Hurricane Mitt

When I was a child, I asked my father where did babies come from. He flushed a bit and said, "Remember the tree we planted in the front yard?" I did. "Well," he continued, "the Daddy plants a seed inside the Mommy and it grows into a baby, just like that little plant grew into a tree. Do you understand?" I thought for a second and said, "I guess so, but do you have to water it every day?" That explanation held me long enough until I finally learned of the actual mechanics of the thing. I heard the famous "senior day sex talks" that the late Dr. Breen Bland delivered to decades of Christian Brothers High graduates, and by the time I reached college, I felt I had a pretty good handle on things, so to speak. But never, in any health class, human sexuality lecture, or biology lab, did I ever hear anybody suggest that the female genitalia contains a trap door that lets the good seed in, and keeps the bad seed out. If that were the case, they could never have made that creepy movie starring Patty McCormick. That idiotic theory, voiced by Missouri Senatorial candidate Todd Akin, was so dismally stupid, it got him dis-invited from this week's Republican Convention in Tampa. Out of all the moronic statements made by this year's GOP presidential candidates, Akin should be sent some sort of floral arrangement by the Democrats. His comments about "legitimate rape" were so repulsive, it attracted public attention to the party's platform, which pretty much adopted Akin's political stance in toto. Regardless of where Hurricane Isaac makes landfall, this has the makings of a perfect storm for the Republican Convention.

By the time you read this, there either will or will not have been a GOP conclave, and the city of New Orleans will or will not still be standing. Current forecasts indicate that Isaac may hit New Orleans on the seventh anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, providing a terrible reminder of Republican neglect in the midst of their celebration. I never wish anyone any physical harm, but I was fantasizing what might happen if the storm made a glancing blow at Tampa causing the power to fail and stranding 30,000 rich, Republicans in the Tampa Bay Times Forum. Nothing major mind you, just a couple of days without air conditioning and possibly some backed-up bathrooms. Or, perhaps a short circuit in the VIP room, cutting short the Oak Ridge Boys' set. Can you imagine how fast they'd be on the roof howling for government assistance?  Party leaders have already cancelled the opening session, which thankfully accounts for a 25 percent decrease in bullshit and forces the Tea Party goons to march in a non-primetime hate parade to rail about Obama and abortion. The GOP line-up of speakers, from John Boehner to Ann Romney, will have to compete with a strengthening hurricane chugging its way up the Gulf, and on the day that Congressman Paul Ryan is to be nominated Vice President, a major storm may once again strike New Orleans, making his small government argument moot. With the billions spent on this single campaign, the anti-government teabaggers should pray that this time, the levees hold.

In a way, the hurricane may help the Republicans. With a shortened convention, Congressman Ryan may not have the sufficient opportunity to explain why he co-sponsored all those restrictive abortion bills with the banned, "he whose name is not to be spoken," Rep. Todd Akin. Ann Romney won't have the time, while praising Mitt as the ideal man, to explain the twenty point gap between her husband and the president among women voters. After Akin's remarks about rape victims being able "to shut all that down," when it comes to conception, I'll bet that there are hordes of Republican women that understand the dangers of the Tea Party zealots gaining real power. They may pull for Romney in public, but they'll pull the lever for Obama in the voting booth. Who could possibly believe in this age of joblessness and despair that the Republicans would be discussing abortion and birth control at their convention? Rick Santorum has been given a prime speaking spot just to hammer the point home. Despite Romney's attempt to focus on the economy, his running mate's extremism may well make this the "Abortion Convention." The party platform makes no exceptions for abortion and would have the government make certain that a pregnancy resulting from rape was carried to term. Sarah Palin once warned of imaginary "death panels." Now the GOP wants to impanel the "gestation police."

The Republicans will allow that "Sure, Obama inherited a tough situation, but his policies have made it worse." Or, "We are in this situation because of Obama's failed policies." This is the Joseph Goebbels' version of "The Big Lie." It has been revealed that the Republican caucus, since their seditious meeting on inauguration day, have used an unprecedented strategy of blocking, filibustering, or otherwise impeding every measure the president has proposed. They have chosen to sacrifice both the economy and the good of the American people in order to bring down Obama. Romney preaches his desire is "to get America back on track," while Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell states that his "top political priority is to deny President Obama a second term." In fact, the alleged "failed policies of the president," can only be a GOP-concocted fantasy since they blocked every bill he proposed. The policies of the president were never given the chance to succeed because of Republican obstructionism. Followers of politics may recall that the Republicans blocked the Unemployment Benefit Extensions Act, an Aid to Small Business bill, the Bank Reform Bill, and a Jobs Bill blocked in the Senate. And now they want the American people to reward them for their bad behavior.

I was wondering who schedules a convention in Florida in August even before I realized it was hurricane season. But it's turned out to be the proper setting for this crowd of angry, frustrated white people-  heat, storms, high winds, alcohol, sex, and to top it off, Florida Governor Rick Scott has declared it legal to carry firearms into the convention hall. It's almost paradise for the Tea Party mob that has hijacked the Republican Party. It also may be a good thing that Romney put Paul Ryan on the ticket to pacify the pistol packers, or in Rick Scott's Florida, some disgruntled wingnut might wish to take "second amendment remedies," should things not go his way. Republicans are known for putting on orderly conventions, but this mixed bunch of ideologues, anti-abortion zealots, tax refusers, and Obama haters might just buck the trend. And we haven't even discussed what will become of the Ron Paul delegation. Romney has ridden his private sector, businessman acumen to the nomination, but he may be making his acceptance speech amid a natural disaster requiring a massive public sector response. Perhaps he might reconsider his discounting the need for more firemen, police, and first responders if some brave National Guardsman has to pull him from the convention floor in a basket dangling from a helicopter.

For Dog and Country

We're admitted dog lovers over here, only we're not insane about it. I mean, we don't feed them people food or dress them up or anything like that. But, the Friends of  Memphis Animal Services has a Facebook page where they regularly post pictures of cats and dogs available for adoption, and they hooked me. I saw a picture of a puppy's face that said to me, "I'm out here waiting for you." My father's name was Sam, but that doesn't necessarily make me the "Son of Sam" unless I begin to listen to the canine voices in my head. So, I re-posted the picture instead with the suggestion that, "Someone needs to go out and grab this little girl up." Only, no one did. I followed the dog's progress for a couple of weeks but there were still no takers. Melody and I already have two adopted dogs; only they adopted us. We didn't have to go anywhere or do anything. Each dog just wandered up separately and decided to stay, so we certainly weren't looking for another. But the days continued to pass with the pup still in the pound until we began to become concerned about the animal's well-being. We decided to drive out to the shelter and look at the dog with the understanding that if it were skittish or sick, we would leave it alone. Guess who has a new puppy?

The new shelter is clean and attractive, but when we approached the front desk and inquired about the dog, they didn't know what we were talking about. We were told by a stoic civil servant whose job reeked of political patronage that we needed to ask one of the volunteers about any particular dog whose photo appeared online. I turned in search of such a person and saw a large cage against the lobby wall with the floor coated in The Commercial Appeal. A sign on it read, "Pet of the day," and there was the puppy, looking into my eyes and telepathically transmitting, "So, you've finally come." I said to Melody, "This is our dog." A volunteer spotted us ogling the dog and informed us that she happened to be on sale that day. When we carried the pup outside and placed her on the ground, she reacted as if she had never seen grass before. She was thin, but not malnourished, and had been spade and given her first shots, only she was filthy from living in cages. The kindly woman volunteer said that if we agreed to adopt, she would give the dog a bath and a pill that kills all fleas immediately. Melody and I exchanged looks and said, "get out the bath salts, this baby's going home with us."

When asked what kind of dogs I have, I usually say, "a black one and a white one," since they are of indeterminate ancestry. Both males, the black dog, Steve, looks like a Lab/hound mix with a sway- back and a bum leg. Jack, the little one, resembles the love child of a rat terrier and a Chihuahua with a bad disposition. We named the new pup Nancy, after a dear friend, because they're both so sweet. Steve immediately claimed her as his girlfriend, which was just as well since Jack, the alpha with a little man complex, refused to look at her. Nancy stared disbelieving at all that backyard to wander, but she could still barely walk and stepped as gingerly as a chicken on a hot-plate. After a pet store run, some puppy food, and a couple of chew toys, we sat back and watched her come alive. Melody is the Dog Whisperer of this family and had the pup house-broken in a week. Since the puppy never suffered abuse, she fortunately doesn't have any emotional issues, unlike Steve who bows up like a camel at the sight of a fly-swatter, or Jack, whose chronic licking has caused his paws to resemble the stigmata. Nancy did have one bad habit, and I'll put this as delicately as possible. Because she was underfed at the shelter, she developed an untenable interest in the other dogs' leavings; and nobody wants a shit-eating dog. Melody solved the problem instantly and enterprisingly by sprinkling the poop with red-pepper flakes. Nancy is now back on her puppy-food diet.

