Becoming Rome

In addition to the widespread disposition of U.S. military around the world, as evidence of an American Imperium, the defining of American interests in terms of a projection of American force, a policy of what some conservative groups, such as the “New American Century” group define as “full spectrum dominance” is growing evidence that American interests are viewed by some as nothing less than full world dominance, a new Rome.

Contingency plans developed in the Pentagon have become heavily influenced by some political groups seeking dominance, including the implied threat of war, as a device to advance American commercial interests. Not since the opium wars to force open China to western commercial interests have such motives been so openly and unashamedly advanced.

We advocate for the development of democratic institutions in the third world, necessarily including the opening of markets to U.S. entrepreneurs as evidence of democratic institutions. Apparently advancing our own economic advantage is now an integral part of how we define democracy.

There is a great danger that we do not advance what is seen as “corporate colonialism” as a component of American democratic interest. These are neither benign nor particularly American and should not be promoted in the name of advancing American interests.

Dylan Thomas wrote :

"Do not go gentle into that good night

....Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Wrongly urging wise men, good men, wild men, grave men

and lastly, his father, not to go gently - to foment

disquiet - to rage -

A response:

Disappointment, regret, frustration, all failed

excuses - failure - forgiven -

By what right to demand one more swallow,

one more mouthful of the nectar that

has nurtured you all this time -

Now time stops - all excuses,

delays becomes shadow, dust, forgotten, memory -

Slip quietly back into the river that first gave

you life - close your mouth

Rage not, you have no right -

Time to recombine with the waters that

flow forever slow and quietly through

the time of existence to the sleep of

the quiet.

American Mother

This week’s news devoted a major segment to the visit of their "Moms" to the three American hikers who wandered across the border into Iran recently. Allegedly an innocent mistake but no explanation has ever been forthcoming as why any reasonably sane young Americans would do their hiking in close proximity to Iran's border nor why a visit from their mothers should be considered newsworthy.

And thereby hangs the tale. In his classic work, "A Generation of vipers," Phillip Wylie, a popular writer of the forties, observed "Mom is an American creation." He went on to observe that only in America has the adoration of motherhood almost been raised to the state of a religious cult, and concludes that "... Megaloid mom worship has got completely out of hand, .... a spot next to the Bible and the Flag, being reckoned part of both in a way." Without further making Wylie's case, beyond recommending a complete reading of his work on the subject, I would like to explore some consequences, the seguela of American mom's status.

In World War II the U.S.S. Juneau, a light cruiser was sunk with the loss of over 600 men. the five Sullivan brothers were among those lost and these five were elevated to heroic status, a destroyer being named the "Sullivan Brothers," in their honor. The remaining some 600 lost were ignored, but then their mothers were not as important as Mom Sullivan who had lost all of her sons; and a new governmental policy was born.

The movie "Saving Private Ryan" demonstrated this new policy in action, where the sacrifice of an entire patrol of American rangers (our elite troops at the time) was deemed necessary in order that Mom Ryan's sole surviving son be rescued from combat in order that she not suffer the fate of Mom Sullivan and be rendered sonless. Concerns for the moms of the other sons lost to effect this rescue is apparently ignored.

Currently, officially governmental policy has formalized this concern for sonless moms by enacting regulations which exempt a sole surviving son/daughter from combat service if they are the sibling of one who died as a result of military service.

A former comrade of mine, who rose to be a squadron commander in the U.S. Air Force was exempted from Vietnam duty because his older brother had been killed in W.W.II and he was the only sibling. As a matter of convenience , rather than provide a new CO for the squadron, which was scheduled for Vietnam duty, they were ordered to stand down, another squadron sent in their place. Here the effect of this policy, based on protecting a mom from a subsequent loss of a child in service was to give an entire fighter squadron a pass. Perhaps the result a bit excessive ?

The fact that other sons will lose their lives seems outside the concern of officialdom, as long as we do not have any moms with a loss of more than one son. So here the fact of parentage trumps risk of survival for others in the service.

