‘Twas the Night before Furlough

Posted on July 1, 2013 by Mike Shortall

Enjoy a little Christmas in July with me and my fellow Federal civil servants with this twist on an ageless classic.

‘Twas the Night before Furlough

Concept and execution if not the actual words

by Barack H. Obama

Santa Jack Lew with furloughs for you!

‘Twas the night before Furlough
And all through The White House,
Not a creature was stirring,
Barack had Droned the last Mouse!

Congress was nestled all snug with The Fed
While visions of Mid-Terms danced in their heads.
With Michelle in her kerchief and POTUS in his cap,
The First Couple was hankerin’ for a Hawaiian recess.

When on the South Lawn there arose such a clatter,
Barack leapt from his bed to see what was the matter!
Away to the window he stumbled and crashed,
Tore open the shutters, “Get me a ‘Publican to lash!”

Then towards him on the breast of Taxpayer Dough,
Came Chief-of-Staff Lew, the House Liaison in tow.
And what to befuddled POTUS appeared
Was the Promise of what all Liberals hold dear!

The conspiring driver, so witty and quick,
Had come with an idea to surely do the trick!
More rapid than pirates on good winds of trade,
Jack Lew had found the secret for more Treasury raids!

I'm not saying this looks like anyone, only acts like some.

Leadership? Plenty of butts instead …

“Now Nancy! Now Harry! Wake Biden up too!”
“On Fienstein and Boxer!” clammored The Lew.
“Grab Van Hollen and Stoyer and Allyson Schwartz!
We know how to get those ‘Publicans by the shorts!”

“Sequester”, Lew cried, “is how we’ll get what we want!
Higher debt, more money, no need for any cuts!
They would never let it happen, and we won’t cut a dime!
The ‘Publicans will fold handily. They do all the time!”

Then amid all the whooping, the hollering, the yells
Someone asked, “What happens if it freezes in Hell?”
“Don’t worry about that. Our Gambit is sound.
We’ll make the ‘Publicans bad guys. Make it painful as well.”

But The Voice was persistent, an answer was needed.
What of sequestration, if the goal goes unheeded?
Of workers, fixed incomes, and services rendered,
What if the ‘Publicans didn’t surrender?

The Democrats turned on that Voice with wild looks.
Who dare throw a wrench in their Debt Ceiling hook?
Joe Taxpayer had wakened in the midst of the hoopla,
Was asking who’d suffer should The Plan prove a faux pas?

‘Twas The President’s turn to show that he cared
For those who paid taxes and relied on their share
For their services rendered, and the wages they need
For mortgages, tuition, that new Healthcare decree!

The grip of a golf club was light in Barack’s hand
Like the fate of the Middle Class throughout The Land.
He had a kind face and whispered so sweetly,
“Let us worry of that, we’re The Power Elitely!”

The grip of a golf club was tight in his hand …
(From http://www.golf365.com)

He was chummy and glib, quite full of himself
So Joe Voter shrugged off the misgivings he felt.
The Democrat leaders returned to their caucus,
Plotting and planning how to best drain the coffers.

In the end their Big Gamble, it soon fell apart.
Their opponents, the ‘Publicans refused to impart
Higher taxes without spending restraint and responsibility
Towards an Economy renown for its fragile instability.

Joe Taxpayer saw this, and wondered aloud
“The Gambit was futile, so let’s kick this around.
The budget’s important! The worst case is here!
You can’t stand on principle, and at taxpayers sneer!”

But the Democrats were nothing if not committed
To getting what they wanted without being fitted
With ceilings and limits to what they could spend
Even if it was Taxpayers who suffered in the end.

“We need them to suffer, to really feel hurt
From silly cuts in Park services to the pay for their work!
So process those furloughs! Don’t spare them any Pain!”
The POTUS was certain their pain was his Gain.

So as Barack headed off on another vacation,
He climbed up the steps of his tax-paid ‘portation.
And we heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight
“Happy furloughs to all! Thanks for paying The Price!”

Mother Nature’s Little Terrorists

Posted on June 25, 2013 by Mike Shortall

The week before Fathers Day had been simply a miserable one. Suffering from a bad head cold and another affliction, the details of which you should thank me for not sharing, had me irritable (OK … more irritable), whiny, and wiped out.

By Friday I was ready for the “nuclear option” which simply involved loading my body up with enough pharmaceuticals to render myself Borderline Functional and a walking (at times barely shuffling) advertisement for Modern OTC Pharmacology.