It's been awhile since I raised a pup, and I had forgotten that the reality is far more taxing than the fantasy of doggie kisses and belly-rubs. Melody compared it to raising an infant that is either asleep or needs constant attention. The rough play and growling noise of the pup playing with Steve is constant and nerve-racking because you're never sure when it's getting serious. Jack, the little dog, keeps looking at me as if to ask, "What have you done? Everything was fine!" But after a week or so, everyone seemed to be adjusting well, and as soon as the puppy calms down in five years or so, we'll have a peaceful home once again. I should amend that last statement by saying everyone is adjusting well except me. It's because I had completely forgotten the teething phase, and although we got the puppy some twisted ropes, rubber balls, and squeaky toys, it's my right arm that looks like a Nylabone. I've been instructed to be more alpha with the dog and shout "no" and put her down when she starts biting my arms and hands, but she's so adorable that I'd just as soon go ahead and suffer. As for barely walking when she got here, you should see Nancy run now. I believe I might even have a Frisbee dog in a month or so. Melody and I agree, however, that perhaps it's better for older people to adopt older dogs.

Not everyone is emotionally equipped to care for a pet. It really depends on the human. The shelter mainly takes in three types of dogs; strays, unwanted litters, and animals whose owners have surrendered them. Every time a dog makes the news for being stuck in a pipe or rescued from any precarious situation, people's hearts are touched and they scramble to adopt that particular animal. These dogs at the shelter don't make the news, unless there's a personnel scandal involved. They're not pure bred or show quality, yet equally as deserving of love and care. It requires patience, equanimity, and a combination of discipline and reward, rebuke and praise. Did I mention love? If you can handle that, you'll be rewarded ten-fold and discover that the love and loyalty of a dog can add a dimension to life that is immeasurable. I implore you to make the drive to the shelter. It's easy to find. Just tell one of the volunteers that you would like to see the pets available for adoption, and try not to have pre-conceptions. There is such a variety of handsome animals that you won't even have to worry about finding your dog- your dog will find you.

Romney Invades Poland!

Here's what I learned in ten years of writing songs in Nashville. When somebody says they have something they want to play for you, and it's obvious that time, money and emotion have been invested in the project, even if the tune is infested with monkey pox, it does no harm to praise the result. Usually, a small group of cynical guys will listen without making eye contact, and when the song is over, they'll say, "Nothin' wrong with that," giving the positive affirmation that the interested party seeks without really venturing an opinion. So, when Mitt Romney is asked what he thinks of Olympic preparedness while in London on the eve of the games, is it so hard to say, "Everything looks great and I'm sure we'll have a swell time," instead of launching into a six-tiered critique of British security? Romney's one of those guys that if you show him a new watch that you bought, he'll say, "You should have talked to me first." The mayor of London used Willard's witless gaffe as a rallying cry in front of 60,000 people in Hyde Park. The British press excoriated Romney as "worse than Palin," while tabloid headlines screamed "Mitt the Twit." Years ago during one of Dubya's hilarious trips abroad, when he gave an impromptu neck massage to German Chancellor Angela Merkel, it only creeped her out. Romney succeeded in offending an entire nation with what Winston Churchill once referred to as "arrogant pedantry." So much for "improving our unique Anglo Saxon relationship." Just move along folks-- no "Ich bin ein Berliner" here.

The bad press did not prevent Romney from staging his fundraiser with the heads of all the European banks currently embroiled in the LIBOR scandal, but that's another topic. In a televised press interview, Mitt wore his frozen-smile face while deflecting questions about his dressage horse participating in the Olympics to his wife, Anne. Mitt claimed he wasn't even going to watch the event and didn't know what day it was scheduled. Imagine the number of handlers and groomsmen required to prepare and ship a horse overseas for an international competition. You can't say Romney's not a job creator, at least in the horse arena. But if he's paying the tab, don't tell me he won't find a television somewhere to see how splendidly his pony dances. The most exciting horse-related news for Memphians is that Congressman Steve Cohen's brother, Martin, has invented a new type of stirrup that is being used in the Olympics by the U.S. Riding Team. I suppose I'm allowed to promote Cohen Stirrups if everybody attached to these games is already plugging something. The only controversy I can imagine is if some Cohen stirrups wind up on a Romney horse.

Michelle Obama headed up the official American delegation, although she had to share camera time with the Romney's while waving to the entering athletes in preparation for the opening ceremonies, which were very light-hearted when compared with China's martial approach. There was a lot of drumming, but the British drummers were looser and more relaxed than the sea of synchronized drummers the Chinese used four years ago. That's because the jolly Brits were all volunteers in the production, while the Chinese conscripted young boys from their families and forced them into Olympic drum schools, nailed their feet to the floor and beat them with bamboo rods until they got it perfect. But, the British know how to do whimsy and the Queen showed such a marvelous sense of humor, she nearly smiled. In director Danny Boyle's opening film, when Daniel Craig appeared at Buckingham Palace as James Bond, I suppose I wasn't the only one to ask, "Did Sean Connery die?" The only other request that I might have had for the Royals is, would it be too much to ask Prince Harry to bring Pippa?

The journey through four decades of British music was great to a point, but I would like to take this opportunity to apologise, on behalf of the so-called "Baby Boomers," for my generation's obsession with the song, "Hey Jude." Even in Beatles history, this one was late in the game when the band was breaking up and everyone believed Paul had written an anthem that would last. Except, after the first 10,000 listenings I began to hate the freaking song and would be horrified if young listeners judged the Beatles' musical catalog by this stinker. Let's face it, they had a seventy year old entertainer singing a forty year old song, and when the "Na na nas" kicked in, the cameras showed a younger generation that knew not Paul McCartney. If they wanted to dust off the Beatles, they should have gotten Ringo's ass up there and had them play some Beatles songs. And I hate to be the one to break it to you, but Sir Paul's voice is shot. The network anchors blamed it on "emotion," but this man played a Command Performance for the Queen when he was barely 21. Why would one more sporting event make him emotional?  Perhaps they should have concluded with something a little more contemporary, like the Pet Shop Boys, or Wham!

Meanwhile, the Romney circus had moved on to Israel where the campaign had arranged a major fundraiser starring the Vegas Zionist, Sheldon Adelson. Only it was the holiday of  Tisha B'av, when Jews mourn the destruction of the first two temples and fast for the night, so the Romney staff quickly arranged a 50K per plate fundraising breakfast where no press was allowed. I'm certain the pot was sweetened by the remarks of Romney advisor Dan Senor, the partisan hack hired by the Bush government to give press conferences from Iraq. Senor hinted that a Romney presidency would give tacit approval for an Israeli attack on Iran's nuclear facilities, creating another international flap. In an interview with ABC News, Romney's face froze into a twisted contortion resembling a grin and said that everything must be done to prevent Iran from becoming a "nuclear capability state." Well, every nation on earth is a "nuclear capability state." I tremble at the thought of Romney invading Poland, his next stop. With his distaste for trade unions, he might insult Lech Walesa.

The travelling Bush 2.0 caravan couldn't sour the celebration of the London games, however, so after a glorious public celebration of socialized medicine, the competition finally began. We settled in only to see Michael Phelps' fall from glory. Let that be a lesson to you kids not to stay too long on the bong. It makes your legs rubbery. While new American stars were being born, I've already become addicted to women's weightlifting. It's the single opportunity for an announcer to say, "her snatch looked better than her clean and jerk," and not get censored. With Mitt Romney gone until the equestrian events begin, the competition can proceed without sniping from the Savior of Salt Lake City. After the Fleet Street press scolding he received, I'd stay clear of the dressage myself. Want to know why the British media reacted so furiously over Romney's seemingly inane pre-Olympic comments? Because he displayed bad manners, and in England, manners count. From my admittedly limited interactions, the British people are simply nicer than they are here. That's why they call it civilization.

The Corporate Olympic Spirit

The London Olympics are just around the corner, but it appears as if pre-games jitters have set-in. The most explosive controversy in this country was the discovery that the Ralph Lauren designed, official U.S. Olympic uniforms were manufactured in China. Democrats and Republicans who can't agree on the color of the sky have discovered unity in their outrage. House Speaker John Boehner said the Olympic Committee "should have known better," and Senate majority leader Harry Reid sputtered that they should throw the uniforms in a big pile, burn them, and start over again. The impracticality of that notion is illustrated by the fact that polyester doesn't burn well, and it might be considered a tribute towards the country that is holding our national note to let them continue making our clothing. I think the Olympic team should dress like the rest of America, and when I looked last night, my shoes and Dillard's brand slacks were made in China, my underthings in Costa Rica, and my groovy, Cremieux shirt was made in Sri Lanka. I don't know what's more offensive; that the US team uniforms were manufactured overseas, or that they allow the Ralph Lauren, "Polo" logo to be plastered all over the clothes like a NASCAR driver. I'm no style maven, but isn't the Polo brand a little passe? I'd be embarrassed to wear an oversized symbol of corporate branding on my coat. To make it worse, the man-on-a-horse logo is on the jacket's left side, so the athletes will be pledging their allegiances to Ralph Lauren.

