The Days of Christmas

There's a partridge in my pear tree.

Well, not exactly. It's more like 10 mourning doves--or similar breed--who've been gathering lately to eat the scattered birdseed over by the apple tree. But wait....

I can't be sure the markings on these large, dark gray, pigeon-like creatures qualify them as mourning doves. Doves, yes. Mourning? Not sure.

My brother says there's a newer breed of dove that matches the descriptions I give. He often sees them on the golf course at Raymond. The giveaway markings are a pair of black or dark brown bars on either side near the bird's legs. I haven't noted configuration of the tails or else I'd have a better clue with which to seek the answer: DO I HAVE A PARTRIDGE IN MY PEAR TREE--or what??

To all you Leaping Lords and Dancing Ladies out there, I need your hints, please. In the meantime, know you're all wished a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year by your Turtle Dove in Mississippi.

Birthday Bounce

Even at 68, birthdays are fun. Mine yesterday was. Gal Pals treated and joined me for lunch and the movie "Australia." More on "Down Under" shortly. First, though, a word about living to a fine young age and feeling grateful.

Growing old is fascinating. The thing I notice most--even before physiological complaints--is the distance between how others view my age and how I view it myself.

As a person pushing 70, I am seen by the world as a "senior citizen," yet I see myself as a person who is the same age I've been since voting in the Nixon vs. JFK election! That is, I'm the same liberal Democrat, the same interested person in friends and family, the same talker/writer/jokester/philosopher, and the same traveler with the same ends and destinations I've had in mind and on my calendar forever. I even like the same kinds of men I've always liked--smart, funny, physical, literate, self-aware.

Yet for all of it, "senior citizen" is the view that prevails. I even get caught in it myself . But I usually recover in time to laugh and remember my dear, departed mother who--well into her 80's--developed a crush on a much younger man: one who, thank goodness, never knew he was the apple of her dimming eyes and active imagination. I hope to remain the acorn that so far has stuck pretty close to that colorful redhead's sturdy green tree. Meanwhile...

"Australia" is not a great movie, but it IS a great movie to see and get swept up in. Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman are good as the English noblewoman and hard-driving "drover" who move a huge herd of cattle to safety from predatory neighbors and poisoned drink. There's a significant strain of aboriginal magic and magical Aborigines mixed in. Definitely worth seeing and having it remind you of "Gone with the Wind" in its sweep and grandeur, if not in its broad history. The two films even share the year 1939: the tales in "Australia" start there, and the film "Gone with the Wind" was released in and won the Oscar that year.

But for an overly fussy interpretation in the first half, Nicole Kidman takes charge of the role and fills out her character wisely by the end of the film. Likewise, Hugh Jackman is commendable as the drover and the lover of Nicole Kidman. His white dinner jacket sexily slung over the shoulder in a party scene excepted, Jackman is believable as a man of the wilderness who falls in love with a woman of nobility. I fell for him myself!

So there's my REAL gift: Hugh Jackman's ability to bestir a 68-year-young "senior citizen." Happy Birthday, indeed!

Fire the Coach!

Whose fault is it when a sports team fails?

Most men I know--regardless of whether they're game fans--would have an easy time with the answer: "It's the coach's fault." Most women I know would have a more nuanced view of the matter.

Either way, the reality in high school, college and professional sports today is this: the male view predominates, i.e., the coach's head gets chopped when a team turns in poor to mediocre player stats and amasses a poor win/loss record over a season or two.

Thus, I feel for Mississippi State head football coach Sylvester Croom, who's in his fifth year at Starkville. His Bulldogs have been lackluster this year; last year they were pretty impressive. During today's 45-0 rout of his team by the Rebels of arch rival Ole Miss, Coach Croom may have seen signs popping up among State fans calling for his head. "FIRE CROOM NOW!" one of the signs read to TV audiences in the South.

Ironically, a similar hue and cry went up after the Ole Miss vs. State game in 2007. Only then, it was the Ole Miss coach who was on his way out. Never that popular with fans or players, Coach Ed Orgeron sealed his fate the moment he called for a play that lost the annual Egg Bowl game for Ole Miss and won it for State--a play many fans and analysts have said was either the coach's anger at players and fans (implication: he threw the game) or an evidenced lack of coaching skills and strategies.

In any case, Orgeron was out almost the next day, thus paving the way for Ole Miss to bring in Coach Houston Nutt, then of Arkansas and now a Mississippi Rebel extraordinaire. He and his fired-up team and fans are light years removed from the firing mode these days.

Sylvester Croom should be so lucky at State!

The Money Mantra

"Throwing money at the problem isn't the answer."

How often have those of us in education and other tax-supported public services in America heard that stingy, rotting proposition over the past 40 years. It has become a mantra, in fact: a self-fulfilling prophecy of tight-fisted, mean-spirited money men and women for whom building fast profit and hoarding gigantic wealth are far smarter and more glamorous than spending their fair share to help meet needs of ordinary men, women and children who form the fabric of society.