The good news … I started feeling better on Saturday, the bad news … peeing green for two days …

By Saturday afternoon I was feeling semi-human; and as is the object of my peculiar OCD, I decided to cut the lawn, both in an attempt to feel halfway normal and to avoid having to do it on Fathers’ Day.

The plan was to watch the final round of the U.S. Open Golf Championship from Merion Golf Club on FD.

So I went outside to don my special Lawn Cutting Sneakers – identifiable by the thick coating of hardened green lawn slime – and get moving … albeit very, very slowly. Clearly, as the story will illustrate, I was not close to thinking clearly or acting thoughtfully.

As I tied my left shoe, I felt something sticking my toe. It felt like any small piece of garden debris that finds its way inside any gardener’s shoe and thereby joins the list of recent developments longing to make my life just a bit more uncomfortable.

What I didn’t notice at first was that the “debris” was moving around ever-so-slightly all on its own.

It must have been the after-effects of all the medications I had pumping through my organs. I actually got the other shoe on; stood up; and took a few steps towards the garage when I said to no one in particular, “What the blankety-blank is that?!?”

Still not quite over my body-brain numb, I meandered over to the porch and removed the irritated foot from the green-coated sneaker.

Maybe it was pre-meditated!
(Picture from seananmcguire.com)

A flash of yellow on my sock was like a jolt of electricity to my medication-addled zombieness. Hopping and cursing, and flailing at the little yellow bugger, whose only sin was the misfortune of getting trapped in my smelly, foot-filled sneaker.

Not that I cared. Them and me, we have a history.

So its broken corpse was left in the middle of the front porch as an example for all its surviving breed, as this was not the first time I had been the object of this ambush tactic. My pain this time was just as real as the last.

It was a Summer maybe five years ago. A rather hot but enjoyable day at Five Ponds Golf Course in Warminster. Having just finished hole 11, and moving casually off the green to our carts and the 12th tee.

As my friends and I are sometimes prone to do, we had procured a few adult beverages – in can form – from the snack stand at the turn. My first beer sat in the cart opened and awaiting my return.

As I tilted can-to-mouth and gulped, I immediately thought, “What did those two (fill in the blank) put in my drink?” But as I moved to spit out the foreign object, I realized it wasn’t an “object” at all.

hunter-killer terrorist hornet

Jumping up and spitting was never done so quickly or violently, my mind raced to the possibility that the “thing” might go the “other way”. My panic and confusion didn’t help matters and My Little Stowaway got stuck on my lip …

You can imagine the result.

Several jabs later, I finally got the little bugger out. Only he wasn’t no “little bugger”. She – obviously a She – was a hornet about the size of my thumb. She had got me at least twice on the bottom lip.

Instantly, I was in mucho pain and running through my dictionary of colorful colloquialisms.

My friends – on the other hand – were in hysterics … until of course they saw the size of her broken corpse. They were awe-struck for about 10 seconds. Then the hysterics started over again, only louder.

Guys are funny that way, although I will say it does take your mind off the possibility that you could be dying of anaphylaxis.

We considered what we should do, given my obvious discomfort and size of the animal that had attacked me.

Well … actually they decided. I was still hopping around; swearing a lightening-blue streak; and stuffing ice into my mouth.

Naturally they decided to keep playing unless I wanted to “Go crying to my mommy; and get my boo-boo fixed.” Or words to that effect …

Guys are funny that way.

Mother Nature has it out for me … Why?

Of course I decided to keep playing. Figuring, if I’m going to die, I might as well croak on a golf course, as is any serious golfer’s dream. Just think of all the neat stories my friends could tell as they divvy up my golf equipment and supplies after the funeral!

Yep, guys are funny.

I’m not sure why Nature hates me. I always pride myself on my live-and-let-live outlook, so long as you’re not a weed on the lawn or a mouse in the house.

On the other hand, I did par that long, straight and difficult par-5 that day! Moaning, groaning, and adding a few new entries into the vulgate along the way …

I lived to face Mother Nature’s little terrorists another day.

So as Fathers Day was spent watching the U.S. Open Golf Championship, I couldn’t help but think maybe Phil Mickelson – as he faded in yet another Open – could have used a few hornets in his shoes that last day at Merion!

Mickelson could have used a jolt.

The Cranky Hobo

Posted on June 18, 2013 by Mike Shortall

Life at my house is officially in total upheaval. And like a lot of people, I detest disruption in my daily routine, the fabric of my life. However, change is the inevitable development of these middle-aged years.