Over at Fox News, the main complaint was about the beret. Fox & Friends host Steve Doocy wondered aloud why they couldn't wear cowboy hats and dimwit "contributer" Kimberly Guilfoyle complained that the berets looked, "too Frenchy." Fox News' outrage was calmed when it was pointed out that certain elite U.S. military forces also wear the beret. The general agitation was sufficient for six Democratic Senators, including Schumer and Lautenberg, to propose the "Team USA Made in America Act of 2012," as if they sold Olympic uniforms off-the-rack at Macy's. Ralph Lauren has since promised that the outfits will be all U.S. made by the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia, but first he has to build some plants in the U.S. that still make clothes

London, meanwhile, resembles an armed camp with missile batteries on the rooftops and gunboats on the Thames. There are currently more air defenses in London than during the Blitz, and the Brits are such sticklers for curfews and such, that some poor civic lackey did the unthinkable. Last Saturday, Bruce Springsteen was giving a free concert in Hyde Park, which is surrounded by foreign embassies and the tony homes of London's mega-wealthy. He had already played for three hours, but when he returned for an encore, he said to the crowd of 65,000, "I've gotta tell you...I've been trying to do this for fifty years," and he called Paul McCartney onstage to join him. Springsteen's face reportedly lit up like a child as they burned their way through, "I Saw Her Standing There," and then began to play "Twist & Shout." The problem was that the concert's organizer, Hard Rock Calling, promised the event would end at 10:15, so promptly at 10:40, an overzealous city official cut off the power in mid-song, leaving the rock icons to shrug and walk off the stage. Angriest was guitarist "Little" Steven Van Zandt, who tweeted, "When did England become a police state?" British journalist Richard James wrote, "Only in Britain could a local council pull the plug on the greatest artists of the last 50 years, giving it their all."

GOP presidential candidate Mitt Romney was unavailable for comment because he was busy preparing for his two major London fundraisers on the eve of the Games. The first presidential candidate in history to travel to a foreign country and openly solicit funds during an American election campaign, Romney will host a reception, at $2,500 per person, for the peasants, and another "private dinner" with Mitt, costing from $25,000 to $75,000 per plate. At those prices, they'd better be serving hummingbirds' eyelashes and fillet of Komodo dragon, but as an added benefit, you get to rub tuxedoed elbows with the co-hosts; the heads of Barklay's Bank, The Bank of Credit Suisse, Deutche Bank, and Wells Fargo Securities. Romney, aside from money-grubbing in Socialist Britain, will be attending the Olympics to watch his wife's "therapy horse," Rafalca, compete in the dressage, sometimes known as "horse ballet." It should be a unique sight, watching a presidential contender suspend his campaign and fly to another continent to root for his horse. I'm certain that Mitt believes the entire country will be pulling for the Romney horse to "bring home the gold." I only hope they treat the horse better than the dog.

The other major Olympic news concerned former Britain Football Squad captain, David Beckham, being left off his home country's roster for being "overage." How does that make you feel? I don't think the British ever forgave him for taking away "Posh Spice," but I sure hope he decides to play for our side. So, construction delays aside, no one does pomp like the British and it should be quite a show, especially with all that international corporate money to spend. The Olympics also gives me a legitimate excuse for staying home and watching hundreds of hours of televised events, at least until I get so sick of that John Williams theme music that I begin to recoil at the sound of trumpets. For sure, I'll be watching the "horse ballet." It will be a welcome change from a steady diet of Hard Core Pawn and Lizard Lick Towing. Only, the Olympics are a reality TV show that is unscripted, and, berets be damned, it's an occasion for genuine national pride, depending on how Fox News decides to spin it.

Surprise, Surprise!

The frazzled, frothing, obstructionist Republicans had set aside the date of June 28 as the day they would finally decapitate the Obama administration, but a funny thing happened on the way to the guillotine. The Tea Party dominated GOP had scheduled a House vote to declare Attorney General Eric Holder in contempt of Congress just hours after the Supreme Court was due to strike down Obamacare, delivering the old one-two punch to the president's chances for a second term. Minority leader John Boehner had warned his troops that there would be no celebrations, and "no spiking the ball." Instead, they got sacked in their own end zone and the other team did the celebrating. If I say that the conservatives' ace reliever walked in the winning run in the bottom of the ninth, I will have made three separate sports analogies in one paragraph.

Everyone on both sides expected the Supreme Court to hand Barry his hat and overturn his major legislative accomplishment, but somehow Chief Justice John Roberts developed a conscience and not only sided with the court's "liberals," but wrote the majority opinion upholding the legality of the Affordable Care Act. It's worth noting that of the five votes in favor of retaining Obamacare, three were from women. The Tea party had set up a battery of microphones to bleat their delight to the lame-stream media, but instead they ran from the courthouse steps screaming, "It's a tax! It's a tax!" like Charlton Heston at the end of "Soylent Green" shouting, "It's people! Soylent Green is made from people!" Later in the day, the GOP-produced Eric Holder passion play was spoiled when outraged Democrats refused to participate in this particular farce and walked out, leaving the right-wing centurions to hammer in the nails alone. Thus, for allegedly withholding documents concerning a botched operation by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms called, "Fast and Furious," Attorney General Eric Holder, not John Ashcroft, Alberto Gonzales, or Janet Reno, became the first sitting cabinet officer in American history to be held in Contempt of Congress.

California Representative Daniel Issa, the leader of this posse, sputtered, "Very clearly, (the ATF) made a crisis and they are using this crisis to somehow take away or limit people's Second Amendment rights." Translating from the overtly hysterical, the ATF supposedly allowed guns to be smuggled to Mexican drug cartels so the resulting carnage would so horrify this country's citizens that the confiscation of firearms would begin, triggering the Second American Revoltion. The nearest equivalency I can think to compare would be if we sold cheesburgers and pizza to the Canadians and became so grossed out over their morbid obesity, our entire country went on a diet. This effort to humilate Obama on the same day that his health care legislation was due to be struck down would have been declared transparent on its face had it not contained a kernal of truth. A Border Patrol Agent, Brian Terry, was murdered with a gun purchased by a suspect that the ATF office in Phoenix was tracking. Journalist Katherine Eban has written an article for Fortune Magazine entitled, "The Truth About the Fast and Furious Scandal," which offers a definitive account of the tragic episode. Eban concludes, "The ATF never intentionally allowed guns to fall into the hands of Mexican drug cartels," and quotes IRS Special Agent Linda Wallace, who investigated the case, as saying, "Republican senators are whipping up the country into a psychotic frenzy with these reports that are patently false."

As for the historic decision upholding the Affordable Healthcare Act, I was all set to rail about this overtly politicized Supreme Court and how, once again, a conservative majority did the bidding of the Republican Party. I was going to reference Bush v Gore and Citizens United as the first two nails in democracy's coffin, and overturning Obamacare was the third. I was prepared to draw paralells between the Roberts Court and the courts of the 1930s which thwarted FDR's New Deal and was absolutely convinced another 5-4 decision along party lines was forthcoming. This convincingly proves that I don't know squat. Only, I'm in good company. Constitutional scholars and Court watchers were all expecting the law to be struck down but never imagined that it would be John Roberts that would save the bill. Now, instead of comparing Roberts to Warren Burger in the seventies or Earl Warren in the sixties, he turns out to be more like the conservatives' nemisis,  David Souter, who considered resigning rather than serve on a court that could approve Bush v Gore. Judge Roberts' principled stand motivated the Executive Director of Families USA, Ron Pollack, to write, "It has taken close to a century to enact meaningful healthcare reform. Now that the Supreme Court has upheld the law, it will become a living reality for all Americans very soon."

So the battle lines have been drawn. Mitt Romney promises to "Repeal and replace Obamacare," only he doesn't say with what. The individual mandate was, after all, Mitt's baby. Now he treats it like a bastard lovechild. In Massachusets, meanwhile, 98 percent of its citizens are covered because of Romneycare's individual mandate, highest in the nation, and they seem to like it. I don't particularly like the government telling me that I have to buy something either, but health insurance is something I have long tried to purchase, but have been denied. The mandate is the only way within the current system that healthcare  becomes affordable and available to all. Let's face it, health insurance is just another racket invented by greedy capitalists to skim cash from hospitals and the lucrative medical testing industry. Ever wonder why your aspirin costs ten dollars a tablet in the hospital but only seven bucks a bottle in the gift store? Insurance companies are the ones that are getting in-between you and your doctor, but it's a revenue producer, so the corporatists have to convince you with lies that, "Obamacare is a govenment takeover of healthcare," and that the government will now dictate your medical preferences. The government is only enriching the insurance companies by providing them with 33 million new customers, but that's better left unsaid. Currently, this is the way the game is played. If you want decent healthcare you need to buy insurance, at least until the people wake up and ask, "Why?"

