Fine! It’s not my grandmother – all right? I just need some time off to attend… an event.

A concert?

No.

Is this some sort of political thing?

No.

Because if it’s some sort of political thing, you know you’re going to have to run that by Corporate. I mean, there could be media there and we need to be sure –

I’m not going to be talking to anyone in the media, okay?

How do we know that if we really don’t know what your intentions are here?

Okay, okay. I just want time off – I have over 300 hours that I haven’t taken and I’m just asking for eight, all right? – because I need to do something.

Just tell me what that is.

I need to just not be here.

Is there a problem?

No, I just need to not be here.

But we need you here.

But I need to not be here.

If there’s an issue and you need to talk with someone – you know, a professional – we have a phone number posted on the HR bulletin board outside my office. It’s totally confidential. Jim in Accounting calls in all the time. You know – for his drinking problem?

I don’t need to call anyone. I just need eight hours of my time off.

Why?

Jesus Christ!!! Okay, I’ll tell you. I don’t want to be here because I want to send a message, okay?

To Corporate?

NO! To Congress! To the President! To anyone who’s f*cking paying attention!

We don’t need language like that in this office. Do I need to call in a witness here?

NO! Just give me my time off!

I can’t do that unless I have a reason. We have procedures. We have specific forms. The Request For Personal Time Off form asks for a reason, that’s all. See here on line 52? Why are you requesting this time off? It’s right here.

I don’t want to be here because I want to prove that if I’m not here I’ll make a difference.

You’ll make more of a difference if you’re here doing your job.

You don’t understand. Do you remember when a group of people protested by not going to work to make the point that if they’re not working it impacts the whole country?

Who was that?

It doesn’t matter. Anyway, there’s this e-mail that’s been going around and it’s asking people to not go to work tomorrow to make the same point. Except there are more of us and we think that we can make a bigger point.

Who’s we?

Us.

Us? Who’s us?

The middle class. The e-mail wants everyone in the middle class to just stay home tomorrow. Look – I could have just called in sick tomorrow, but I wanted to do this right. I’m entitled to time off and I want to use eight hours to just not be here tomorrow. I’m caught up, I’ve turned in my reports early, I’ve met my deadlines – I think I can take eight hours off tomorrow, all right?

I just want to make sure I’m clear on a few things. You’re talking about some group who took off of work to make some point. What group are we talking about here?

It doesn’t matter.

I think it does matter.

Look, it was in the news – I don’t think I have to get specific.

I need specifics for this form. You want your eight hours, don’t you?

Okay, okay – it was Hispanics. Illegal aliens. People who say they’re here doing jobs that Americans won’t do.

Hispanics?

Yeah, mostly.

Illegals?

Yeah.

We in Human Resources do not believe that humans are illegal. Humans are our most valuable resource. We’re all about people here. Are you saying you’re not about people?

That’s not what I’m saying.

Well, I took the Effective Listening course the same time you had it and what I’m hearing from you is that you think people aren’t valuable.

That’s not what I’m saying.

It sounds like that’s what you’re saying.

You’re not hearing me.

Oh, I think I am.

I think you’re missing my point.

I think you weren’t paying attention in class and I know we printed out a certificate for you. Did you deserve that certificate?

I was in the class.

I know you were. I was there, too. But I just get the feeling you weren’t taking this training seriously. We invest a lot of money in your training. I’m thinking you’re wasting our investment. Don’t you care about your future here? Why wouldn’t you take these training courses seriously?

I do, I do. Look, I’ve taken all the required courses –

And I see that right here. You took all the orientation courses when you started here – oh, I see here on your training information sheet that you’re due for your Ergonomics Refresher, so you’ll need to be sure you’re registered for that.

I’ve turned in my request form.

That’s good to hear. And I see you were in the Sensitivity and Diversity course, too.

Yeah.

Did you find the course worthwhile?

Sure.

Are you positive?

Yeah, I’m positive.

Well it doesn’t seem like you got very much out of it if you’re sitting here in my office telling me that you think some people are illegal.

I didn’t say that.

I think you did.

I didn’t. I just want eight hours off to make a point.

I think you’ve made your point.

You’re misunderstanding what I’m saying.

I don’t think I am. I think you need to sign up for the Sensitivity and Diversity Refresher.