Just as many males will meander through the various temptations of the Mid-Life Crisis … convertibles, sky-diving, yoga, andro-gels, and women much too young to take them seriously; many females find one significant outlet for their restless middle years …

Home Remodeling!

It’s an age-old phenomena. Every husband, lover, or significant other will eventually experience the dread, the uncertainty of the day they step through the front door to find paint swatches scattered across the vestibule/bathroom/kitchen or hear the warning claxon of those immortal words, “Honey, I’ve been thinking …”

Yeah, right ... This has never happened.

Yeah, right … Assuming it’s a married couple, my bet is this never happens.

No fun nor favorable experience ever grew from such innocent beginnings.

That’s not to say that the End Results are not good, uplifting, exciting, renewing …

But no one, who is not a contractor or do-it-themselves nut job, EVER enjoyed the in-between parts. The preparation, the shopping, the displacement, the mess, the shopping, the selection process, the color wheel migraines, the shopping, the second thoughts, the changes to all the decisions you thought were already made, the re-shopping, and worst of all the construction disruption …

And that’s where I am stuck now … in the worst possible space in the house … my refuge, my quiet place, my comfort zone, my Fortress of Solitude …

Yes, they are tearing apart my master bath. Bad enough the bedroom, but the bathroom too?!?

Now what am I going to do?

Apparently, it’s living as a Hobo!

Living out of boxes and cardboard “valets” … Nothing where it’s supposed to be. Nothing where it can be found without crawling around on all fours and opening no less than three 20-gallon sized Rubbermaid containers.

Showering in the Commoners Bathroom (Ew … What is THAT?!?) and soon to be sleeping in a strange, cramped bed.

No man was meant to live like this!

And right about now, there’s this very attractive, extremely gifted housewife, sitting at her desktop Mac, reading this blog with a building whistle of steam leaking from her ears, muttering, “Oh stop being such a baby! Why can’t you be excited?!? They’ll be done in two weeks!”

Mona Lisa’s iconic smile rumored to be the result of Color Wheel Dementia during rehab of her Camden, NJ row house.

Yeah, right … And I’m Mona Lisa.

It’s already been roughly three months of shopping and searching, searching and sampling, sampling and spending … and we haven’t even gotten to the Color Wheel of Mind Numbing Choices.

“Honey, do you like the Tawny Apricot Caramel (beige) or the Cinnamon Mud Brickle (reddish beige)?”

Of course, it will all look magnificent once it’s completed, as it always does. She does have a gift for getting it right.

It’s just those intervening 18 weeks in Hobo Hell I dread.

Two weeks?!? Yeah, right …

Once upon a Furlough …

Posted on June 5, 2013 by Mike Shortall

DoD Secretary Nagel, it’s “fair” to furlough Navy employees, despite the assertion that cuts can be absorbed without furloughs.

Well, it finally happened, after 33 years of Federal employment … My first Adverse Action. A furlough, long speculated upon and hanging out there like a piece of space rock that you know is screaming – maybe more like meandering – towards you; yet you’re not quite sure if or when it might hit, or how big the mess if it does.

So it appears to be hitting, regardless of my own personal opinion (denial?) that there was no way they would allow said space junk to impact.

The story gets much uglier the further you peel the onion.

My first attempt at writing this, the day after we received our Notice of Proposed Furlough, came off like an angry rant … which it surely was. It went in part like this:

I’m mad at all the bozos in Washington, D.C.! All of those who would rather drive their ideological stakes into the ground and tether to those constraints the Government’s ability to function, the Country’s long-term economic health, and the tenuous condition of the Middle Class rather than dealing with the realities of the National Budget!

That goes for the Democrats as much as the Republicans, the Conservatives as much as the Liberals. Governance requires Adults. Unfortunately few can be found among those currently taking up space in the building they call The Capitol. A building which frankly should have a sign draped across the front, advertising it as “The World’s Largest Day Care”!

But the biggest chunk of anger I feel is towards The White House …

That last part won’t surprise anyone who has visited here before, as I reserve a particular animosity for those who created such an unpredictable sequestration gamble with the livelihoods of working class Americans!

But yes, I feel a little better today, thank you. Still more than a little pissed however.

The reason is summarized somewhat by today’s title, “Once upon a Furlough …”, a twist on a phrase used by story-tellers since at least the year 1380 according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Afterall, sequestration with all its head-scratching “cost savers” – among them the furlough of federal employees – is great big Fairy Tale. And the story has its origins in The Oval Office during the 2011 debt-ceiling negotiations.