The Summer Of Our Discontent

We are so going to pay for the mild winter we recently experienced. I fear that it's a grim foreboding of things to come and that this summer in Memphis is going to resemble Pirtle's Fried Chicken; hot, greasy and extra-crispy. There are other such Biblical signs. Melody and I were sitting on the deck enjoying the balmy weather when a mosquito the size of a sparrow landed on my arm. I swatted it before it could bite, but the splatter looked like it just flew in from the blood bank. I thought we were going to have to call in the CSI to analyze it, or at least Dr. Henry Lee. Until now, it's been a relatively mild June, so you might ask; "What other scientific methods do you use to reach your doomsday predictions?" Easy. We made it through the Beale Street Music Festival, the International Bar-B-Que Festival, and the Sunset Symphony without a single drop of rain.  It must be decades since the Memphis in May celebration went three for three. I don't remember that happening ever. That's great for the folks at MIM, but it's like one of the plagues of ancient Egypt for the citizenry. I mean, what's a Beale Street Festival without a sea of mud, or a cookout on the bluff without a torrential downpour? Do you even imagine that we're going to celebrate a sunny, dry, and hugely successful Memphis in May without somehow paying for it? If there's to be a forthcoming equal and opposite reaction, I fear the ides of August.

There's nothing like a good old Bluff City summer, where the temperature is 100 degrees at noon and 90 at midnight, and you live in a perpetual state of damp and discomfort until the simple act of breathing burns your lungs. You walk outside and it feels like the air itself is sweating. Then it goes on for three straight weeks until irritability spreads like prickly-heat and you're snapping at your co-workers like a giant turtle on his back with red, swollen eyes that will not close. Then whiskey and beer sales skyrocket along with firearms purchases and incidents of domestic altercations until long-time partners can no longer stand the sight of one another, and the next thing you know there's a zombie apocalypse and some crackhead is trying to chew on your face. And that's during a normal summer. I can still recall years at the Bar-B-Que Fest when I was cooking faster than the pork. Imagine ultra-violet rays penetrated by new, atomic sunbeams while "Tan Moms" fry like bacon in a skillet. They'll have to move the burn units closer to the beaches. The thought of lying in the sun, oiled up like a Caesar salad, is horrific to me in every way, but the mutated solar flares may cause even the most devout sun-worshipper to seek extended periods of shelter. This may be difficult for some, but not for a great indoorsman like me. I've been practicing for years.

In case you haven't noticed, this year's weather extremes are breaking records all over the world. The National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) reports that last month was the second hottest May since they began keeping records in 1880, exceeded only by 2010. March was the hottest on record with over 15,000 temperature records broken across the country. This was the warmest spring in history for the continental United States. Greenhouse gas emissions from industry, transportation, and land usage are cited as reasons that the first decade of this century was the warmest ever recorded. Currently the states of Texas, Colorado, and California are on fire. Arizona and New Mexico are suffering the largest wildfires in their respective state's char-broiled histories. There have been killer tornadoes and historic floods dotting the map this past year, and hurricane season just started. The good news is that NOAA is predicting fewer storms than usual this summer. The bad news is that, because May produced the highest temperatures ever recorded for both land and ocean surfaces in North America, the hurricanes will be of greater intensity and destructive power. As a nation, we've spewed enough fluorocarbons, vehicle exhaust, radioactive waste, and other gasses into the atmosphere to have severely damaged the ozone layer, and there are five decades worth of space trash orbiting the Earth like the rings of Saturn. I'd say this is "reaping the whirlwind."

The international scientific data about man-made causes of climate change is in. The only ones left disputing it are a few hucksters who make their money selling snake oil to the yokels, and the entire congressional delegation of the Republican party. John Boehner once blamed climate change on cow farts. James Inhofe of Oklahoma, whose state is burning, called global warming "a hoax." Iowa's Senator Chuck Grassley said, "Climate legislation is a scheme by coastal liberals to take your money." And the GOP nominee, Mitt Romney, wants to eliminate the EPA, founded in 1970 by Richard Nixon. Since the Republican Party is a wholly owned subsidiary of the oil and gas industry, they will not consider alternative means of energy until they have sucked the last Stegosaurus stain from the bowels of the Earth. They claim that tougher regulations will make it harder to compete with the lax Chinese, but even in big old Communist Red China, the government has released a 710 page report saying, "China faces extremely grim ecological conditions under the impact of continued global warming." A recently published report by the Potsdam Institute for Climate Impact Research states "The link with human caused global warming is clear..(concerning) extreme rainfall and heat waves." Still, almost presidential candidate Rick Santorum said, "It is one thing for ideologically driven science to indoctrinate children in classrooms. It is another for politicians to use science to destroy national economies and redistribute global wealth. I refer, of course, to the latest scientific non-controversy, man-made global warming."

I suppose by the time anyone reads this, the thermometer will have reached 100 degrees or close to it. The only people looking forward to this summer's temperatures are the executives at Memphis Light Gas & Water and Baskin-Robbins. Over here, we're investing in dark curtains and stocking up on air filters, hoping another "Hurricane Elvis" doesn't pass this was anytime soon. If this is to be the hottest summer on record, I would also be investing in iced tea futures if I had any money left. As for the idiotic pseudo-debate over whether or not climate change is affected by humans, we may have already reached the tipping point. If that's the case, the argument is irrelevant, despite the tsunami of cash flowing into Republican coffers from fossil fuel consortiums, like oil onto the pristine beaches of the Gulf Coast. President Carter tried to warn us, but he was such a downer. We were too busy disco dancing to pay attention to a buzz-kill like Jimmy. That's why we're at the mercy of severe and unpredictable weather and continual "Code Orange" air alerts. It's been thirty-five years since Jimmy Carter's "heads-up" to the country, but we scorned him, so by now there may be nothing left to do but sit back and watch the show. At least until the New Madrid fault ruptures, then I imagine the power might be out for awhile.

Almost Cut My Hair

Ordinarily, the school days hi-jinks of the  candidates for the highest office are irrelevant, unless you're George W. Bush and you've gone AWOL from your national guard unit for over a year. But a couple of stories surfaced last month, each about the two presidential contenders' youthful student "pranks," which may help shed light on the mens' characters. The first investigative piece was about Barack Obama's liberal use of herbaceous materials as a student at Occidental College; the second concerned Mitt Romney's assault on a long-haired classmate when he was a senior at an elite prep school in Bloomfield, Michigan. According to witnesses, young Mitt was incensed at the appearance of an eccentric young man who had the gall to grow his hair long. Romney led a group of students through a residential dormitory until they found the offending party, tackled him and pinned him to the ground, while Mitt hacked away at his hair with a scissors. The rueful participants claimed it was something they could "never forget," except for the Barber of Bloomfield who said, "I don't recall the incident myself, but I've seen the reports and I'm not going to argue with that." Unfortunately, the victim of the attack, John Lauber, who died in 2004, was unavailable for comment.

The revelations about Obama's school years come from Clinton biographer David Maraniss' new book, Barack Obama: The Story. College classmates claim that young Barack was a copious user of the "sticky-green," and invented novel ways in which to smoke it, including, "chooming a doobie." I had never heard that expression, but for the uninitiated, I would assume it's synonymous with "burning a fatty," or the "smoking of a marijuana cigarette." "Barry" was also known to invent some smoking trends; one called "T.A." short for "total absorption." Another was called "roof hits," where a bunch of guys smoked pot in a car with all the windows sealed, until they tilted their heads back and inhaled the remaining smoke from the cloud in the ceiling above. Obama also had the tendency to leap forward in a pot circle shouting, "Intercepted," and take a hit out of turn, but one schoolmate said, "No one seemed to mind." I appreciate an imaginative leader that takes the initiative. If Barack had hung around some of my crazy friends, they could have taught him "the shotgun," and "inside the paper bag." The major outcry over these stories has come not so much from social conservatives as from pot smokers who object to Obama allowing the DEA to shut down medical marijuana dispensaries in California, Colorado, Montana, and Washington.

The stories about Mitt Romney's prep school days at the Cranbrook School, first reported in The Washington Post, are far more troubling. Mitt is my same age, so when I say that I know guys like Romney, I mean I know guys exactly like Romney. When long-hair first came to Knoxville, there was an unexpected reaction from the locals. Rather than correctly assume that these were the same students as before who had just grown their hair out over summer vacation, some of the citizenry reacted as if they were under alien attack. There were accounts of roving Melungeons harassing the hippies, always in groups, including reports of malicious hair-cuttings similar to the Romney incident. Ultimately, there were areas of town that long-hairs learned to avoid. The single one-on-one confrontation I witnessed between a redneck and a hippie occurred when the former asked the latter if he was "a boy or a girl," which evoked a response of an anatomical nature that started a brawl in the Vol Market. Similarly, many students were disturbed that their college was changing from the drunken party school of renown into a haven for pot smokers and sandal wearers. The line of demarcation seemed to strike right in the middle of my age group, half succumbing to the hippie ethos, and half stubbornly clutching to their bottles of Jack Daniels. There was a lot of abuse and plenty of resistance from bullies like Romney, who could not accept the changes.