Exit Stage Left

A much neglected aspect of the American presidency, is how some recent presidents left the White House upon the inauguration of their successor. Early research however has disclosed that this is an area largely ignored by both historians and contemporary journalists. I was always impressed by the modesty and civility of Truman’s quiet departure to Union Station. I was equally impressed by the gravity and insight of Eisenhower’s farewell address and his thoughtful and visionary caveat concerning the dangers of the military - industrial complex. Kennedy on a cassion, Johnson quietly by car. After that it has been largely downhill, Nixon, with a presidential pardon in his pocket, waiving boldly from the doors of the helicopter, shortly to be whisked to Andrews AFB for his departure (instead of Leavenworth, where he belonged.) His “farewell address” is best forgotten. Gerald Ford never really elected or inaugurated left in a golf cart, his prime mode of transport thereafter. As to record-setting bombast's, Reagan’s farewell speech is worthy of review,. As a straddle between Corinthians III, and a waive of self-congratulatory blather he almost dislocated a shoulder patting himself on the back, congratulating himself for “reversing the course of history” and giving the shining city on the hill a new patina, a new layer of chrome. Concluding, he disdained a helicopter and mounting a flaming chariot, rose to the center of the sun, his former resilience to await his second coming. His faithful, the revisionists quickly went to work, arguing for canonizing, and rewriting the history of his administration, while Nancy supervised the filling of is so-called presidential library with what she considered the significant artifacts symbolic of his reign. Pieces of the Berlin wall, a recently retired Air Force One, and other bricabrac considered of historic worth, a treasure trove worthy of a pharoh’s tomb. She would later be reduced to tears when advised that the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan CVN 76, a nuclear-powered, 100,000 ton aircraft carrier would actually serve with the U.S. Navy rather than be shipped to the Reagan library for inclusion in the accumulation. Bush I had a quiet departure, still muttering “read my lips” and perplexed as to his failure to secure a second term. His party, however, immediately began a jihad to disgrace his successor, securing the appointment of a special grand inquisitor who relentlessly delved into every aspect of Clintons private affairs, regardless of the expenditure of millions of taxpayer dollars, finally precipitating a pointless impeachment proceeding before departing to become dean of a fourth rate law school in California. At the end of Bush II, rather than leave quietly and permit Obamba’s inauguration to occupy center stage, the Bushies proceeded to Andrews AFB to hold a “departure ceremony” featuring some emotional blather from Karl Rove. It is reported that those who shook Rove’s hand subsequently developed warts but this has not yet been verified. Later sources indicated that only those who shook Rove’s hand during Bush’s exorcism broke out in warts. Flying back to Texas on a borrowed Air Force One, (now designated “special air mission 28000) the Texan continued to celebrate his retirement in happy oblivion to the disasters he bequeathed to his successor.

Bare Breast

A recent meeting of the Hillsborough County School board witnessed a protest by a group of women breast feeding their babies to object to a school barring a breast feeding mother from the waiting area of it’s school. In a culture which easily tolerates breast exposure for “titillating” purpose as demonstrated by the large numbers of topless entertainment establishments in the county, it is at least paradoxical that the school seeks a “screening” of the breast while nurturing one’s infant. The school’s official contended that letting the kids “get an eyeful” was distracting as the reason for the requirement, never imagining a crowd of lactating mothers would hold a “feed in” as a protest.

A tempest in a B cup!

The Mother of all Rants

My strong suit is political incorrectness but then I’m a direct descendant of the kid who said the Emperor didn’t have on any clothes. My career in the foreign service was a nonstarter because I was too observant and much too out spoken. My mistakes were usually my own although on occasion I got my lumps for trusting someone else.

In retrospect I think my perceptions are sharper and my conclusions are nearer the mark than before. Disengaged from self-interest I think I see more clearly.

What I see now is my world in a sea of confusion, without direction and involved i n purposeless pursuits. We have become the pampered darlings of creation, selfish and self-indulgent beyond all belief. In pursuit of everything bigger and better, more and more our vision fixed just beyond the horizon and regardless of the immediate consequences.

To explain : In the 1950’s and 1960’s we were content to purchase small two and three bedroom homes for little or nothing down as a place to begin, to raise a family and make a life . Now mini-mansions are the rule for young married couples who think nothing of undertaking mortgages of $200,000 or more, with floating interest rates and balloon provisions with no expectation of ever being out of debt.

Formerly these purchases were deferred, together with marriages and children, while we educated ourselves and began careers or employment with some expectation of security and advancement. We drove modest automobiles and had a keen interest in our families, our community, our governments and our world.

The term “entrepreneur” has been redefined from risk taker, to chosen of GOD whose welfare is the prime concern of those in government. “Privatizing” a plan to permit private companies to perform governmental functions have created a golden opportunity to raid the public fisc and vastly increase the cost of government by contending services will be performed more efficiently and economically by the private sector. Cost control usually goes out the window, together with career civil service, while new millionaires are created out of such governmental opportunities, all presented under the banner of conservatives.