For the better part of my 45-year career as an educator and teacher advocate, the "can't throw money at it" mantra was what peers and I heard anytime we campaigned for modest tax increases to meet crisis situations, e.g., ordering new textbooks, lowering class sizes, repairing leaky ceilings, improving salaries, buying computers, upgrading practice equipment, or seeking more academic freedom in which to engage our students. Nope. Can't do it. Wouldn't be prudent. On and on to the point of gagging fatigue every time we heard the "money isn't the answer" reply (and not incidentally, it seems, almost invariably accompanied by "teachers are the problem" attitude).

Serves 'em right, this "can't throw money at it" crowd. Now they're blowing their brains out, falling on their golden swords and eating greed for breakfast. Unfortunately, in so doing, they're also soaking us modest taxpayers for gazillions, once the dollars, francs, marks, rhiyals, rubles, yen, and (especially) the yuans are counted. Which counting continues worldwide as we write.

So is throwing money at it the answer? With apologies to Bill Clinton, I guess it depends on what the meaning of "it" is. For me, "it" in this case is Greed personified and--sadly--magnified and dignified by an undereducated, barely insightful American press and daily broadcast corps.

Proof, perhaps, that we teachers needed better textbooks, computers and academic freedom in which to teach that generation of students after all!

Regaining Stride

To faithful readers, thanks for checking in and reminding me I haven't posted entries on NN&V's recently. I fancy the following as reasonable excuses:

Traveling to and from Maryland to be with friends, returning to Mississippi to campaign and vote in an historic presidential election with its surrounding local politics, adopting prayer as a "best practice" during a scary, working period of personal financial decisions, rehearsing with the Mississippi Chorus for holiday musicals and taking time with a Baltimore friend who came here for a five-day visit have kept me unusually busy during the last four weeks.

Look for posts to begin anew soon. Please stick with us as we try to find our stride again.

Thanks for reading!

The Virtual Life of a Plumber

Poor Joe.

Little did Joe the Plumber know when he popped off to Barack Obama about taxes at a recent campaign event--without benefit of much fact or insight--that he, Joe, would wind up at the center of a maelstrom of international publicity.

For the five or six persons on the planet who missed it, here's a quick look at Joe and his story:

On a recent campaign stop in Toledo, Ohio, a would-be small business owner named Joe Wurzelbacher asked Obama if it were true that Obama would raise taxes on businesses with incomes of more than $250,000 a year. The answer, as many in the media dutifully have explained, is "it depends."

Meanwhile, John McCain, eager to score a big point in his final debate with Obama last night on television, singled out "Joe the Plumber" as an example of one who would suffer more taxes under Obama's plans. The rest is history.

Today Joe the Plumber was the most famous person in America--at least for Andy Warhol's "15 minutes." And all because of a hypothetical question asked of a hypothetical president by a hypothetical small business owner whose hypothetical plans have yet to come to fruition. And all of it exploited by another hypothetical president whose doubtfulness at being elected made him seem desperate in even mentioning Joe in the first place.

Meanwhile millions of real children and real parents who have no health care benefits did NOT show up on the TV talk shows today. That's the trouble with the virtual press and virtual politics: Real People with Real Problems don't stand a chance!

THE MESS EXPLAINED

I am crazy about Ira Glass and "This American Life" on National Public Radio. Today's show dealt with the $840 billion debt we've all just been stuck with as taxpayers.

I daresay most of us still are trying to understand what happened and how we got there. Ira's show goes a long way toward answering our questions.

I recommend two broadcasts in particular: "Another Frightening Show About the Economy" (10/3/08) and "The Giant Pool of Money" (5/9/08), Both are archived at his website: www.thisamericanlife.org

For my part, it's the clearest, most concise discussion of middle class consumer-taxpayer impacts yet. Check it out. You'll be glad you did.

Farewell, New Deal; Hello, Big Steal

First off, I admit to paranoia about the Wall Street bailout and what has prompted it. I believe Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson was chosen specifically for this anticipated maneuver.

I think the BushWhackers actually wanted to wipe out the New Deal and put into its place the Big Steal. They needed a high-powered, high-knowledge money man to do it. And they wanted its good effects, in their view, to last for much of the 21st century.

They must have figured Paulson, a titan at Goldman Sachs prior to his move to government, would be Exactly the Man to help Bush and Pals put into place the FDR-style deal for themselves that they have coveted of the middle class for 75 years. For example...

Propping up banks, creating big projects with government cash (not for workers, understand, but for big owners and big investors), and getting Congress to remove or pass laws that will give top earners and monied decisionmakers gigantic advantages for several generations at a minimum.

In short, they wanted to take money off the land, away from the people, and put it into THEIR pockets, which pockets contain their wiser hands, they believe. And they wanted the advantages to last for decades. Far into the 21st century and global repositioning.

I doubt it will turn out exactly as they had wished, nor exactly as I have feared. But I think Bush's and Paulson's motives were impure from the start and had to do not only with their contempt for FDR's New Deal, but also with their wishes to implement the Big Steal. It will take at least a generation or two to overcome any measure of success they attain in Congress.

In sum, this bailout move is BIG. Really big. "Buddy, Can You Spare a Dime?" time. Scares me. Scare you, too?