Among the students who accompanied Romney on his hair-cutting foray, one recently recounted the events for the record and said, "When you see somebody who is simply different taken down that way and is terrified and you see that look in their eye, you never forget it." Although Romney claims to have forgotten it, the remorseful rabble with him that night remembered returning to their rooms shouting in triumph. A witness claimed the event has "haunted him," and referred to it as "assault and battery." Confronting the accusations on Fox News, Romney explained, "As to pranks that were played back then, I don't remember them all, but again, high school days, I did stupid things...And if anyone was hurt by that or offended, obviously I apologise for that" Later, he expounded that some of his pranks "might have gone too far." I did stupid things in high school too, but that never included leading an assault on a hapless, helpless victim of non-conformity. I just did things like grow my hair long. Obama has publicly taken responsibility for his cocaine and pot use as a young man, yet Romney's the one who can't seem to remember anything.

Admittedly, Romney became an honor student at Brigham Young University where everyone looked like him: finely-coiffed, well-groomed, and white. No one to bully in Provo. In fact, the university had an honor code that included: no bad language, alcohol, tobacco, tea, or coffee, and to "observe dress and grooming standards, and live a chaste and virtuous life." The Mormon college also encouraged "undergraduate marriages," so Mitt married young. Nothing wrong with any of that, but here I had always thought that college was for raising hell and indulging in the pursuit of happiness, along with all those books and such. I believe that my college experience is more typical than Mitt Romney's. So is Barack Obama's, whose indulgences did potential harm only to himself and no one else. While Obama was doing "roof hits," Romney was doing post-mortem Mormon baptisms in Salt Lake City. Remember back when George Bush was running against Al Gore in 2000, and alot of people decided to vote for Bush because, "he was the kind of guy that you could sit down and have a beer with?" Well, Bush didn't drink beer, and neither does Mitt Romney, but if presidential preferences are determined by such inane attributes, I'd rather choom a doobie with Barack than be part of a hair-hacking posse led by the pampered and privileged son of a governor.

Can't Turn You Loose

Isaac Tigrett, "Duck" Dunn, Randy Haspel: Hard Rock Cafe, New York, 1988

Donald "Duck" Dunn used to say that Al Jackson, Jr. was the greatest drummer he'd ever heard. With the recent passing of both Andrew Love and Charles "Skip" Pitts, the guys have all the makings of a smokin' celestial soul combo. Add Isaac Hayes and Otis Redding to the mix, and they've got a full blown Stax/Volt Revue going on for the Heavenly Host. If you're inside the Memphis city limits and you've never heard of Duck Dunn, you must be a tourist. Dunn, who died last week in Tokyo at age 70, was one-fourth of Booker T. & the MGs, the house band during the glory days of Stax Records and among the greatest instrumental groups to ever record. Duck was in Tokyo for a series of gigs with his childhood friend, Steve Cropper, and Stax soul star Eddie Floyd. Cropper posted, "Today I lost my best friend and the world has lost the best guy and bass player to ever live." Booker T. Jones said, "I can't imagine not being able to hear Duck laugh and curse but I'm thankful I got to spend time and make music with him. His intensity was incomparable. Everyone loved him. None more than Otis Redding." Duck's passing essentially ends the 50 year phenomenon known as Booker T. & the MGs. The band recruited another drummer to replace the late Al Jackson, Jr. and played on for another 37 years, but nobody can replace Duck Dunn.

Listen to any track by Otis Redding or Sam & Dave. If Al Jackson, Jr. was the pulse, then Duck's bass was the propulsion. He once described himself as "a seat-of-the-pants bass player," but in reality he was more of a "kick you in your ass" bass player. He not only supplied the bottom, but also the energy, for some of the 20th century's most memorable recordings, like "Soul Man," "The Midnight Hour," and Otis' remarkable "Try a Little Tenderness." Watch those old, black and white videos of the Stax Revue in Europe, 1967, and you'll see Duck's characteristic neck-jerk in time with the music; increasing in fervor with the strength of the groove. Duck's biographical information is familiar to friends and fans; a graduate of Messick High where he and his friend Cropper had a band called the Royal Spades, who morphed into the Mar-Keys and had Stax's first monster hit with the instrumental, "Last Night." When Cropper moved on to fledgling label, he recruited his friend Duck to replace Lewie Steinberg in the MGs, and history was made. The MGs were Memphis' first inter-racial band, something unheard of in the early sixties. But those of us who were younger and aspired to a music career, took pride and inspiration from the group during those turbulent times. In segregated Memphis, an integrated group would most likely be denied the right to share the same bandstand, but in the recording studio, nothing could stop a group of teenagers who all grew up listening to Rufus Thomas and Dewey Phillips on the radio, and Willie Mitchell and the 4 Kings, Bowlegs Miller, and the 5 Royales in the clubs of West Memphis.

It's worth noting that in his fellow musicians' remarks, in the same breath that they praise Duck's musicianship, they note that he was an even better human being. That's what his friends recall first; that Duck was a humble man, unaffected by his worldwide fame, he loved to laugh, either at your jokes or his own, and he very well could have put a bumper sticker on his bass guitar that read, "I'd rather be golfing." Like most Memphians, I admired Duck from afar and regarded him as a soul  icon, until 1981, when we became acquainted. That was the year Huey's Restaurant made their first attempt at expansion with "Louie's," a converted eatery on Poplar Ave. in East Memphis, and had hired my band, the Radiants, to play on Sunday nights. While other local bands were covering Journey and Foreigner, we were still performing a venerable list of Rhythm & Blues classics, with a healthy dose of Stax songs. When Duck began to show up and we asked him to sit in, everyone so enjoyed themselves that we reserved a regular spot for him every Sunday. Our long-time bassist, Steve Spear, was leaving Memphis and I was in a bind to find a suitable replacement. I asked Duck if he knew anybody and he answered, "What about me," and the next day, he was in the band.

Our song list contained some complicated tunes that required rehearsal, but, considering his expertise, I was reluctant to ask Duck to practice. He beat me to it by opening up his home and inviting the band there to rehearse as often as we wished. When we began, Duck cautioned us in typical humility, "Look, I'm no Steve Spear. You're going to have to have a little patience with me." When I later told him, Spear was delighted with the comparison. Along with our Sunday gig, the Radiants began playing Tuesday nights downtown at Jefferson Square, and Duck propelled our band like he did the MGs. When our young saxophonist, Jim Spake, had to leave the band suddenly and I needed to replace him, Duck said, "I don't think Andrew Love is doing anything." The next week, one half of the Memphis Horns joined the band. Andrew stepped in seamlessly without need of rehearsal and I suddenly found myself fronting the best soul band I ever had. I got an offer from a brand-new combination Pizza Parlor/Disco in Dallas and booked the band there for a week. Neither Duck nor Andrew complained about the drive, but when we checked into one of the city's seedier motels to save on expenses, I felt a bit guilty about putting these two world famous musicians into such raunchy accomodations. Halfway through the gig, Andrew came to my room and said, "I think Duck's paralyzed." He had slept beneath an air conditioner and woke up to find half his face frozen into a Joker-like smirk. I thought, "My God. I've crippled this man in a rotten Dallas motel room." A doctor diagnosed Bell's Palsy, but by the evening, Duck was feeling well enough to play and stopped me from phoning Memphis for substitute bass players.

It couldn't last forever. Andrew and his Memphis Horns partner Wayne Jackson went on the road with Robert Cray, and Duck got the call from Eric Clapton. Shortly afterward, in a memorable night at the Orpheum Theatre, Clapton headlined with Duck on bass while the warm-up act was Ry Cooder, featuring Jim Dickinson on keyboard. Then there was the night a rejuvenated Booker T. & the MGs made their first homecoming appearance at B.B. King's on Beale Street. I was sardined into that packed house mainly to support my friends, but when the Hammond organ began a thunderous roiling noise that ultimately became the introduction to "Green Onions," and the band kicked in, I leapt to my feet cheering like the Tigers had won the national championship. Duck found a groove and was snapping his neck sideways, always to the left, and a roomful of lucky patrons got to see the show of a lifetime. Duck was a cancer survivor and lived the past few decades in Sarasota, where he moved for the golfing opportunities as much as for the nice weather. If Duck and Andrew had one thing in common aside from their music, it's that they both were supported by wonderful spouses. June Dunn and PeeWee Love are two of the kindest, yet strongest, women I know, and the love both couples shared made it a delight to be in their company. I'm proud to have known them. In Tokyo, Duck had just finished two shows at the Blue Note Nightclub, when he called home to say he wasn't feeling well. Later that night, he passed away in his sleep. Like the true, musical road-warrior that he was, Duck Dunn died with his boots on.