I don’t need that.

Oh, I think you do.

I’m not insensitive! I just want my time off!

I’m going to register you for the Refresher.

Fine! Sign me up!

Done! You’ll be in class starting at 8:30. That’ll give you plenty of time to check your e-mail and get a cup of coffee before class starts.

Fine. When is it?

Tomorrow. I’ll let your supervisor know that you won’t be at your desk.

“We want to note that many of the campaigns and the candidates have issued statements of regret and condolence over the death of the Reverend Jerry Falwell today, so we will not be seeking any more reaction from the candidates on that matter during the debate.”

– Brit Hume

And they say Mitt Romney’s smooth? First, Hume’s statement sufficiently answered my question from yesterday, and I thought it was a wise decision to open the debate with it. Slick? A little, but smart, too. It’s true, the candidates did comment earlier in the day; I liked that Falwell’s passing was acknowledged, but that the topic was off the table for the evening. A good start.

I have a stack of scribbly notes in front of me, but I’m not going to analyze the candidates’ performances here because the ones I like are still the ones I like. I did appreciate the zingers, especially Huckabee’s line about John Edwards, and Tancredo’s comment about conversions and how they’re okay on the Road to Damascus, but not on the Road to Des Moines. Good one. Oh – and bonus points to Tancredo for the Jack Bauer remark.

But see what happens when the moderator lets the candidates speak? It’s wonderful when they’re allowed to complete a thought without… TIME!!! And I also liked… TIME!!! I thought that… TIME!!! And see what happens when a moderator listens? I imagine it’s obvious now to anyone who had any doubts that Chris Matthews is no moderator. Sorry, but the MSNBC debates compared to this one on FOX were just ludicrous. The Dems – if any of them actually show up – have much to look forward to.

Brit Hume’s middle name, of course, is “class,” but I also liked Chris Wallace. Yet it was Wendell Goler who really stole the show. After the debates on MSNBC, the analysis focused on who looked and sounded “presidential.” I didn’t hear Carl Cameron ask those insipid questions post-debate, but if he had the answer might have been GOLER! Well done, Wendell. Excellent follow-up questions.

It’s interesting that Ron Paul was ahead in the FOX text message poll and there are several ways to interpret this. Ironically, after the MSNBC debate, T declared Paul the winner. I don’t know if he watched the one last night – he’s been in Kansas City this week – but it’s a good thing he wasn’t here. During the first two debates (and I must say I’m happy he watched because he’s usually disinterested) he’d pause the debate after every response and we’d discuss what was said. That was fun at first, but I must have started getting surly, because soon we were having our own debate and then he told me he’d never watch another one with me. (I’m glad he wasn’t here last night because if he’d paused this one, I probably would have ripped out his throat.)

Now that I’ve watched it a couple times, I’d like him to watch – and he can pause it to his heart’s content and analyze it to death – and then score the candidates the way he did on the previous debates. I want to see if Paul comes out on top again.

Why T, the polignostic, just won’t admit he’s a Libertarian I’ll never know.

That there is a Jerry Falwell quote. There are a lot of Falwell quotes – and some are pretty cringeworthy – but those are precisely the ones that we’ll be hearing today. Allow me to take a moment to post a couple here that I actually like.

“Grown men should not be having sex with prostitutes unless they are married to them.”

“Textbooks are Soviet propaganda.”

The man is dead, and frankly, at 73, he died young. And, damn it, he picked one hell of a time to shuffle off that mortal coil. There’s a Republican debate on FOX tonight!

I’m just wondering if any of the candidates will acknowledge his passing.

R.I.P.

“The only question remaining about the decline of Western civilization is the pace.”

– Robert H. Bork

Cable news – in fact, cable television in general – is like heroin to me. I know people who have quit cable and even given away their sets and they tell me their lives are infinitely better. They read more. They knit. They bake. They take long walks, putter, develop new hobbies. They listen to music. But, to me, these people are too much like reformed smokers. It’s admirable that you have kicked your habit, but could you please not criticize me for holding on to mine?