Elected representative, now representing the contracting community from whom all campaign funds flow, no longer represent their constituency, instead declaring themselves to be leaders and deciders, preferring their own unenlightened, bought and paid for judgment to the considered will of the people. Dedication and conscience have given way to popularity and reelection. Political naivety coupled with uninformed cynicism rules the day, people don’t know how government works, who is responsible for what, and most assuredly never read the Constitution.

Jingoism and fear mongering infect our foreign policy and silence critics. We are wallowing in a technology of the trivial,, computer games, come to market with lines of people waiting outside stores for days to be the first one to acquire the gadget.

That item of convenience, the telephone, has metamorphosed into an “I thing” capable of serving as an instantaneous encyclopedia, internet connection, camera, entertainment center, music provider and oh yes a communications devise. Don’t leave home without one.

School children all have a personal portable telephone clipped to their belt, capable of verbal communications or text messaging. More ways to talk and less to say than ever before. Educational curricula have been modified to train workers and employees rather than to educate. Computer classes abound while history courses, civics, geography and the social traditions of the culture have fallen by the wayside. The well rounded educated person, the liberal arts graduate is an endangered specie.

Preachers, no longer content to serve as pastors to small congregations have create mega churches, with seating capacities that rival a sports arena and of course have TV coverage. Shrines are constructed to glory the ego of the founder rather that the creator. Group prayers are offered for everything from the winning season of a football team to a hopeful return to a booming real estate market, these being of critical concern to the Almighty. My prayers for enlightenment and serenity are considered quaint.

Automobiles, once viewed as basic utilitarian transportation have become overpriced, overblown status symbols, costly behemoths like vehicular mastodons called SUV’s or crossovers, inefficient in the extreme, are necessary for transport to the supermarket or the mall. Some upscale vehicles (those absurdly out priced) are capable of parallel parking themselves, a maneuver formerly required when passing a driving test.

People rejoice when the stockmarket goes up, without regard to its dependency on a good backlog of unemployed workers to keep wage demands low; and cheap imports to inflate the profits of the large retailers. Mergers and acquisitions are seen as good for the market although these consolidations of economic strength generally accrues to the ultimate disadvantage of the consuming public .

The TV weekly news enthusiastically reports which newly released movie made how many millions its first days in release with little or no regard as to the content or quality of the movie.

The television industry proudly sells bigger screens with higher definition and more and more channels from which to chose. A pity that programming hasn’t kept pace with the technology. So-called reality programs abound, low-budget tales as to who will survive like on a desert island until next week and win the large cash prize. Inane contest show, like how much is in the attaché case or who will be disqualified in dancing with the stars or be prevented from becoming this years American Idol. TV movies tilt heavily toward monsters, vampires, creatures of the darkness or interminable car chase with demolition derby results. One can search for hours for something entertaining, with plot and substances, without result.

Expressions such a “like” and “you know” and “I mean” have become as common as commas in the increased inarticulate communications of the day, whether a result of poverty of vocabulary or foggy thought processes is still undecided.

Elderly couples are now addressed as “you guys” by their “servers” (formerly known as waiters and waitresses.) Equally unuseful are their comments with regard to items on the menu, but always in expectation of a large tip their parting greeting will invariable by “have a nice day” the ultimate triteness of our communication.

All of this saddens me, the courtliness and civility seems to have been forced out of our dialogues by the “in your face” attitudes now prevalent. Yet I continue to hope.

But I digress

Small bits - In Saigon I bought a used 35 mm camera, with a view to recording interesting aspects of my stay. One day, stopped behind a bus in traffic, I was taken by a young man hanging out of the back window of the bus. He seemed effused with the joys of the day, his grin, (admittedly a bit goofy) spread across his face reflecting his enthusiasm for life, for all within his vision. I slowly raised my camera, intending to capture this wonderful image of a totally happy young man when he saw my move. Immediately his expression collapsed, he appeared almost to shrink physically. He quickly turned away and sat down, completely out of my field of vision. Clearly I had spoiled his day, actually robbed him of the elation he was enjoying until my unfeeling act intruded in his private paradise.

Ashamed, I put the camera away and took no more pictures of strangers.

When I got back to the states some years later I found the camera, still with a half exposed roll of film. I took no more pictures. For some it is like stealing a bit of their soul.