Meltdown! The Long View

Nearly 30 years ago, newly elected President Ronald Reagan began acquainting Americans with "trickle down" or "supply side" economics-- that which favors profit-driven producers rather than (theory goes) overpaid workers and undeserving consumers. You know, workers and consumers like Thee and Me.

Listening to the President's men discuss his plans and ideas back then, I was gripped with a realization that he and his monied backers had determined Americans were too well off and had too much money wrapped up in their paychecks and benefits. The Reagan crowd clearly had determined that the monied class had to slow down middle-class upward mobility so upper class wallets would grow fatter.

Stripped to the core, practically every word and legislative proposal from the Reagan crowd pointed to beliefs that a Great Depression style meltdown would have a salutary effect on American society. Not only would it take away high-paying jobs and end profit-reducing benefits, but also unleash creativity in the Great Unwashed who weren't pulling their weight in the first place. They would have no choice, these churlish types, but to grow more creative just to put food on the table. And their awful kids would have to stay home and stop annoying us with their drug-induced crime and unseemly public behavior.

Should all these plans succeed, God would restore America to its rightful place as The World's Leading Christian Nation--and even better, attract other Christian Democracies to develop once Americans showed them how in their own native habitats.

In short, just as in the 1930's and '40's movies, Life would be lived in black and white again. But how to get there?

Witness nearly three decades of hammering Americans into thinking all of these self-defeating things: "Taxes are Evil." "Government is Them, and They are The Enemy." "Christians are Good; Everyone Else is Bad." "Education is for The Privileged Few, not for The Needful Many." "War is Strong; Peace is Puny." "Oil is The Only Way; Alternatives are Too Expensive." "The Globe is for Exploiting, Not for Cultural Understanding, Respect and Peacemaking." "Labor is Cheap Abroad; Labor is Unaffordable in America." "Manufacturing and Vocations are Passe; Computers and Commuication are the Only Games in Town." On, on and on.

The folly of such narrow-minded, selfish, greedy thinking and activity on the part of official America has now come crashing at our feet.

Whom should we in the middle class blame? Ourselves. Period. We have not acted or voted wisely in our own self-interest for 30 years. Foolishly, falsely, we have believed our future was paved in gold if only we would trust Supply Side, Trickle Down, Free Market, Unbridled Capitalism.

Query: How do YOUR IRA and 401 (K) look this week? And your pension, if you have one. Safe? Don't be ridiculous.

The long-sought-after sequel to the Great Depression is here. Can the long-feared WWIII be far behind?

Things are ripe for global resetting, bigtime. Fasten your seatbelt, save your seeds and bury your coins in the mattress. Life just got worse for Everybody. Everywhere.

"Great Books"

Until last week, I had forgotten about the launch some 50 years ago of the nationwide "Great Books" reading and discussion series introduced by Mortimer Adler and Robert Maynard Hutchins at the University of Chicago. I had the privilege of exposure to the current year's readings at a book group in Jackson two days ago.

Now that I've had a taste of Great Books discussions, I've recalled with pleasure the related magazine ads that used to grab me in my teens and make me want to read every title listed.

The GB group I met with was halfway through the year's assigned readings. Theme: "The 7 Deadly Sins." I was lucky enough to hear the discussion of two short stories on "Anger." The titles: "Mary Postgate," by Rudyard Kipling, and "Hairball," by Margaret Atwood.

Each tale deals with a woman whose anger? rage? fury? stems from a life situation painfully undealt with. At the end of each story, the heroine commits a spectacular deed in service to her demons.

Guided by questions in the University of Chicago reader, the discussion leaves a participant wanting more--more reading, more discussion, and especially, more groups of intelligent human beings who know how to read, think, analyze, speak and agree or disagree in civility.

Query: Should we send Sarah Palin and Karl Rove a University of Chicago "Great Books" reading list?

I say yes. Surely with their communication skills, Bush's Brain and Sarah the Barracuda could absorb the lessons and apply them more cordially for the good of us all between now and November.

Eek!! Ike!!

"Hurricane Hell." Another name for any of the Gulf Coast or Eastern Seaboard states about now.

We in Mississippi were just about to relax, take a breather and congratulate ourselves on dodging Gustav and Hanna, when Ike shows up and is scaring hell out of us. He's already at Category 4. Imagine his strength if he crosses Gulf of Mexico's warm waters.

Before I retired a year ago this week, I told friends that while I was happy with my decision to move home and live closer to family, I feared living in hurricane/tornado alley. Now I remember why!

Cross your fingers and say your prayers, please. We're searching this minute for a crucifix to ward off Ike the Evil!

"Looney Tunes"

The "looney tunes" quote is from a friend in Arizona--one who voted for John McCain in his most recent run as U.S. Senator but who now is aghast at his pick of Alaska Governor Sarah Palin as vice presidential running mate.

I haven't yet, but I shall reply to my Arizona friend: "Sorry, my dear, but I think you're wrong about its being a looney decision--if, that is, we're talking about election year politics." And with the General Election only two months away, why WOULDN'T we be talking about election year politics?