Actually, that’s a bad analogy. I’m not a smoker. All I’m saying is that it’s dangerous to give up a vice because it can lead to dropping other vices. I know that sounds strange, but bear with me here. Once you give up your TV, it’s a slippery slope. Next, you’ll give up talk radio. Once you’re reading the classics, you might give up your newspapers and periodicals. Next thing you know, you’re using your computer only for work. At this point, you might as well sell your car and your home and build a one-room log cabin in the woods.

I’ve considered it myself, mind you, but I don’t do it because as much as I cringe, as much as I rant, I still want to know what’s going on in the world. I think of Florence King and her line about democracy: “The Crude leading the Crud.” As depressing as it may be, I still want to keep up on the crude and the crud.

After weeks of Anna Nicole’s breasts, and now Paris Hilton’s; after videos of girls beating the stuffing out of one another and of thugs beating and robbing the elderly; after Mike Wallace asking Mitt Romney if he and his wife Ann had sex before they officially tied the knot; after watching Bill Clinton’s ads for Hillary… aaarrrggghhh.

You know, when I watch him, when I listen to him, I feel that familiar queasiness, and I hear that old joke in my head:

“How do you know Bill Clinton is lying? His lips are moving.”

So, here he is, looking me in the eye, telling me that his wife is simply the cat’s pajamas, the bee’s knees. Criminy, if she’s so great, Bill, why do you cheat on her? You say she’s respected all over the world, but it’s still so obvious she’s not respected by you.

And now there’s the reunion of Joey Buttafuoco and Amy Fisher. Quick — look down and make sure you’re not wearing your good shoes. If we really are slithering down that slippery slope, this has to be proof that we are dangerously close to that puddle of muck at the bottom of the slide.

“I was raised Catholic. Last time I went to confession I said, ‘You first.’”

– Dennis Miller

I’ve written here many times about my mother – a product of Italian immigrants, raised Roman Catholic, who lapsed, and raised us in a Jewish neighborhood in Chicago. When she went into hospice recently, I got a call from a priest who asked me if it was okay for her to take communion. I started to tell him the sort of things she always said about the Church, but after I said that she’d make herself pass out so she wouldn’t have to go but that she still liked to name a lot of our pets after saints, I stopped myself and said: “Sure! Whatever she wants.”

I didn’t tell him about how she used to say that she spent most of her childhood fighting off priests and nuns and her horror stories about dead babies stuffed inside convent walls. Oh, really? You’ve heard that one, too? I remember her talking about a place in particular – maybe she said that there had been a fire or that the building just needed a few repairs – but when the workmen showed up and started taking the place apart, there were corpses, like insulation, in the walls. Nuns, impregnated by priests, delivered babies, murdered them, then hid their bodies in those walls. Worse, there were – gasp! – aborted fetuses in the walls. She used this tale – and several about her own relatives attending and contributing to the Church, then committing sin on a regular basis – to illustrate her One Big Point: Catholics are just a bunch of hypocrites.

But now that we’re going to be hearing that Mormonism is a cult and that Mormons routinely suck the breath from babies while they sleep in their cribs, I’d like to point out that since everyone has heard the “dead babies in the convent walls” story that something smells. And I’m not just talking about the dead babies.

It’s just the old anti-Catholic talking points. I’m old enough to know there was a time in America when people had doubts about electing a Catholic president. Times change, and now there are Americans who have no issues electing and re-electing that particular Catholic’s reprobate brother. My, how we’ve grown.

But back to all those dead babies. If the story sounds familiar to you, then it’s probably because of anti-Catholic propaganda from the 19th century. Check out this read from 1836: Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk, As Exhibited in a Narrative of Her Sufferings During a Residence of Five Years As a Novice and Two Years As a Black Nun, in the Hotel Dieu Nunnery in Montreal. (Why, here’s a link to an article about the history of this anti-Catholic rhetoric.)

Don’t misunderstand — I don’t dislike Catholics. In fact, some of my favorite people are Catholics. When Patricia Taylor Buckley, wife of my Number One Favorite Catholic (William F. Buckley Jr.), was remembered by readers and friends of National Review, one in particular wrote this to Mr. Buckley:

“I am a confirmed nonbeliever, but for once I would like to be mistaken, and hope that, for you, this is not goodbye, but hasta luego.”

Buckley’s response:

“No alternative thought would make continuing in life, for me, tolerable.”