Risk and Redundancy

Design has always worked to incorporate safety as a concept, whether in a device or in a system. Delivery systems involved in bringing raw materials to a factory or to distribute goods to consumption points have usually incorporated concepts to absorb unanticipated disruption and smooth the supply chain so it can function without interruption. Warehousing finished goods or stockpiling raw materials have generally served as the “shock absorbers” in delivery systems enabling continued, smooth performance despite unforeseen interruptions.

Of late, however, a new arrogant concept called “just in time” has made inroads into the thinking of planners. By limiting and timing shipments just as they are needed, the “shock absorbers” the stock piling or warehousing is eliminated; resulting in a cost saving and consequent increase in profitability.

What is lost is the safety factors of the “shock absorbers” to the great risk of a serious stoppage in supply in the event of any unforeseen disaster or acts beyond the control of the planners. Weather crisis, earthquakes, truck and train wrecks, strikes, all possible problems which could quickly overpower the advantages of a “just in time” system are ignored, short cuts to disaster. Accidents waiting to happen.

Consequences are of course potentially empty store shelves and closing of manufacturing facilities and layoffs until the supply chain is remedied.

Was warehousing such a bad idea, really ?

Ousting, Incumbents and Necessary Changes

Instead of lamenting endlessly about the abuses and inefficiencies of Congress and the Presidency it might be time to consider some small changes which could beget big results. Newly elected Senators and Representatives elected to bring about necessary change might start with this list; a “New Contract with America.”

We need to give the President a line item veto to limit wasteful spending by Congress. Since the Supreme Court has ruled that this cannot be achieved by legislation we should begin, at once, to enact a constitutional amendment to create such a power. This will destroy Congress’s power to sandwich bad proposals in necessary legislation and make it veto proof. A way to save billions.

Congress must give up the power to “earmark” appropriations, a device which advances pet projects ahead of the generalized needs of the country. Also, a high visibility is needed in special legislation so that we stop appropriating millions for bridges to nowhere and tea cup museums which bleed dollars needed elsewhere out of the budget.

The practice of congressman, congressional and white house staffers leaving office and going to work as lobbyists at astronomical salaries has to stop. It is merely another way of selling their office and then selling their insider positions to the highest bidder. It is the government equivalent of “insider trading.” Legislation which would prohibit, even criminalize, such employment for say four or five years after leaving government would go a long way to achieve this end. Public service should not be a “boot camp” for training lobbyists.

The practice of letting one Senator or Congressman put a “hold” on legislation, keeping it from going forward to committee action or a floor vote is equally corrupt and should be outlawed. The process of considering and passing laws should not be subject to being frustrated at the whim of one legislator. No such power is granted by the constitution and no reason exists to support such a rule. Congress must stop acting like a private club and remind itself of its higher obligation to the nation.

The committee system whereby the majority party completely locks out the minority from exercising any power to act is damaging and counterproductive. Unable to call hearings, issue subpoenas, introduce legislation or schedule business, the minority, often representing 49% of the people, rather than 51% have been completely frozen out of the act.

Lastly, we must explore a possible constitutional amendment to reverse the Supreme Court’s ruling that spending huge amounts of money is but a manifestation of free speech. Without workable restrictions on campaign contributions and lobbying the government remains for sale to the highest bidder, a putrefaction of the ideals of democracy and an invitation to an oligarchy of the rich, a danger which has come perilously close to succeeding in recent years.

The sum total of these suggested changes would once again restore confidence in government and produce a system of which we can be proud .

Rambling

Of late, things in the news, trivia or not, have cornered my attention. The nomination of a proposed new Justice for the Supreme Court has made me reexamine one of the sitting Justices’ who pisses me off, one Antonin Scalia. For a time I thought Lewis Carroll had some prescience knowledge of him, the Jabberwocky. More recently however I have seen a photograph of Scalia when he was a chubby boy scout, posing as a fat little smart aleck in his uniform, replete with merit badges. Now morphed into an older fat smart aleck in a robe. Rethinking Lewis Carroll I realized Scalia was really one of the Tweedle brothers, whether Tweedledee or Tweedledum, which one was hard to decide. His originalist views on the Constitution, believing it to be carved in granite rather than written on parchment would tilt toward Tweededum , but the fact that he believes in the amending process (and only in the amending process ) points toward Tweedledee. A dilemma.