TV or Not TV

The original bargain struck between the television industry and its viewing audience was that if we plugged the magical picture box into the wall socket, the programming would be for free. In return, a program's sponsor could take four or so minutes per half hour to promote their products and services with commercial advertisements. That deal lasted nearly forty years until the advent of cable TV. So my question is, if we are now paying to watch television, why are there still commercials? We have become so accustomed to the commercial interruption that it has woven itself into the fabric of television's daily reality, at the exact same time that programming has become increasingly unreal. In fact, under the guise of "reality television," programming has become one continuous advertisement, seamlesly blending from TV show into paid commercial, and back again.

From toddler beauty-queens with insane mothers, to "celebrities" in re-hab, nothing is too extreme for exploitation by reality shows. This works out great for producers who no longer have to bother with hiring those troublesome actors with their desire to be paid, or those left-wing scriptwriters with their "human dramas," backed up by show-biz union thugs. Controversial FCC Chairman Newton B. Minow famously referred to television as a "vast wasteland" in 1961. How quaint that back during the Kennedy administration someone actually thought television's objective should be to entertain and inform. Today, the industry's raison d'etre is as an advertising medium, interspersed with the least expensive drivel that the public will tolerate. During an age of flat-screen, plasma, blu-ray, and other advances, I find it unnecessary to watch Hillbilly Handfishin' in high definition. At a time when television technology is at an all-time high, programming is at an all-time low. Who needs Norman Lear or Garry Marshall when we have Chef  Gordon Ramsey and Ryan Seacrest?

Any off-the-wall behavior or activity that you can imagine, there's a reality show about it: extreme hoarders, redneck tycoons, bounty hunters, repo men, pregnant teens, or the morbidly obese. In my house, I like to see the news/discussion programs. I tell my wife, Melody, that it's my job to watch them so I can write this rant. But every time I leave the room, the station has been changed to the Bravo Channel when I return. I finally put my foot down and told her that I refused to watch this mindless, soulless, dreck about self-absorbed women complaining about their privileged lives. So, as we were watching The Housewives of Orange County, I was commenting on how much better Tamra looked now that she's had her breast implants removed. But when I found myself concerned that the feud between Melissa and Teresa on the New Jersey housewives would rip their families apart, it occurred to me why we watch this stuff. In difficult times, if we can take a voyeuristic peek into the travails and troubles of the wealthy, or watch how Teresa's husband, Joe Giudice, faces ten years in prison for forgery, it makes us feel a little better about our own wretched lives. Or, as Joe Giudice is fond of philosophising, "It is what it is. What are you gonna' do?"

Nothing about this window peeking is new, however. It began in 1973 with the PBS series, An American Family, which documented the destruction of the Loud family, holding viewers entranced with weekly admissions of infidelity, drug use, and the coming out of a gay son. It all ended rather badly, however, and though it was ratings gold, no one seemed eager to repeat the experiment. Todays' shows just skip the family trauma entirely and go straight to drug re-hab, where burnt-out former reality show participants explain how they were pre-genetically disposed to alcoholism and addiction. After years of quiz, game, and talk shows that were ordinarily confined to daytime fare, the Big Bang of reality TV was The Real World, the show that took the "music" out of MTV. The success of The Real World spawned a hundred more shows where strangers are locked in a house and filmed over time; Big Brother, Last Comic Standing, Hell's Kitchen, The Apprentice. and the Frankenstinian Jersey Shore, which shamed a generation of young people. MTV, meanwhile, gave us celebrity home invasions like The Osbournes and Anna Nicole, the results of which were resolved in courts, clinics, and morgues. Another disaster was My Big, Fat, Obnoxious Fiance, where a prospective bride's family was led to believe she was marrying a disgusting buffoon up until the phony wedding day when she confessed her hilarious deceit to her traumatized family, who all promptly sought counselling. After the success of Survival, and the phrase, "voted off the island," entered the lexicon, "reality" replaced writing and we were left with Who Wants to be a Millionaire? seven days a week.

We've now seen all the Storage Wars episodes so that they are as quickly identifiable as old Seinfeld reruns. We agree that the people on Pawn Stars in Las Vegas are more likable than the combustible family in Detroit's Hard Core Pawn, where every negative stereotype about angry black people and heartless, Jewish pawnbrokers is played out for the cameras. Between the TruTV Network and the Bravo Channel alone, you can see; Bait Car, World's Dumbest, South Beach Tow, Top Chef, Pregnant in Heels, Next Top Model, Project Runway, and The Shah's of Sunset, which proves that rich Iranians can be just as obnoxious as privileged Americans. But nothing offends like the Kardashian family franchise. Begun as Keeping up With the Kardashians, the story of a family obsessed by surgery and celebrity, it has morphed into what seems a hundred spin-offs. Kim has her own following thanks to a public obsession with her gluteous maximus, with the emphasis on maximus, while her sisters document their marriages to athletes and basketball players, which seem to always end in heartache, as most reality unions do. Just ask Jon and Kate plus Eight. Choose your poison; American Idol, The X Factor, The Voice, America's Got Talent, So You Think You Can Dance, or Dancing With the Stars, someday this will all come to an end and there will be more drama shows to choose from than Law & Order, and CSI. Until then, if you're entertained by television, it's a coincidence. If you're informed, it's a miracle. Unless your trying to catch a catfish in a mudhole with your toes.

The Death Penalty Box

Did you know that if you kill a man in St. Louis you could be executed for the crime, but if you kill the same man across the river in East St. Louis, you will only go to prison? States with capital punishment are very pro-choice. Among 37 states, there are 5 different methods of execution in use, allowing the condemned to choose between the chair, the rope, the needle, the gas chamber, or a firing squad. The Death Penalty stirs strong emotional feelings on both sides. Abolitionists claim that since man did not create life, it's therefore not his to take, without exception. Advocates say that is a deterrent to violent crime and the ultimate justice for its victims. George Carlin said that death was more than just a penalty. A penalty is something that happens in hockey. Death is a bit more permanent. I have given this issue a great deal of thought. I have looked at it from Judaeo-Christian-Zen-Hindu points of view, including the consideration of both karmic laws and state laws. I have contemplated its inhumanity and whatever is the philosophical opposite when it comes to putting a person to death. I have examined the costs and the morality. I have perused the holy texts, including the Bhagavad Gita, and I have come to agree with the wisdom of my Texas cousins: "Some people just need killin'."

I know that admission may shock some of my progressive friends, but I'm conflicted here. I realize that the Christian point of view ought to be no executions, no exceptions, because Jesus Himself stopped one. I guess stoning was a particularly cruel manner of capital punishment, depending on the size of the rocks, but Jesus said, "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone." Then again, the Old Testament calls for "an eye for an eye." So many conservatives cheered for Texas Governor Rick Perry's heavyweight championship of execution during the Republican debates, it's an ongoing spiritual mystery how so many Rock of Ages absolutists can be both pro-life yet also favor the death penalty. Irrespective of the fervor of the faithful, if karma works in the same way as the laws of cause and effect, and someone has committed a crime so horrible that he will return to this life with some type of deformity, we'd be doing him a favor to give him a little nudge along the path of his spiritual journey.

Everyday, I see someone walk out of prison that was on death row. Advances in forensics and other technologies have freed men held captive for decades while others have surely been wrongly put to death. In Texas, they do it for a hobby, like hot dog eaters trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records. On the other hand, Charles Manson may well have reached cult-like status anyway if the death penalty were not eliminated in California in 1972, but he wouldn't have stayed alive long enough to record new CDs and become this country's convict with the most correspondence. I doubt that John Wayne Gacey's paintings would still be on the market if he hadn't spent that much time in prison in order to paint them all. The most egregious example is Richard Speck, the mass murderer. Speck's was the first particularly horrifying mass slaying to be made public during the media age. In 1966, Speck raped, tortured and murdered eight student nurses in their beds at their Chicago apartment. He was quickly captured and sentenced to death, but a Supreme Court decision created a four year moratorium on state execution, under which Speck's life was spared. He later claimed he never really had a reason to kill those girls and that it was so messy, if he could go back, it would just be a simple house burglary.