Discussing the race as a matter of what it takes to govern would be sober and wise, perhaps, but not sufficiently on point as to what it takes to win the White House. To me, it's the political savvy in McCain's bold stance that makes the decision so interesting. To wit:

Gov. Palin, who will NOT get this Hillary supporter's vote, almost immediately set out to get disaffected Hillary voters over to the McCain-Palin column by paying homage to Geraldine Ferraro and Hillary Clinton. That's smart. Her nod to the Demo trailblazers might be viewed as cynical by older feminists, but to younger ones--to soccer or "hockey moms"--the appeal could be strong.

Be honest: McCain, who's 72 and a cancer survivor, clearly needed a fresh face and youthful exuberance to try to outdistance Obama and his legions of under-40 fans. With the Palin appointment, no matter how novice the woman is, McCain has instantly dialed up the race a few notches. Here's how:

Joe Biden, whose white hair and 36 years in the U.S. Senate say "experience" to those of us who love and support him, now can be seen as "old" in almost any side-by-side with the governor from Alaska. That's no easy hill to climb--especially in formal debates when an "experienced" man must not be seen as intimidating or overbearing with a "novice" female competitor.

For 72-year-old McCain, this all must be rejuvenating as hell. No longer is HE the primary "oldster;" he's cleverly passed it to Biden, whose experience advantages may now seem less appealing to America's younger, mostly visual voters and/or to hurt Hillary fans.

No matter which side you're on, it's hard to miss the cleverness in McCain's political and election strategy.

But for governing and heartbeat-away considerations? My Arizona friend's concerns are spot-on. I join him in hoping voters will see through election year cleverness and take serious note of the "looney tunes" factor lest "that's all folks" become a reality!

The Katrina Effect

Katrina is everywhere.

The hurricane that ravaged Louisiana and Mississippi coasts three years ago this week still spins, surges and settles over those who endured and survived it. The signs of loss, rebuilding and hope are everywhere.

Even those not affected because we resided outside the South--we, too, feel the hurricane in ways that are palpable now that we live closer to the damages. Two of many recent examples:

In the waiting room at a garage last month, I met a young mother whose two-year-old daughter had died and been buried in a Gulf Coast cemetery not long before Katrina struck. The woman marveled at how a new neighbor in upstate Mississippi (where the family had moved after the storm destroyed their home) volunteered his own time, money and transportation to relocate the coffin and headstone from her child's burial spot so it would be nearer to the family. This had happened within a week after the hurricane.

To accomplish his mission, the benefactor had braved Katrina aftermath and out-argued officials who tried to keep him away from the cemetery that was badly damaged in the storm. But tenacity on behalf of his new, hard hit neighbors meant that he had prevailed after all--and rapidly.

"Now," the young woman said, "our family visits my daughter's grave more often than we would've otherwise, and for less money in gas." She said their neighbor's generosity was even more valuable than the property that had drowned that awful August night.

As if to underscore such stories, a dance troupe I saw perform at the Mississippi Museum of Art last Saturday presented "House of Broken Dreams," choreography based on a Katrina-inspired painting by the same name. The physical and psychological ravages of the storm, so solidly shown in the painting projected on the wall and in the stylized motion of the dancers, paled in comparison to the joys and hopes represented in the final moments of the piece. What's more, it was all done to the brilliant, recorded music of composer-pianist Phillip Glass.

Katrina turns 3 this week. Her survivors will mark the occasion with more stories, more work, more art, and best of all, more HEART than a storm has a right to ask.

Go, O! Go, Joe!

Great veep choice, Senator Obama!

Thanks from a Hillary supporter who appreciates why Hillary wasn't "vetted" as the vice presidential candidate. We're saving her for the U.S. Supreme Court, right?

Meanwhile...

Senator Joe Biden is a smart, likable fellow--a man of the people. Sure, he has a big mouth and big opinions, but they're backed by long years of distinguished public service and sober research on foreign policy issues brought before the United States Senate. Plain talk and informed wordiness are the by-products of such a long, intelligently managed and seriously dedicated career.

So get ready, America. Once we elect O and Joe, expect a steady flow of words, opinions, and informed policies developed through open decisionmaking.

For many of us, the air will feel fresh again. We like it best when Educated Professionals vs. Cheerleading Dummies and Metal-Plant Zombies are in charge of the world that exists beyond Texas. (Yes, Virginia, there is such a thing!)

Homecoming

The storm-dodging, corner-hugging wren is back. He's been roosting beneath the front porch eave for several nights now. I figure the heavy rains of recent days have him seeking shelter again.

Last winter and spring, he made it a habit. His mate even built a nest in the front door wreath. No eggs or babies seen, but the mother sat and sat for weeks. Eventually the nest was empty and mother was nowhere about. Now, it appears, the male is back and comfortable in his digs. I expect his partner eventually will return as well.

Happiness is for the birds--and for those of us who enjoy watching them. Hope soon to have the complete duo back.