Sequestration Savings Fairy

At that time The White House was working with the Democrat’s Congressional delegation, trying to figure a way to wheedle agreement from the Republican side of The House to raise the federal debt limit. It was then Chief-of-Staff Jack Lew (now Treasury Secretary) and White House Congressional liaison Rob Nabors who “brain stormed” The Great Sequestration Gamble of 2013.

The idea being that the sequestration would be such a painful penalty for not agreeing to a future “grand bargain” on the budget and deficit, and more importantly on what – if any – cuts could be made to said budget, and who and how much more in taxes would be paid. This “pain” of course was aimed squarely at the Republicans, a bet on the prospects that the politics of the situation would force the Republican’s hand at a crucial moment.

Like much of what this Adminstration does, it was a poorly developed gamble that was just as shoddily executed, minus any form of Presidential Leadership, and with no fall back position other than to blame the whole mess on the Republicans in Congress.

Problem is the ploy required building sufficient political pressure to force Republicans to seek a deal. But the Republicans dug in; refused to yield on earlier commitments to taxpayers; and held the Democrats and The White House to their promise of suitable budget cuts without more in tax revenue than Congress accepted to avoid the other contrived 2013 budget trigger – the New Year’s fiscal cliff .

Leadership???

The Democrats’ problem – and a continuing theme – became the need for strong Leadership from The White House.

As Scoobie Doo was so fond of saying … “Ruh Roh!”

Of course no Leadership emerged … only insistence that more tax revenue was the solution and a lot of political rallies disguised as “taking the argument to the people”.

“Ruh roh …”

Sequestration Dragon

And when the time came for the put-up-or-shut-up necessary to cut the heart out of the Sequestration Dragon, The White House decided to double down and really force the issue. Though it would not be through strong leadership, circumspect vision, and the art of compromise in seeking a deal on spending and taxing.

No, no, no … Instead came the none-too-subtle message to the Republican caucus in the House of Representatives, Refuse to surrender, and the Country will suffer!

“Ruh roh …”

That’s how we ended up with the silly cancellation of White House tours, hand-wringing over Easter egg hunts, contrived air travel delays, and accusations that every unfortunate event from a bridge collapse to the bombings in Boston were the result of the sequestration.

However, as I outlined earlier this year, the actual affect of sequestration on the 2013 fiscal budget was just 1% of everything the federal government will spend in Fiscal Year 2013.

A penny on every dollar!

And yet, here we are.

For federal employees of the U.S. Navy, the sequester furloughs are particularly infuriating because they are completely unnecessary! Secretary of the Navy, Ray Mabus and other senior Navy executive leaders have made it known that the U.S. Navy could comfortably absorb the sequestration-driven budget cuts without a single civilian furlough.

Secretary of the Navy Ray Mabus

The response from White House Cabinet DoD Secretary Chuck Hagel? Yet another absence of Leadership … Insisting that the Navy furlough it’s civilian workforce in order to “be fair” to those who work for the Army and Air Force.

What?!?

Yep, that’s right … Fairness now is the real reason for the furloughs of Navy employees as opposed to “the extraordinary and serious budget challenges facing the Department of Defense” as my deliberately misleading furlough notice states.

DoD has every indication that the Navy can absorb its share of the shared pain from this silly sequestration without affecting the incomes of its civilian employees; yet they insist the Navy reduce their employees annual earnings by 20% in order to “be fair” to those working for the Army and Air Force!

Welcome to Fairy Tale Land!

So what’s a Federal Employee to do?!? Make them pay more of course!

One of the protections, federal employees enjoy is that of the Merit System Protection Board. The MSPB is expecting a potential tsunami of appeals over the furloughs being forced on federal employees. Since an appeal to the MSPB can cost the Government up to $10,000 (See “Cost of Appeals”), the Federal Government desperate for a way to stay within budget and sacrificing its employees, ends up potentially paying twice as much as it expects to save for each employee who decides to file an MSPB appeal.

For this reason every Federal Employee should consider filing an appeal regardless of how dim the prospects are for vindication! For Navy employees in particular, Chuck Hagel has laid a very nice gift at your feet.

You can view instructions and a link to the appeal process here. MSPB even has an e-file application to ease the confusion. Furloughed employees have 30 days from the date-of-notice or from the first day-of-furlough, whichever is later, to file their MSPB appeals.

There … now I feel much better!

Murder at Citizens Bank Park

Posted on April 28, 2013 by Mike Shortall

The Phillies are killing me! They’re killing a lot of things lately … except of course opposing pitchers.