As to understanding others who display utterly destructive attitudes toward sensible government, as Grover Norquist, - I would argue for a silver bullet or a wooden stake in his heart - either one optional.

Finally the tea party - truly a target for vorpal blades. I thought of Quixote, and reconstructing the tea party as his windmills (a reasonably appropriate substitution,) but it seems to lack zest. Tea bags generally produce tepid tea at best but these pests with their obdurate misdirection have become toxic and abrasive. Perhaps I should take a pill - then I hear Chris Matthew's railing against Cheney - the angel of darkness - the prince of Halliburton.

Somewhere in the murky future, a chief executive will issue Cheney a blanket, Nixonesque general pardon and the book will close. Till then I rely on the Sicilian gesture to invoke the evil eye (I still will not do the sign of the cross) when his name is mentioned.

Flower, my most excellent cat hovers, seeking a tryout as my familiar, but I lack bell, book and candle.

Another pill

Circling the drain - a noxious metaphor for winding down, perhaps apt but yet it seems dirty and unloving.

Oil Well

On April 20, 2010 B.P.’s drilling rig exploded, caught fire and ultimately fell into the Gulf leaving behind a well leaking 5,000 barrels of oil a day. Since that date all efforts to stop the leak have focused on capping, doming, in some way preserving the newly proved well, despite the monumental damage posed by the continuing leak. Most recently, a 100 ton, 4 storied container, designed to cap the leak and permit the oil to be funneled to a tanker on the surface has failed.

One wonders whether the adroit use of a few hundred pounds of high explosive, RDX or something similar might just blow the damned thing shut but questions persist that BP is unwilling to lose this new gusher despite the damage resulting from the leak. No one has commented as to the potential for an explosive closing of the leak and BP isn’t talking.

Reflections - Always Tomorrow

I’ve never been much of a pollyanna, in fact I’ve had years of treatment for depression reflected in my dossier (if I had a dossier.) Despite all that I have always looked forward to tomorrows. There were tomorrows when the briefs was due and I spent a rough night doing last minute research and drafting, midnight panic, pay back for delay, defer and procrastination. ending with a terse note for my secretary t o have it ready by noon. Nevertheless there was always a little bump of Joy when the sun came up, a new day - unanticipated adventures, unexpected encounters, perhaps new insights. Even before the show “Annie” made a hit song about it I have always loved tomorrows.

there were dark times, occasional times of despair, yet somehow tomorrow was always waiting, just over the horizon, bright with promise of newness and perhaps change.

I still love and look forward to tomorrow but lately I’ve learned to save some of that enthusiasm for today, not to be neglected today because today is yesterday’s tomorrow.

For Sale

On our morning walks both my wife and I have noticed the widespread “for sale” signs in our neighborhood. When I find two or three clustered on a particular block it makes me sad and reflective.

Some of the sales are attributable to the current economic troubles but more frequently it is the culmination of a household of an aging mom and pop, children gone, moved elsewhere; the passing of the last survivor.

Still, the subdivision is green, clean and pleasant, polite greetings from early morning dog walkers, clusters of school kids waiting for their bus, quiet, still half asleep. A good place.

Brokerage signs abound , some displaying well advertised logos and association, others essentially local.

Next come the yard or garage sales, some conducted by heirs, others by so-called estate sales experts - spreading a lifetime collection of keepsakes, souvenirs, books, furniture, clothing, dishes, pots & pans and assorted bric-a-brac - like an autopsy of the goods - a tell tale collection the accumulation of two lifetimes; all for sale at bargain prices on an early Saturday morning.

Picked over by the curious and vultures, bargain seekers. A final obliteration, a scattering of bones and ashes to complete the removal of all traces of what was once a home. Now “for sale.”

“In my memory I hear the lyrics of a tune once popular in the fifties, “A Cottage For Sale,”

Our little dream castle with every dream gone

Is lonely and silent - - the shades are all drawn,

And my heart is heavy as I gaze upon

a cottage for sale.......

the end of the story is told on the door a cottage for sale.”

REFLECTIONS

Late movies on the back channels got me thinking of religion and nationalism. Caught a segment of a show called “Liam”about a little Irish kid being prepped for his 1st communion, lectured about the necessity of dieting for a number of hours before the event since it wouldn’t do for the body of Christ to be sloshing around with half-digested sandwich or something like that. Anyway, the kid slips and eats some Lady Fingers or Lorna Doones, or something and family and priest rant and rage at the little tike.