On Being Cynical

Are you a cynic? I am. In fact, my cynicism bothers me at times. I worry that Life may be a lot better and Human Beings a lot kinder than I have a habit of crediting. A recent example:

My next door neighbor, a widower who lives alone, recently asked, then asked again a month later, what I planned to do with the huge brush pile at the rear of my property. (To digress, we have many storms here that leave lots of broken limbs.) Answering my neighbor, I said my brother and his friend planned to burn the brush sometime this fall.

Realizing his apparent concern, I said to the neighbor, "Do you have another suggestion?" "Yes," he said. "I'd like to burn it today. The conditions are perfect: recent rains make it easier to work with." I said okay. Thus the work began and ended well a few hours later. My biggest investment? Several trips to deliver ice water to the gentleman and a pan of homemade blueberry muffins later. Polite thanks both ways.

So where's the cynicism? I'm suspicious of his motive. While I'd prefer to think of it as the gesture of a welcoming neighbor, I actually think of it as self-insurance by a man who feared the woman next door, who has a habit of hiring local jobbers for everything, might hire the wrong bunch to burn the brush and wind up causing him a problem. There was at least one hint in that direction, when the fellow noted how the men I'd hired last time had stacked some brush the wrong way and could have caused trouble later. I figure HE figured: "Better do it myself."

Cynical? Realistic? As to another friend's quip that it was good I'd served ice water instead of bourbon, lest fires get lit the wrong way, I said to myself, "Now THERE'S cynicism."

What say you, Gentle Reader? Comments welcomed.

Sex and Rex

Sex and Rex--"rex" as in royalty and power--continue to grab headlines and give us something to exploit, giggle at or be holier-than-thou about.

I refer to the vain John Edwards and the uninteresting looking blonde he slept with while his brilliant, popular wife Elizabeth was presumably at home dealing with breast cancer.

Am I angry at John for taking advantage? No. Am I angry at Elizabeth for forgiving her husband? No. Or at the woman who wanted sex with a handsome, powerful man? No. By me, they're all human and possessed of what human beings have when it comes to sex and power: desire, often lust, followed by fear, satisfaction or confusion afterward.

But I AM angry at the National Enquirer for exploiting it. And at ABC TV for succumbing to such fare. And at the internet gossips for turning it into silly videos and printed snippets blasted everywhere. Yes...and at myself for giving it more than a bah!humbug!outofmyface! response when I learned of it and decided to blog about it.

Of all sins of the late 20th and early 21st centuries, leering at and/or profiteering from the private lives and private sins of others is one of the worst. For me, it ranks second only to invading whole nations and claiming it as anything other than what it is: lust for profit, lust for resources, and/or lust for power. An unholier-than-thou combination, if ever there was one. For the latest proof, I suppose we could ask the poor and the dying in Georgia who're being bombed into new boundaries for lustful, power-hungry Russia right now.

Let's face it: willing sex and willing forgiveness seem a lot nicer in comparison.

"I Want My Tea"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNv6pBV7yEE

Family reunions bring out the best--the best people, the best food, the best stories. And now, the best video.

Chapman Welch, a talented second cousin, soon will be Dr. Welch with a Ph.D. in music. He and wife Jennifer, graduates of North Texas State University in Denton, are vying to win an internet competition that would help finance their advanced studies--his in music, hers in pharmacy at University of Houston.

If you haven't yet, please watch their video. Every "hit" counts toward winning the competition. Chapman and Jennifer are the creators and performers on "I Want My Tea." Good luck to this pair, who're two of our family's best claims to "musical genius."

Others vying for that distinction include Ernie Welch, a bluegrass picker and singer in Corinth, MS (one of Chapman's two older brothers), along with our first cousin Dr. Buddy Hardy, a Jackson, MS physician and church musician, and his daughter Erin, a talented, gorgeous Nashville singer. Winners, all, in my book!

P.S. Did I forget to say the annual Chapman Family Reunion took place in Raymond, MS yesterday? We're all sprung from John Chapman (1788-1848), a large landholder who settled in western Hinds County, MS in the early 19th century. A bunch of Chapman descendants, including my brother and me, still own and occupy parts of the original
purchase.

Playing The Race Card

Talk about cynical!

The McCain crowd has disgraced itself. It has spent valuable time and money purposefully crafting race-based ads aimed at creating doubt about Sen. Barack Obama's fitness to be president.

In an artless, tasteless TV ad, the two most instantly recognizable white chicks in the world (Britney Spears, Paris Hilton) are flashed onto the TV screen moments before images of Sen. Obama and adoring crowds on his recent European tour appear.

The intended message? Depends on who you are and what you've experienced as to how you see it.

For my part, I see a nasty, inept effort to portray Sen. Obama as one whose celebrity is wrongly conferred--like that of the two blonde sexpots who bring little to the table but good looks, brashness and questionable, unearned wealth and fame.

By contrast, an African American male commentator on MSNBC earlier today gave an entirely different explanation. Presumably one who's long accustomed to hearing whites and blacks alike make disparaging comments about relationships between black men and white women (and vice versa), the commentator saw the ad as being about THAT--a way of telling conservative voters, black OR white, that Obama--like the two blondes in the commercial (a) has sex appeal that attracts persons outside his own race, and (b) is a threat to black AND white men because of it.