It’s bad enough the Philadelphia Phillies on most nights look like they couldn’t hit their way out of a wet paper bag. The pain I feel when they make the call to the bullpen at Citizens Bank Park and Chad Durbin answers the phone is becoming unbearable. My angst when men are in scoring position with Ben Revere in the on-deck circle brings on fits of nausea.

I’m might still be a long way from giving up on this season. But the early going has been difficult and frustrating. And yet all of this early season negativity would be manageable if the Phillies would just do one thing for me …

Stop killing The Schmitter!!

What little joy I get from sitting in the freezing cold; watching the Phillies bats make #5 starting pitchers look like Cy Young Award candidates are those two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame …

Oops … Wrong sandwich …

Yes, yes, yes … I get it! At 800+ calories, The Schmitter is only a step away from shooting up an IV bag of pure cholesterol! Any Nanny State Mayor – a la Mr. Nutter or NYC’s Michael Bloomberg – would be tempted to forego their campaigns to outlaw oversized soft drinks if they had a shot of putting a sandwich like The Schmitter out of business.

Perhaps in a fit of civic service, The Phillies have decided to do their dirty work for them.

The McNally’s Tavern creation of steak, fried salami, cheese, onions, tomato and special sauce (There’s ALWAYS special sauce!) stuffed into a kaiser roll is your typical ballpark bacchanal. Yep … 800+ calories posing as The Key to Good Living. It will just be a few less years of living it.

But I’m OK with that, because to me it’s Comfort Food!

Most importantly Comfort Food is crucial when very little of what’s going on in between the white lines on the field is making anyone feel comfortable! I indulge but a few times a year, knowing a steady diet of such bacchanalia is not a recipe for long life.

Went to our first game in our plan last Saturday night (April 20). It was cold. Cliff Lee couldn’t find the plate without hitting a Cardinals’ bat. The Phillies -on the other hand – left their bats in the clubhouse. The spousal unit was cocooned in a Phillies snuggie; and just looking for a reason to bail out for the warmth of the car ride home.

At least my beers weren’t going warm!

When I walk into the Citizens Bank Park, I walk right past the new Schmitter concession and almost threw an aneurism when I saw what had replaced the McNally’s concession beneath the left field escalator. Donuts and fried chicken?!?

When I found out The Schmitter had simply been moved to another concession, a weight the size of Cole Hamels‘ ERA was lifted from my chest!

So after three rather cold and disheartening innings I decide … It’s time! I wander over to see The Schmitter’s new locale and grab a little in-game meal.

My introduction to The Mistake by the Gate!

First off, that smoky flavor that lingers in the air like a wet ashtray is … well … a wet ashtray. The concession gods actually placed one of the best ballpark food concessions right next to the Corral of the Damned! The place where lungs go to die, whether you’re intentionally inhaling or just standing nearby trying to get your Schmitter fix.

Nice move, Phils. I guess an EPA Superfund site wasn’t available?!?

And it gets worse … The new locale appears to lack the work space and productive capacity needed for the Supply Side to meet the Demand Side of the Happiness Equation!

The line was long. It moved way too slowly, especially when the process and its participants seemed disjointed and barely interested. The counter movements were so slow, by the time you were lucky enough to have that $9 sandwich handed over, it was barely warm enough to register as cooked food.

I know by now – after 57 years – that all things change, whether you want them to or not, with no regard for how said change will affect you. Yet you would think ONE THING that by most non-medical measures was good – if not good for you – would remain as reliable as Chase Utley on the base paths.

OK … Bad comparison …

Those damn chicken-stuffed donuts better be good!

Diet by App (March 11)

Posted on March 11, 2013 by Mike Shortall

What have I lost so far? Appropriate given today's lesson!

Our “What have I lost?” picture is appropriate for the failures cited in this post!

This is the 200th post to appear on Cranky Man’s Lawn! Thanks for reading! – Mike

A disappointing week …

Dropped only 0.6 lb., getting down to an even 232 from 232.6 on March 4. Although this is a disappointment, at least I know it’s not the “Lose It!” app that failed. No, it was the definitely The App-ee!

I am playing a bit too coy and calculating with my calorie limit; thinking at times that I have “all these unused calories” to burn through, so why not enjoy a temptation or two. As a result, I end up pushing up to the edge of the calorie limit, then beyond it in my over-exuberance to enjoy my over-abundance of under-utilized venial sin demerits.

(A word about our “What have I lost?” picture of the week … I was surprised to find out, what used to be a 5 lb bag of sugar has lost 20% of its weight! When did this happen? And did the PRICE come down 20% too?!?

Yes, I’m being facetious!)