A channel change brought me to a 1940’s picture of a noble Polish family, talking of how their horse cavalry will stop the German tanks once it rains and the roads turn to mud. Of course only Poland still had horse cavalry in 1939, most other armies learning the folly of that after W.W.I and the advent of the machine gun.

Armed with the memories of these two cinematic epics I reflected :

“The body of Christ ? ” The communion wafer - symbolism or transubstantiation cannibalism ? Poor Liam - I wonder who bakes communion wafers ? Probably a Jewish bakery “Schwartz Body of Christ and Bagels Bakery” how’s that for a start ? This led me in turn to the mixture of nationalism and religion, almost inseparable in 19th and 20th century Europe. In the Balkans the Croats and Serbs at each other’s throats for centuries, largely over the difference between the orthodox and Catholic churches. Centuries of bloody minded butchery. Eventually, all part of the Austro- Hungarian Empire.

My grandfathers, one apparently a Czech the other an Austrian, both carried the passport of the Austro-Hugarian Empire when they immigrated here in the late 1800’s. Yet one considered himself Austrian, from Lintz, the other perhaps Czech, or Hungarian or Romanian, the stories varied - obviously he wandered.

Reminded me of the Basques, I represented one and made the mistake of asking if he was a French-Basque or a Spanish Basque, thinking I was displaying an urbane knowledge of his history. His hissing reply, not needing any translation; “No es espania, no es Franc, Basque es Basque.” His take was when he returned from fighting in the resistance his wife was pregnant, not by a man, but by the Priest. Necessarily he left home in disgrace whether in shame or because he killed the Priest. Emigrating to Belize, and so the story went but anyway fiercely Basque.

In Vietnam, my buddy, Lazlo Bugati, an over the hill Hungarian Cavalryman, cum French foreign Legionnaire, fiercely Hungarian, decided I must also be Hungarian,

(Magyar actually ) due to the folds of my eyelids and thereafter loudly declared I was, of course, a Hungarian, and attached himself to me. Forget American, logic and my knowledge of my own history. The eyelids told it all.

Rambling further, my mind went back to Poland, Danzig and the “Polish Corridor”; the fact that on some of the older maps of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Poland barely existed except as a buffer between parts of Russia and Eastern Prussia - then the redrafting of the maps at Versailles, following the end of a war which killed millions, commenced by a trigger-happy Serb who bore a hatred of an Austrian Arch Duke.

By now the sun was coming up so I abandoned my review of the history of middle Europe, the decline of the horse cavalry, the illogic of the Polish corridor, and why the body of Christ does not well tolerate the proximity of Lady Fingers. Coffee time !

Conversations in an Oncologist Waiting Room

On a recent visit to my oncologist the doctor was uncharacteristically late and I had the misfortune to be subjected to an ongoing diatribe of a group of badly misinformed, undereducated older women holding forth on their take on the contemporary political scene and the nature of necessary solutions to the problems as they perceived them.

My memory flashed back on seeing a little theater production of Sartre’s “No Exit” years ago while in Charleston, particularly the last sentence of the play, “This really is Hell.” I was of two minds; the first to tell them to shut the fuck up, they did not know what they were talking abut, the second to listen quietly to gain some insight into the extent f their misinformation.

The prime grand dame took the lead, opening “They are ruining our country and it will soon be beyond repair. Next election we will take our country back and vote out all of the incumbents. Having finished her opining shot, she pursed her lips and surveyed her group of listeners to see if their was anything less than total agreement. Satisfied, she continued, “Part of the problem is the Senate. They were originally appointed for four years but could be removed any time. The, THEY (emphasis hers, ) changed it to election by the voters and it’s been a mess ever since.” She nodded, in agreement with herself while seeking silent approval from her ladies, (which I now was pretty sure constituted a coven.)

“Eventually, we will get some good people who will do what we say, defeat this health care, socialist takeover, and give us back our government as the founding father’s intended. Do only what the constitution says, nothing more. “

At this point I was convinced that this woman had never read a history book nor the constitution with any degree of understanding, yet here she is , persuading these other dummies that she knows what she was talking about and likely follow her lead at the polls. My anger toward her was not because she was ignorant, that can be forgiven, but the arrogance to lecture others, to dispense her stupidity as something to believe.

For the first time I was glad that we were in the waiting room of an oncologist and that these, erroneous, distorted views would soon pass from the scene. I thought briefly “what would Sartre think ?”