If there were ever a candidate for capital punishment, it would be Richard Speck. But the evidence was not necessarily in the trial so much as in the prison video Speck made before he died of natural causes at age 50. The footage is still so gag-inducing, it makes me ill to conjure the memory, but without being expansive, Speck is featured snorting coke with his jail lover and showing off new surgically enlarged man-breasts. He says to the "videographer," "If the public only knew how much fun we're having." At that point, I stopped caring about deterrence, or cost, or philosophy, or ethics; I just wished that guy was dead. But, "Vengeance is Mine," sayeth the Lord. Fair enough. But it's also said, "The Lord helps those who help themselves." Face it, there are some people that are just dying to meet their maker, and doing it in so gruesome a way that we, as a society, need to accommodate them. These times in which we live, (the Kali Yuga in Hindi), are so dark that violent crimes have become increasingly brutal, depraved and committed with such savagery, that the perpetrators have forfeited their right to live on this planet and breathe the same air as other humans. Game over. Thanks for playing. Better luck next time.

The 1972 case that stopped all executions for a time was called Furman v. Georgia. It wasn't because of a rigged trial or planted evidence, the court merely ruled that a more uniform system about what did and did not qualify for the death penalty needed to be put in place. So, let's merely follow the court's ruling and narrow the criteria for the ultimate punishment. This would, of necessity, have to be a federal law, just to overrule the "try 'em and fry 'em" regimen of some of our more trigger happy states. To my mother's regret, I am not an attorney, but I'll bet that some legal statutes could be written on a national level, like the voting age, that regulate the conditions necessary for and the method of execution. Leaving a matter of this magnitude to the states has created the chaos we are currently witnessing. I once believed that the correct solution was not to kill the murderers, just lock them in a cage like mad dogs. Forget about rehabilitation or exercise, just slide their food under a crack in the door and let nature do its work. But in recent decades, a category of soulless criminal has emerged that just doesn't deserve any more food and water. For example- anyone committing a mass slaying or spree killing is good to go; anybody that tortures and murders for kicks is hot to trot; serial child predators win a free ticket to the afterlife, including the clergy. Now that might serve as a deterrent.

Female Problems

What would you call someone whose actions intentionally harm their own best interests? 

"Misguided" is the most charitable word I can think of. What about, say, a union organizer in Wisconsin working to keep Governor Scott Walker in office? Or, a group of Mexican-Americans supporting the re-election of Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio because they approve of Arizona's "Your papers, please" law? Would they be masochists or just damned fools? Then how about any woman who would vote for a Republican in the coming election? I don't mean just the presidential contest, I mean any Republican for any public office. After the GOP's party-wide fatwah on womens' contraceptive rights was declared and an agressive campaign to restrict legal abortion swept through statehouses around the country, I can only think of a few possible reasons that women would stick with the Republicans: either they are indoctrinated, propagandized, misinformed, or motivated by a simmering hatred for our mixed-race president with the foreign sounding name. Or else they're Marsha Blackburn.

A religious backed effort to strangle women's access to abortion has been spreading through Republican controlled state legislatures like the whooping cough. Georgia passed the "Women as Livestock" bill, so named when a GOP Representative compared pregnant women to "cows and pigs on (his) farm," sparking fist-fights between lobbyists and a walk-out by Democratic women who wrapped themselves in crime scene tape. Commonly called the "Fetal Pain Bill," Georgia  criminalized abortion after 20 weeks, down from the current 26 weeks, without exceptions. Similar "Fetal Pain Restrictions" have passed in seven additional states, placing roadblocks toward a womans' right to a legal, and safe, abortion. In Mississippi, the legislature passed a bill mandating that physicians have "admitting privileges" at local hospitals before performing abortions. Since Mississippi's sole abortion clinic is the Jackson Women's Health Organization, the new law would effectively shut it down, fulfilling Gov. Phil Bryant's pledge to "make Mississippi abortion free." The obvious consequences would force the state's women seeking reproductive rights into Tennessee. However, Rep. Marsha Blackburn of Brentwood has co-sponsored a bill in Congress prohibiting "bringing minors across state lines for the purpose of abortion."

Behind the scenes is the anti-choice group, Operation Save America, which has targeted states with only one abortion clinic, including North and South Dakota, Wyoming, and Arkansas, virtually making them also "abortion free." If all this sounds eerily like the 1800s, when states were divided into "slave states" and "free states," that is the purpose of the stealth campaign to criminalize abortion through local, rather than federal law. After Virginia passed the mandatory ultra-sound bill, nine states followed suit, including Oklahoma, whose state Supreme Court just struck down the law as unconstitutional. Of all the states attempting to bypass the Roe v. Wade decision of 1973, perhaps the most zealous jihadists are right here in the Republican controlled Tennessee Statehouse. They adopted the Mississippi bill concerning physicians' "admitting privileges," 93-0 in the House, and are currently being sued by Planned Parenthood to re-instate grant funding stripped by the wing-nut legislature. The most frightening thing is that Republicans are poised to dominate the state's legislative bodies well into the foreseeable future, emboldening the anti-abortion crusaders.

Tennessee State Rep. Matthew Hill, a religious broadcaster from Jonesborough, a town of 5,220 near Johnson City, introduced legislation that would require the Tennessee Department of Health to publish detailed information about every woman in the state who has an abortion, including "age, race, county, marital status, education, number of children, location of the procedure, and how many times the woman has been pregnant." In addition, Hill called for the online publication of the names of doctors performing the procedure. After a citizens' uproar, Hill withdrew the proposal, accusing his opponents of "spreading lies about the bill, slandering his reputation, and inciting threats of violence against him." Not to be dissuaded, Hill then proposed a law authorizing Tennessee counties to "erect monuments of the Ten Commandments in courthouses and on their grounds as parts of displays of other historical documents." To paraphrase the late, great Tennessee Governor Frank G. Clement, "How long, O Lord, must we be held hostage by these rural legislative rubes?" Along with the state's "Don't Say Gay" bill, the legislature has passed an "abstinence first" sex education law with legal penalties for instructors who stray from the curriculum. Nashville Democrat Mike Turner said, "They've got a real thing with sex. We're about ready to...put the women in burqas here if we keep going at this rate."

Barack Obama is going to beat Mitt Romney like a conga drum in 2012, and that's not just because he has natural rhythm. The Republicans richly deserve the pounding they are about to receive at the polls, and the Tea Party cultural warriors who were voted in in 2010 will just as vigorously be voted out; and the difference will be women. Polls already show that women see right through the transparent attempt by Republicans to pander to the evangelical, Christian right with new laws restricting reproductive freedom. The self-proclaimed, anti-big government activists are attempting the biggest experiment in religious zealotry since Prohibition; and all this at a time when the major concerns of the electorate are jobs and the economy. As soon as uber-patriot Rush Limbaugh said, "I hope he (Obama) fails," the Republicans had their marching orders. GOP Senate leader Mitch McConnell publicly stated that, "Our main priority is to ensure that this president is a one-term president." From that day on, the Republicans have stonewalled, filibustered, blocked, or opposed every initiative put forward by the Obama administration, even those first proposed by the GOP. Cap and Trade? John McCain's idea. Individual mandate? Bob Dole's idea. The EPA? Richard Nixon's creation. Their grand design is to bring down this president regardless of the damage done to the country. Consequently, the only way to put this nation back on the path to progress is to crush them utterly and make these right-wing reactionaries rue the day they chose partisan politics over principle. Only, where is Gloria Steinem now that we need her?

If I Only Had A Heart

Old Dick Cheney has finally had a change of heart. Even though the former co-president has suffered five heart attacks and has been kept alive since 2010 by a small pump powered by special batteries worn in a fanny pack, he underwent successful heart transplant surgery last Saturday. The Cheney family thanked the anonymous donor, who was rumored to be an illegal, gay activist. Some doctors and ethicists are already questioning the wisdom of granting an organ implant to a sick, 71 year old man, but if I was on Cheney's death panel, I'd say more power to him. Give him a new heart, a fresh kidney, a clean lung; whatever it takes to keep his vital signs ticking. I want to see Dick Cheney healthy and hearty so he can be alert for his war crimes tribunal. It would be inhumane to have him show up trembling and frail, unable to defend himself. So what if the average heart recipient is in the 50-60 year old range? This man has a rendezvous with destiny, and destiny's pissed off. In Cheney's defense, he had waited 20 months to receive a donor heart. I understand that he was on the recipient's list just above Kony. In a single year, this man had a quadruple bypass, two angioplasties, and a pacemaker surgically implanted. No wonder he was so bitterly opposed to medical malpractice litigation. His doctor's assistant is a hunchback named Igor. 

According to Transplant Living, the cost of a heart transplant has gone up from $658,800 in 2007, to approximately $997,700 today. Of course, Cheney has the government, gold-plated health care plan, the kind that you can't get, so taxpayers will pick up the tab for cracking the old man's chest. This means I'm paying to keep Dick Cheney alive while going without health insurance myself. I have to wait until 2014 when a provision in the Affordable Care Act, affectionately known as "Obamacare," kicks in and prevents insurers from discriminating against "pre-existing conditions." I made the mistake of seeing a psychiatrist once, so now, no organization of any sort will insure me because I'm insane, you know. If it weren't for the generous people at Church Health Center, who offer discounted medical services to the working poor or otherwise uninsurable, I'd be lying in the back room on a ventilator and an IV drip, writing my last check. Dick Cheney gets to promenade around like the Energizer Bunny while 49 million people lack access to the most basic care. Yet the right-wing propaganda machine has convinced the proletariat that Obamacare is a government takeover of healthcare, when it's really just an effort to reign in the cut-throat insurance industry that makes its profits by denying care to the sick.