As a result, this past week showed me 350 calories over my calorie limit (1999 cal) for the week, where I had been between 150-800 calories under budget my previous 3 weeks. The worst part is being over budget on 5 of the 7 days!

Not good …

Part of the trap here, I think, is the mind game you play when you rely on the exercise credits Lose it! allows. You start bargaining with yourself.

“Hey, we’re 600 calories under for the week …”

“PARTY!!”

No, the “bargaining” didn’t take long at all.

An ostrich egg (right) also weighs in at about 4 lbs.

An ostrich egg (right) also weighs about 4 lbs.

This is still an education for me. Even in failure you should learn something about yourself or about whatever it is you seek.

I’m still learning.

So, I will endeavor to maximize my under-budget calories whenever possible, even if it means eating fruit, nuts, and tree bark instead of the my usual guilty pleasures. And now that the weather is turning for the better, get some exercise on days when I don’t hit the gym.

Here’s hoping for greater strength and a bit more progress!

Sequestration: The President’s ugly Child

Posted on February 27, 2013 by Mike Shortall

How many people realize sequestration, which The White House continually warns will be a “disaster” for the country and its citizens from Arizona to Connecticut, was actually The White House’s brain-child???

Don’t listen to the hype … or the lies. The sky, if it falls, will not be the sole responsibility of Congress. Heck, it wasn’t even their idea.

The Public is a pawn in this chess game. The political pressure being applied by The White House, in the form of Dire Economic Impacts on individual states and even the victims of Superstorm Sandy, is intended to force Congress (i.e. Republicans) – by portraying them as the troublemakers – to cave in so they can pass to the American people an even bigger financial federal budget burden without cutting a single one of the Democrats’ Sacred Cows.

Sequestration was the gamble suggested by then White House Chief-of-Staff Jack Lew (Secretary of the Treasury nominee) and White House Congressional liaison Rob Nabors. It was endorsed by President Obama before being presented to the Senate Finance Committee, and proposed as a negotiating strategy to Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid (D-Nev) during the 2011 negotiations to raise the National Debt Ceiling.

Certainly House Republicans accepted the sequestration as part of those negotiations, but it wasn’t their idea; it wasn’t their gamble.

It was the President’s idea of “leadership” in difficult political times. Push it off; deal with it later. Maybe, just maybe it will go away on its own.

Keep that in mind as you continue to hear about how Sequestration will damage your benefits; your income; your local economy!

Remember it when The President shows up on C-Span or the nightly news speaking about the dangers of sequestration and surrounding himself with Emergency Responders, teachers, healthcare workers, and seniors warning about all the damage the sequestration cuts will entail.

Sequestration: The President’s ugly child!

Who were those people in the background?

Posted on February 25, 2013 by Mike Shortall

Now I know the Obamas receive a lot of criticism was those who do not agree with them politically, socially, economically, etc. Some of it is over-the-top, some of it valid as well.

But performances like tonight, where Michelle presented the Best Picture Nominees and Winner at The Oscars, is what gets people talking about their priorities and values.

As Michelle spoke live from Washington, D.C. to the Hollywood elite, many of whom contributed significantly to The President’s re-election, her backdrop consisted of several young military personnel in full parade dress.

(View the entire segment here.)

She spoke about overcoming obstacles, courage, the importance of art to young people, and “that vitally important work” being done in Hollywood …

Seriously … Their “vitally important work” …

But never once was the presence of those young people in uniform acknowledged, their service recognized.

It appeared that those courageous young people in their dress uniforms were there simply as drapery.

Did you notice?

What’s wrong with that picture?

Christmas Tree Wars

Posted on December 28, 2012 by Mike Shortall

“So, how do you guys make sure … ?”

Those words were a precursor to a Christmas experience I had yet to have the “pleasure” of experiencing. By the time I finished that sentence, I was having one of those little voice-in-the-back-of-the-head premonitions of impending Yuletide Aggravation.

We were Christmas tree shopping two weekends before the holiday. And we had found a suitable tree …

A suitable tree is a) alive, b) reasonably full and bushy, and c) fixable in places where it’s not reasonably full and bushy.

After looking at the first 45 trees, I usually remind my spousal unit that the tree doesn’t have to be “perfect”, which always gets me that “Thank you, Captain Obvious!” tilt-headed glare … which of course I live for!

As is the customary belief of REAL Christmas tree aficionados, Artificial Trees are reserved for soul-less, Just-Add-Water, Communists.

Fidel Castro extolling the perfect alignment of artificial Communist Christmas trees.