Regardless of how one's race or gender prepares one to see the McCain camp's ad, the point remains: it is disgraceful and speaks volumes about the depths to which a cynical, behind-in-the-polls presidential candidate will go to inherit the mess that is currently America.

Finally, here's the best indication that the race card was played cynically and purposefully by the McCain crowd: they're crowing this weekend about what a good week they had in knocking Sen. Obama off his pedestal and off his message.

In short, they count it huge that their opponent had to deal with an ugly topic like "race" after being globally extolled as a Citizen of the Planet in Europe and the Middle East last week.

Cynical to the max. Don't you hate it? I do.

In Love Again

I'm in love. My heart is full for a tiny bug-eyed robot named "Wall E." He and another 'bot named "Eve" kept me enthralled Wednesday night and Friday afternoon at separate moviehouses. Here's why two theaters:

A pair of friends and I were to meet for a matinee showing on Wednesday. They arrived on time; I did not. Instead of arriving 10 minutes early, I was 40 minutes late. Wisely, my friends gave up and went inside without me.

When I joined them almost an hour into the film, they lightly scolded me and quickly caught me up on the trashy plot. I loved every sight, sound and brilliant play on heavy themes that we heavyweight 21st century human types must wise up and do something about. Otherwise, I fear winding up in space watching phony if also funny Fred Willard messages and spending all day at the Buy N Large.

Flash forward to Friday. I made up the lost 40 minutes and saw the lovable 'bot movie stem to stern. Another friend and I did a movie matinee marathon that day. We saw "Wall E" first, then headed straight into "Mamma Mia." I was glad to get the full scoop on my Wall E lover and happy I didn't have Meryl Streep's choice of three in "Mamma Mia."

So Friends, Greeks and Robots, lend me your ears...Wall E outdistances Mamma Mia by an Olympic mile. Both are fun to see, but if you go, check your watch and arrive on time. You'll save not only face with your friends, but also money in your Wall E t.

Chicken vs. Egg Again

Does being a good politician give one a good eye for people? Or does one have a good eye for people and winds up being a good politician? The same goes for photographers: which comes first, the sharp eye or the sharp skill?

While the newest exhibition at Mississippi Museum of Art in Jackson doesn't answer the question,it does show how two great photographers and two great politicians can sometimes be only two men--with only two careers and four eyes between them.

I refer to retired U.S. Senator Howard Baker (R-Tenn) and the former Governor Ray Mabus (D-Miss). Both men, distinguished public servants, are also distinguished photographers, judging from their world travel photos now on exhibit.

Two friends and I attended the opening last night and were amazed at the quality of skill in dozens of color photos the two men surrendered for the exhibition.

Senator Baker's eye--say, for the old woman watching the street below from her second floor window in Rome, or for the gorgeously windblown, raven-haired, purple-eyed, purple-shawled Elizabeth Taylor shown at (maybe)the D.C. airport--reveals not only good timing, but also a keen sense of distance, line and composition.

In short, an artist a good politician-photographer may also be. See Senator Baker's superb close-up of a bump-skinned brown frog in a green-leafed brown pool for further proof of the man's eye for color, subject and composition. A stunner--for me, the most memorable photo in the exhibit.

Likewise, the still popular former Mississippi governor Ray Mabus has a great eye for color, subject and composition. His portrait style photos of Arab men and women seated in doorways or standing with their children in front of homes in Yemen and Afghanistan, or of colorfully draped women in Bhutan, or the powerfully lensed photos of animals in Africa, or of the Eiffel Tower amid millennial fireworks in Paris--all show Governor Mabus as a man of polished photography and applied people skills not only in Mississippi but wherever across the world he has traveled.

Long a fan of both politicians, I now admire them as photographers. The only disappointment was the storm that kept Senator Baker and his airplane grounded in Knoxville, thus preventing his planned appearance at the Jackson opening last night.

However, for us ladies who think we have a good eye, too, a handsome Ray Mabus in gray silk suit and well-coiffed silver hair helped ease the pain of the dapper, likable Senator Baker's absence.

What is Satire?

Today brought a national firestorm over the cover of the latest New Yorker magazine.

Reportedly, the Obama and McCain campaigns are both offended at the cartoon depictions of Barack and Michelle Obama. The couple is shown in the White House Oval Office exchanging the now infamous "fist pump." He's in Middle Eastern garb, she's in combat fatigues, Afro hairstyle, and AK47 machinery across her chest. In the fireplace, an American flag is burning, and above the mantel is a framed drawing of Osama bin Laden.

OK, now, People...do you really think one of the oldest, most sophisticated, most liberal magazines in America would make fun of the Obamas and risk bringing aid and comfort to the more conservative, more extreme elements who truly believe such depictions are realistic? Not a chance. It's the New Yorker being itself again: hip, wry, sophisticated, informed, satirical. And, dare I assert, "educated."