A faith in something bigger is powerful stuff, indeed. And I suppose in some way I’m a little envious of those whose belief is strong enough to support a particular faith. I often feel the pull to commit to an organized religion of some sort, but when I read the fine print I begin to lose interest. Some religions are just not in my future.

Islam, for instance. I mean, how can I adopt a religion that’s anti-dog, anti-pork, and anti-alcohol? Jeez — say “I’ll have a dog and a beer” and you risk being stoned to death. And, in making arrangements for my mother, I’ve discovered that Islam does not approve of cremation. This is surprising to me since there doesn’t seem to be an issue in this religion of – with the help of strapped-on explosives – incinerating one’s body pre-death.

But I can’t very well sign on to Catholicism, either. Issues with contraception and abortion, divorce, pacifism, providing sanctuary for illegals, pedophilia, and capital punishment stand in my way. And suicide, too. The Church’s views on suicide and capital punishment confuse me because it appears, to me, that Catholics are against suicide but, because of their position on capital punishment, they seem to be more supportive of homicide.

I like the C.S. Lewis quote: “You don’t have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.”

But Catholics would be dismayed if they knew that I was thoroughly convinced that the dogs I’ve met in my life all have had souls, but that many of the people I’ve known have not. No priest will convince me otherwise.

I guess I started thinking about Catholicism again because I’ve been watching EWTN this past week (do you know they air a series called Crash Course In Catholicism?) and I watched our president deliver the commencement speech at Saint Vincent College in Latrobe, Pennsylvania. (Gee, and I’d thought the only thing going on in Latrobe was beer.) I also watched a re-airing on C-SPAN of the school’s student debate over the invitation extended to the president. It was interesting to watch and I enjoyed seeing that the students took the time to present their views on the topic. It was civil. Thought-provoking. But it was also incredibly partisan and political.

And that’s when it dawned on me. I can’t be a Catholic because I don’t vote like a Catholic. Or should I say, I don’t vote the way a Catholic is supposed to vote. I’m reminded of my friend, Louise, who is Catholic and conservative, and insists that she is a one-issue voter. Abortion is her issue, and she will not vote for a candidate who isn’t pro-life. If Giuliani is the Republican candidate running against the Clintons (two people I know she dislikes intensely) will she stay home?

Truth be told, Giuliani’s position on abortion sounds a bit like Mitt Romney’s in Massachusetts. I don’t feel that Mitt has flip-flopped because he said even back then that he wouldn’t let his personal beliefs on abortion affect the way he governed a very blue state. This suggests that he might have been pro-life before he decided to run for president. Having five boys also hints that he’s pro-life. I believe that he knows that simply making abortion illegal won’t make it go away. Again, leave it to the states to decide.

But I do feel bad for the anti-abortion voters. If Giuliani is the candidate, what are they going to do? If they support Giuliani they’ll lose credibility and hurt their cause. But if the Republican candidate loses to a pro-choice Democrat, and there’s an opening on the Supreme Court…

I have no doubt that Giuliani would nominate quality justices. And if he, as he says, is personally against abortion, he and the First Lady could champion any number of programs for adoption, careful family planning, prenatal care, or abstinence.

There are alternatives to abortion. In fact, it sounds like there’s been a resurgence of abandonment. In a world filled with stories of neglected babies, abused babies, babies beaten to death, and babies born to vegetarian parents who kill them with soy milk and apple juice, a “baby slot” sure sounds better than a dumpster.

A Roman Catholic hospital in Kunamoto, Japan has what it calls a “baby hatch” in the lobby. Known as “the cradle of storks,” this is a device that enables an individual to deposit an unwanted baby. It’s a tad more high tech than the doorstep, but it’s essentially the same thing. You don’t want that kid? Dump it here.

There are mothers who allow their partners to torture their children and there are mothers who are willing to trade or sell their children. There are mothers who carefully buckle theirs into car seats then roll their vehicles into large bodies of water. Is it better to leave a child at a hospital and not be tempted to destroy its life at a later date?

Here’s an article describing the return of the “foundling wheel” in Rome. Read it and decide for yourself. (I’m still trying to get past the image of people who don’t want to comply with our new pet ownership regulations taking their dogs to the outskirts of Albuquerque, dumping them, then driving away. Fend for yourself, Fido! Or worse, the image of taking your plastic tray, when you’re done with your meal, and pushing your burger wrappers into the trash receptacle.)