… and so we arrange for a tree-rustler to grab our prized evergreen and head off to The Prep Area, where the tree trunk gets a fresh cut and – in our case – a hole drilled up the middle of the trunk to accommodate our center-post tree stand.

For years and years we used the traditional four-point screw clamp tree stands and never seemed to have a problem. Then twice in three years we had trees topple over for no apparent reason; one time as we were walking out the door to Christmas Eve Mass.

And ever since we have relied upon our Center Post tree stand.

And this is where Christmas 2012 took its unanticipated cruise through uncharted waters.

The Mistake I made was to ignore the visual warning signs, despite the “uh oh” feeling I experienced after the following conversation, which resulted from my evaluation of the center post, tree-drilling set-up.

“Hey, I’m just curious, but I notice you guys don’t have the usual self-check fixture on the top of the drill rig.” (as had been used at other tree establishments in years past).

“Yeah, well … the grounds not very level here, so we can’t use the fixture as intended or the trees will come out drilled crookedly.”, our tree rustler offered.

“So, how do you guys make sure you drill the tree straight?”, I asked.

“Oh well, I’ll hold the tree in place as straight as I can; and The Driller checks the alignment from three directions to make sure we get it straight.”

uh huh …

Actually, there were two mistakes made here.

The first was to turn our annual Christmas tree purchase into an hunt, where we tour 4or 5 road-side tree lots before we head back to our usual Christmas tree merchant because no tree anywhere else jumps out and screams, “MERRY CHRISTMAS!!” at my lovely wife, Carol with sounds of Schroeder, Lucy and the rest of the Charlie Brown gang singing Christmas Time is Here.

The second mistake was not bailing out as soon as I saw the tree-drilling set up or after hearing that explanation. It just didn’t occur to me that if the drill rig was not level, even if the tree was visually “straight”, the “crooked” drill rig would …

Well … you can guess what happened next.

Get the tree home, but wait until the next day – December 16 – to pop the tree into the center post tree stand. At first I didn’t notice the Leaning Tree of Holiday Anguish. I usually allow the tree to stand in the warm house so it falls out from its tightly wrapped handling and transportation configuration.

The next morning, I come down stairs on my way to work and check to see how the tree is looking.

Oh no … You have got to be kidding me! Crooked?!? The damn thing is CROOKED!!!

At first I thought maybe the tree’s trunk is twisted. So I turned the tree on its stand looking for both The Good Side of the evergreen and an angle where it didn’t look like a drunk leaning against a lamp post. But no matter which way it was turned it somehow looked even worse!

2012 Tannenbaum II

So this Christmas season offered me the one holiday experience I had yet to encounter … The Retail Return of a Christmas Tree. After 50-plus years of Yuletide experience, you tend to believe you have seen it all.

Silly Santa …

Now some might say we were callous to reject an imperfect specimen. Yes, it wasn’t the tree’s fault. It was the boobs on the business end of a lopsided drill rig.

The tree vendors were nice enough about it. They offered me another tree or a refund. I made a cursory glance around for a replacement; although I have to admit, I didn’t WANT to find another one, also subject to the same off-kilter drilling process.

The tree purveyors offered a smile with my refund; and I trudged on back to the same old place we usually go, where the trees are on display with their trunks pre-drilled so there’s no guesswork involved. We ended up buying Tannenbaum II at our usual place and enjoyed a visually balanced Christmas tree!

The moral of the story is … “Familiarity breeds content.”

Also … “If it sounds too stupid to be done correctly, listen to that little voice in the back of your head.”

The Art of Fiscal Cliff-Diving

Posted on December 6, 2012 by Mike Shortall

Way too bold to be from D.C.

There was a point in my life – a long, long time ago in a land far away – that I waited not-so-patiently for late Saturday afternoons when I could hijack the family TV (NEVER during a Notre Dame football game!) and flip on ABC’s Wide World of Sports. WWS was a hodgepodge of traditional, niche market sports such as the Penn Relays, amateur boxing, international soccer (Remember now, this was the 1960s.) and some really arcane competitions like barrel-jumping. (Who doesn’t enjoy a good barrel-jump crash?!?) and the iconic cliff diving competitions from La Quebrada, near Acapulco, Mexico.

Cliff diving – it appears – is making a big comeback!

No, this version does not include majestic vistas of bright sunlight glistening off blue water as a backdrop to a group of whacked-out daredevils perched on a rock sitting perilously close to a huge cliff that looks a mile high even on black & white TV (the 1960s … Remember?).

No, this fiscal cliff diving version just includes the whacked-out daredevils.