Which brings up another question, the answer to which perhaps is too much taken for granted by older, more experienced, better educated Americans, e.g., New Yorker readers. To wit: exactly what IS satire? Answer: "A literary work in which irony, derision, or wit in any form is used to expose folly or wickedness." That's from the American Heritage Dictionary of nearly 40 years ago, when definitions were clearer and better understood, apparently.

Meanwhile, both the Obama and the McCain camps must be thrilled at a new opportunity to seek more voters by blasting the liberal New York media. Talk about irony!

Summer Travails--Travels, Rather

Post card today from Seattle friend in Rome. She's traveling Europe with her stepdaughter and two step-granddaughters.

My friend is 69. Stepdaughter in her 40's. The stepdaughter's two girls are 13 and 19. I gather everyone's age is showing.

"It's been a cross between 'Sex and the City' and 'All in the Family,' " writes my pal. "I'd forgotten how 13 is a perpetual bounce between 30 and 8, and how miserable AND ecstatic you can be at 19--all in one hour!"

Had I written a post card to Seattle two summers ago, I would have said, "I'd forgotten how miserable it can be to travel with an ill-suited, incompatible companion. A real nightmare!" Especially on a two-week road trip out West and across Canada. Thank god for scenery; it was our only salvation.

Fortunately, the group in Rome is compatible enough to work the glitches out. The adults have about 30 years of practice as a family. I, by contrast, had a lunches-only history for less than a year with my fellow traveler. By no stretch was it enough to prepare us to work things out, so we visited national parks and stared at lakes, glaciers and mountains in sulking silence. Not exactly happy campers!

Summer Travels over Summer Travails, please. In short, check your partner before you check your luggage. You'll pay in more ways than one without it.

My Guy Larry

Like Holden Caulfield, I always fancy sitting down and talking with the writer of any work I love. Right now (actually for the last 33 years), I've imagined conversing at length with Pulitzer prizewinner Larry McMurtry, whose LONESOME DOVE, BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN (screenplay adapted from story by Annie Proulx)and TERMS OF ENDEARMENT were huge commercial successes that most of the planet could identify with.

However, for me, McMurtry became my guy for two much smaller pieces: an essay he wrote for Atlantic magazine's "Texas" issue in spring 1975(?), and a long essay (short autobiography) called WALTER BENJAMIN AT THE DAIRY QUEEN, published in 1999 following McMurtry's heart surgery a year or two before that.

I don't recall all of Atlantic's focus on Texas in spring 1975, but I specifically remember discovering Larry McMurtry and Molly Ivins in pieces they wrote for that issue.

Larry, then living up East, wrote of his experiences as an expatriate Texan coming home for a big event--a bbq, maybe, and a cocktail party with it. His descriptions were hilarious--not the least for his comparisons to what he figured it must be to be an expatriate Mississippian coming home to even crazier people and crazier experiences. Ironically, I read his essay on a Delta Airlines flight between Dallas, TX and Jackson, MS; I was flying from my adopted Montana to a family reunion in Mississippi.

Putting it mildly, Larry "spoke" to me in that piece, helping me to laugh at, enjoy and appreciate rather than resist, resent or explain away my origins and identity. He became My Guy right then. But here's why I've continued to love him:

First, he loves used books--not only for their arrestingly written, voraciously consumed contents but also for their looks, the way they feel and the fun it is to find them whether searching for a particular title or merely lucking onto a treasure to hold dear until the love wears thin--which, more than likely, it will. I know those passions.

Second, Larry unselfconsciously admits ambiguous ties to "home." Yet when all is said, read and written, he's learned enough about himself, his family, his friends, his books and the world he lives in to know who he is, how and why he came to be that way and why it's folly to deny or pretend otherwise. He accepts "it," makes it his, and moves on to the next phase of selfhood. He's Larry for good. Good for Larry!

What's more, his solid self-identity has helped create a successful, commercial self-identity for his dusty West Texas hometown of Archer City. There he's put his vast collection of books on display and/or for sale in shops he's opened for tourists. I want to visit there someday--if, that is, I can scrape together the gold to pay for the gasoline. Blame THAT on another expatriate Texan--one who occupies the White House, is married to a librarian, yet famously is NOT a lover of books!

Open Season in Bush World

Duck and cover, America. The U.S. Supreme Court is gunning for us.

In a 5-4 ruling this week, the Court held that the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution conveys rights to individual citizens to arm themseves.

Do you feel safer now? I don't. In fact, it scares me ragged to think of millions of us out there packin' heat and suspiciously eyeing our friends, families, neighbors, rank strangers, or fresh acquaintances at the mall, on the bus, in the taxi, the airplane, the supermarket, or the subway. It's enough to make a person want to close the doors, pull the curtains and stay home forever.

But wait...there's also the recent home invasion a few miles from here to worry about. An elderly couple (he 91, she 76) were taken hostage at home at 7:15 a.m. when the gentleman stepped into the driveway to get the morning paper. Three men, all adults w/no claim at all to "young punks", demanded the couple's car keys and combo to the safe before tying up the couple and hauling off whichever loot they were after. Unless I missed it, no one displayed or fired a weapon. With the new Court ruling, however, it will be a lot easier for all of us to keep a rod handy to handle whichever further horrors await us in Bush World.