I do not doubt that Romney and Giuliani have altered their positions on abortion. I know a lot of people who have. I have. And here is where I do line up with many Catholics: I believe there is good and I believe there is evil. But on many issues, including abortion, I tend to side with Frank Meyer.

“Unless men are free to be vicious they cannot be virtuous.”

And that, in effect, is my “pro-choice” position.

Yesterday’s post garnered an insightful comment from “Coral” who couldn’t help notice that once Tony Blair announced his resignation, the anti-Blair bloggers suddenly went “insipid” – sort of like deflated hot air balloons. This observation reminded me of what, when Bill Clinton was in office, Conventional Wisdom submitted: Whatever will Right Wing talk show hosts and pundits do in a post-Clinton world? After eight years of vitriol, will they even have jobs? What will they possibly have to say?

And that right there was one of the things we disliked so much about the Clinton administration. It always had to be about Bill. Positive or negative, as long as everybody’s looking at Bill, talking about Bill, writing about Bill, or thinking about Bill, Bill’s happy. This is what made us so unhappy. Of course it’s easier to be on the attack and to be in the position of constantly criticizing, but that doesn’t mean we enjoyed it. Some fun books and parody songs came out of it, sure, but all in all eight years is a long time for a person to feel like he or she really wants to take a bath. Most of us just wanted Bill to go away so we could get the stench of him off us. But, like the stain on Monica’s blue dress, he just won’t.

So here we are again looking at another long national nightmare looming before us. I imagine there are those who secretly wish for another Clinton term just so that we get a break from being on defense; and I imagine there are those who hope that the second round will provide even more disgust (fantasies about Bill and Hillary being led from the Oval Office in handcuffs) so that we will finally be vindicated for making such a fuss the first time around.

But that’s not going to happen so the Republicans better get used to the idea of putting up a fight. The effects of Clintonism didn’t go poof when his term ended, and a third and fourth term will only do more damage. I’m offended that so many on the Right are eager to roll over and play dead. But I digress.

Now that Blair is leaving office, what will the loathers have to blog about? Will they turn on Gordon Brown? Will they turn on Labour? Will they just pile on Bush and Sarkozy? Could David Cameron actually benefit from the bad blood that’s flowing down the Thames?

There’s certainly enough for the British to kvetch about. I noted in my response to Coral that I appreciated Blair’s “happy talent for composition and remarkable felicity of expression.” But before I sound too smitten, I have to remind myself that I’ve never been a fan of Labour, I’m a Thatcherite, and just because Blair was right on a few issues he was wrong on others. And, frankly, I don’t live in Britain. (For a more detailed evaluation on Blair, check out National Review’s take on his legacy from a variety of contributors – more than a dozen — from here and from there. There’s one in particular from David Pryce-Jones that’ll make you say “ouch,” and a somewhat kinder, gentler one from Rich Lowry who insists Blair was no poodle.  I agree. Like I responded to Coral, the charges that Blair was Bush’s Poodle are preposterous. Everyone knows the Bush Family favors Springer Spaniels and Scotties.)

I guess the last word, for now, on Blair is this: He’s sort of a Joe Lieberman. We like him, but he’s still not one of us. I appreciate Joe Lieberman in that he has a record of being a decent human being and that he parts way with Democrats to support a variety of positions that lean a bit more right. His steadfastness on the war, for instance. His own party turned on him, but he didn’t go wobbly. Lieberman’s now an Independent, but he’s not a Republican and I don’t predict he’ll ever switch. Truth be told, he’s still a Democrat – and pretty liberal, too, on a lot of issues.

So, for now, it’s a game of wait and see. C-SPAN will be re-airing a highly entertaining program from the BBC Parliament Channel that captures some wicked exchanges between Blair and his opponents. Will Brown be as fun to watch?

Perhaps my affection stems from the fact that I’ve seen the vicious turns against Lieberman and Bush, and I never relish seeing someone kicked when they’re on the ground. Even when a person really deserves it, it’s never a bad idea to take a moment to compose yourself, pull your steel toe boot back a bit, and just stand down.