No Speedos, please

Now admit it … Wouldn’t you just LOVE this fiscal nonsense as REAL cliff-diving?!? Are you a bit twisted, just enough that you would enjoy this political pissing contest just a little bit, if it included the possibility that John Boehner, President Obama, Harry Reid and – please, please, please – Nancy Pelosi could possibly … just maybe … go SPLAT at the bottom of the shallow end???

Hmmm … But that would leave Joe Biden in charge.

Well, this is hypothetical; so let’s push that thought way, way back into that Dark Space we reserve for the Zombie Apocalypse, IRS audits, and Nicki Minaj.

Where was I?!? Oh yeah … cliff diving …

Full-length burka only

Anyways, cliff diving competitions use of method of score-keeping that emphasizes style, creativity, and a difficulty factor in lieu of how many jumps you make before going SPLAT or the number of broken bones should you survive.

That’s the way I would score it. But remember, I also like a good barrel-jumping crash!

Now, regardless of where you stand on the impending Thelma & Louise act (Obama as Susan Sarandon’s Louise, of course) currently being played out on the cliffs overlooking Washington, D.C., it’s best to be prepared when it’s your turn to Follow-the-Leaders over a perfectly good cliff.

Frankly, I really could not care less about the Fiscal Cliff.

My long, long-standing federal employment never required me to pay into or rely upon Social Security (Thank God!). So not only did I NOT benefit from the Bush tax cuts, which were applied to Social Security taxes, I will not suffer from their expiration either. And maybe … just maybe … we actually NEED this to happen. Afterall, 51% of the Electorate did not give a rat fart about the Economy during the November election, so why worry about it now?!?

Yes, in that regard I am a bit selfish.

The reality is that BOTH parties would probably benefit from a hand-holding cliff dive, no doubt screaming “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” all the way to the bottom. President Obama could then brag that he faced down the terrible Republicans, who realize that raising taxes in a bad Economy is a really stupid idea. (Apparently so does The President, since he couples his demand for increased marginal tax rates on the wealthy with a $50 billion stimulus package.)

The Republicans – on the other hand – can claim they never gave in to the anti-economy, income-redistributing Democrats. (Is there really any other explanation for taking from the rich with one hand and pushing out a stimulus with the other when the “real issue” is supposed to be deficit reduction?) All told, The President’s proposal amounts to a $1.6 TRILLION in new taxes and spending, and $400 billion – or 2.5% of the total $16 TRILLION of National Debt – in deficit reductions!

As one critique described it, “Four hundred billion in spending cuts is like forgoing the monogrammed towels in the 16th bathroom of a 52,000 square foot house.”

So, if you too are willing to embrace the possibility of becoming a mushy piece of fiscal fish food, now is the time to consider your approach to Taking the Dive. Will you scream like a teenage girl on the Tower of Terror? Will you stick out a stiff upper lip and leap with resignation and a modicum of dignity? Or will you dive with flair and style, performing a triple flip with a full twist while singing Madonna‘s classic, “Material Girl (Guy)” all the way to the bottom?

And if you’re wondering how it all came to this, to ridiculous deficits, to abject failure in Leadership for addressing the excess in deficit spending, to the notion that raising taxes on 2% of the population – as if forgoing the monogrammed towels – is a “solution”, then simply check out the story this week coming out of Detroit’s City Council.

Hey, $200 million here, $200 million there … What’s the BIG DEAL, right? At least we now know why Detroit voted Obama … To bring home “the bacon”!

Tocqueville, South of France (1992)

As historic French cliff-diver, Alexis de Tocqueville is rumored to have said,

“A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the majority discovers it can vote itself free stuff * out of the public treasury.”

(* OK … He actually said, “… largesse …”. )

With that in mind, allow me to recommend the following in cliff-diving hints and suggestions:

1. Never hit the water head-first, as dives above 85 feet can result in concussion. (How high exactly is a $16 trillion dollar stack of Benjamins?!?)

B. Select a spot along the cliff with an unobstructed view all the way down to almost certain Death.

4. No Speedos for men. Women? Topless, of course.

iii) Poise precariously on the smooth rock of Economic Sanity; time the incoming wave of debris from the Eurozone; and push away violently from this amazing fustercluck.

p. Immediately assume the simple pike position; feet wisely pointed down; and extend the middle digits on both hands as you sing the following verse from Sarah Johns’ The One in the Middle:

And now I’m giving you the one in the middle,

The one that’s a little bit longer.

And I have another one on the other hand,

So I can say it even stronger.