The controversial law will finally see a courtroom this week when the Supreme Court decides the constitutionality of Obamacare. Why is it that I don't trust an impartial decision from virtually the same court that stopped citizens from counting votes in 2000 and gave the presidency to George W. Bush? At issue is the "individual mandate," which was originally a Republican idea. It assures that public health is a shared responsibility, requiring those not already covered by employee-based programs, Medicare, or Medicaid, to purchase health insurance or pay a penalty if not exempted by a  religious objection. The provision is waived in cases of financial hardship and subsidies are granted to lower-income customers. It's a windfall for insurance companies, but the conservative position is that the government should not have the right to force you to buy anything. As I said, I've been begging to buy insurance for a decade, so for me, money was never better spent; and they have to sell it to me. The insurers don't have the right to hang up a sign that says, "We Reserve the Right to Refuse Service to Anyone." Millions of people will be able to afford to stay alive without taking out second mortgages, and parents of "special needs" children will no longer be denied coverage. To me, it sounds like a Republican wet dream because everybody profits. But religious extremists don't believe contraception or womens' birth control pills should be covered with your other prescriptions.

The Republican presidential candidates grabbed the religious exemption controversy and pounded that wedge issue like John Henry hammered steel. Suddenly bills were stampeding through state legislatures limiting womens' access to contraceptives. In Arizona, they actually passed a bill that exempts an employer from covering birth control pills if they're not being used for "medical purposes." If a woman wishes the cost of her contraception to be covered by insurance, she has to "submit a claim" to her boss stating the reasons for its usage. In other words, you can still have intercourse in Arizona, but you'd damn well better not be having any fun. It didn't help that Planned Parenthood announced a massive giveaway of the "morning-after pill" while they are at the center of an election year anti-abortion crusade. I understand they were trying to make a point, but they unwittingly gave fresh ammunition to the Santorum disciples. By handing out free post-coitus pills, the zealots can rightfully say that Planned Parenthood is encouraging unmarried women to have unprotected sex. I know the beleaguered organization has been dragged into every election since 1973, but their Board of Directors needs to call the Susan G. Komen Foundation to ask how inserting yourself into the political arena has worked for them. To paraphrase Richard Nixon, Planned Parenthood just, "gave them a sword."

The Supreme Court's decision isn't expected until June, but right-wingers are already licking their chops and taking a victory lap. If Obamacare is struck down, it wounds the president just in time for the national political conventions. Imagine the crowing in Tampa if the individual mandate is struck down. There will be stemwinders over the tyranny of a government mandate; even though if you plan to operate a car, you must first have a drivers' license, then are required to procure insurance and register the vehicle. Or, if you ride a motorcycle or bicycle, you're required to wear a helmet. Even your pet Schnauzer needs rabies shots and a license, so don't say the government never mandates a purchase. Think of it this way: If an uninsured person gets sick, they go to the emergency room and the cost is passed on to you. If everyone were required to purchase some form of health insurance, the insurance pool will grow larger, costs will go down, and you will be responsible only for your own care. As it stands now, you're paying for Dick Cheney's heart surgery, when I believe he got the wrong procedure. What he really needed was a soul transplant, but that's considered a pre-existing condition.

Way Too Big To Fail

There was an ad in the New York Times a week ago Sunday entitled "A Thank You Letter to Rush Limbaugh," which read: "We, the women of America, want to express our deep felt appreciation for throwing down the gauntlet. You have awakened a sleeping giant. You have given us the power to crush the Republican party. We are coming after all elected officials, Republican or Democrat, who have failed us miserably. Smart strong women are coming after you." signed Dr. Walton, PhD.

This was, of course, in response to Limbaugh's putrid tirade about a Georgetown law student invited to testify before Congress about a colleague that needed birth-control pills for treatment of an ovarian cyst. Although the need was medically verified, the insurance company insisted it was for contraception and continued to deny coverage. For having the temerity to speak out, womens' rights activist Susan Fluke was attacked as a "slut," and a "prostitute" by Limbaugh, and those were just the headlines. He continued that Ms. Fluke, "is happily presenting herself as an immoral, baseless, no-purpose-to-her life woman. She wants all the sex in the world whenever she wants it, all the time, no consequences. No responsibility for her behavior." I only hope that Sandra Fluke has a good lawyer because in the world of real journalism, this is known as "slander."

Everyone knows that Rush Limbaugh, like Ann Coulter, is a provocateur who knows the more outrageous his remarks, the more headlines they receive, and publicity generates income. In fact Limbaugh and Coulter are the Tea Party inverse of Mr. and Mrs. Jack Sprat, and up until now, anything they said was mainly for publicity or self-aggrandizement. This time, however, Limbaugh not only stepped over the very same line that brought down Don Imus, he snorted it. I don't know which is the most offensive, his complete ignorance of how womens' contraception works, his referring to a womans' health advocate as a prostitute, or his total disdain for the rules of broadcast journalism. Rush's claim that Fluke was, "having sex so frequently that she can't afford all the birth control pills that she needs," was simply stupid. After four marriages, didn't any of his wives tell him how it works? During his non-apology about "using those two words," Limbaugh was perspiring like a whore in church, so I don't understand his rage against prostitutes. Nor do I understand how he can oppose contraception, when he himself is a scumbag.

As a proud graduate of the U. of Memphis' College of Journalism, among the first things we learned was what was and what was not considered "protected speech" under the 1st Amendment. Usually, people in the "public eye," celebrities, or commentators, having been placed in that position by design or circumstance, are considered fair game for criticism, which explains tabloid journalism, The Jersey Shore and The Fashion Police. That's why if I wanted to call Sarah Palin a moronic inferno of malediction or infer that Rush is showing traces of being back on the Oxy, that is protected speech because they are both "public figures." To intentionally pronounce malicious falsehoods against a private person that may tend to damage their reputation, however, is against the law. Attempting to defend the defenseless, the "ditto-heads" are scrambling to find equivalencies in leftist rhetoric by Bill Maher or Ed Schultz. The problem is that these editorialists always pick their fights with the powerful and the pontific. Limbaugh and Bill O'Reilly prey on the powerless and rely on scapegoating singular examples, like doctored Acorn videos or selectively edited speeches by Shirley Sherrod, to besmirch an entire movement or people. Let the blowhards ridicule Nancy Pelosi's botox all they want, but never ask a female congressional witness to post sex tapes online for your edification. That makes you not just a defamer, but a pervert, too.

This entire controversy exploded onto social media with a ferocity I had not yet seen. When Limbaugh apologised for his words but not for their intent, dozens of petitions popped up on Facebook and Twitter urging signers to go after Rush's advertisers. Limbaugh scoffed at the herd of corporate sponsors heading for the door saying it was, "like losing a couple of french fries from the container when it's delivered to you at the drive-thru...You don't even notice it." It's true that Limbaugh appears to never have missed a french fry, but with over 98 sponsors and counting suspending their ads, that's beginning to sound like a supersized order. Still, Rush affirmed that on the business side, "everything's cool," although his final radio program of the week contained over five minutes of dead air. By brushing off the desertion of advertisers, Rush has inadvertently left a blueprint for protesters to follow; go after his networks and local stations, which would be Clear Channel Communications, Premier Radio Networks, and locally, WREC-AM600. Rush's audience has been characterized as "angry, white men," but after 20 years of spewing his vile misogyny about "feminazis...out there protesting what they actually wish would happen to them sometimes," surely the mothers, wives, and daughters of these angry men deserve to scream, "Enough!" Hey, it's just the free market at work.

Limbaugh may well be "too big to fail," and survive the onslaught of outrage coming his way, but consider the long-term damage he has done. Senator Olympia Snowe of Maine, the only Republican to vote against the Blunt Amendment which would have vastly restricted womens' access to contraceptives, announced she will leave public office, blaming an "atmosphere of polarization." Not a single Republican rebuked Limbaugh for his noxious campaign. Santorum said Limbaugh was "just being absurd," and Romney disapproved of his "choice of words." Frontrunner Romney might have shown some courage with a "Joseph Welch moment," but he blew it. Welch was the Army attorney who finally confronted Senator Joseph McCarthy in the fifties by saying, "Have you no sense of decency sir, at long last? Have you left no sense of decency?" This assumes Rush ever had any decency to begin with. It's a mammoth undertaking to knock Limbaugh from his perch, but never underestimate the power of passionate women on social media. The unwarranted attack on Sandra Fluke's character has morphed into an insult to all thinking women. Rush might save his job, but he's lost the GOP any chance they might have had to win the presidential election.