Please...can we get this crowd out of here fast enough? Unfortunately, Election Year 2000 was our first, last and best SHOT at it. Tragically, we missed.

"Hump"

I'll never watch a Bogart movie the same way again. Why? I'm reading his biography. A splendid one at that.

"Bogart," by A.M. Sperber and Eric Lax, combines the research of two writers whose documentation is almost unimaginable, it's so thorough. Notes say the source documents of just one of the writers weighed nearly half a ton.

HALF A TON, mind you. What's more, many of those items deftly make their way into this compelling narrative.

So what has skewed my view of Bogart--or "Hump" as he was known to friends? It's his history as a privileged but thoroughly abused child. Here are glimpses based on the biographers' interviews with Grace Lambert and other childhood friends, most of whom were summer companions at Canandaigua in the finger lakes district of western New York. In some ways, Humphrey had an idyllic childhood; in other ways, it was horrendous.

Firsthand sources say Bogart's parents were consumed by social pretenses and lucrative careers: father a New York City physician, mother a commercially successful, nationally renowned painter of angelic children's pictures. Her work made it into Butterick's Pattern books and many early 20th century women's magazines.

Yet the elder Bogarts were morphine addicts who left the rearing of their kids to--according to Lambert--"the most awful servants....Common people, with loud voices, ignorant...Oh, they were rough! They used to beat them and shout at them (at Humphrey and two younger sisters)...they (the servants)were HORRIBLE....And the mother and father didn't seem to notice."

Worse, when friends tried to report the violence, "Maud," Humphrey's tall, lean, beautiful mother (size 2 1/2 shoes to complement her mauve Victorian silks), threw things at them and refused to believe it. Humphrey, about 12 and present at the telling, began pounding his fists at his mother and screaming, "It's true, Mother; it's true!"

Possibly to escape, "Hump" was stagestruck as a teen. He would hang blankets across wires to serve as curtains for summer, lakeside performances starring him and his friends. He was close to the son of a prominent Broadway producer who also summered there (Humphrey LOVED hearing stories of what went on out front and behind the stages of NY City). Perhaps a vain act to preserve his 5'8" masculinity, he forever denied any true acting interest--claimed merely to have fallen into movies (a less respected career back then).

So what I'm eager for now is how he gets to Hollywood, how easily he marries and divorces his starlet friends, how he deals with industry allies and enemies, and what happens when all that chemistry gets stirred between him and Lauren Bacall (half his age when they meet, court, marry and have two kids).

No longer, though, shall I wonder at Bogart's edgy, dark, remote and angry countenance. From now on, I'll think of all he experienced as a child of parental negligence and addiction--and the fact that he died from cancer in his 58th year. Residuals of the wrong kind for a Hollywood great like this one!

Life Without Tim

I join millions of Americans this weekend in grieving the untimely death of Tim Russert, longtime host of MEET THE PRESS on NBC. With the exception of the retired Tom Brokaw, I know of no one employed at NBC or MSNBC who can possibly match Tim's interviewing skills or his grasp of American politics. That said, I feel for the person who is asked to be the new MTP host. He or she will have to work unduly hard just to be appealing, much less convincing.

As a father and a son, Tim was as or even more compelling as a national figure. His book about his dad--BIG RUSS--is one of the most popular ever on the subject of father-son relationships. With Tim's tragic death this Father's Day weekend, his book is in more demand than ever.

Today the owner at my favorite used book shop said she's been flooded with requests for Tim's book this weekend. More telling yet, that same owner said she had cried when she learned of the newsmaker's sudden end. "How will we get through to November without him?" she said. I knew what she meant.

Condolences to his wife, son and father, as well as to the whole American family. We are all less and less informed without Tim.

Rest in Peace, Earl Leggett

When I was a teen-ager, I had a summer job that required cooking and serving burgers at a small diner adjacent to a popular Texaco station in my hometown of Raymond, Mississippi. Both facilities were co-owned by the local community college football coach, Frank Young, and one of his favorite ex-players, Earl Leggett. By then, Earl was a major player in the National Football League--a Chicago Bear en extremis.

Coach and Earl were gentlemen of the kind we expect in the South. Either or both would stay after the gas station closed to make sure I was never alone nights, which were the busiest or the loneliest hours, depending on the volume of customers. I looked forward to the owners' company, as they always managed to teach me something of value about life, love or for that matter, cooking pesky burgers to the right temperature.

Of all they taught me--tips on health, family ties, friendships--the lesson I remember best and followed least came from Earl Leggett, that big galoot of a guy who was as sweet and as gentle in some ways and as tough and as bruising as they come
in others.

"When it's time to choose a man, Nancy, and the choice is Love or Money," advised Earl, "choose Money. You can always learn to love the sonofabitch!!"

Earl Leggett died recently during surgery--related, one guesses, to old and numerous football injuries. Earl was 75. He was beloved by those who knew and saw him in his daily haunts around Raymond. I am sorry I did not visit or see him after I retired here. I would have enjoyed telling him how dearly I've kept his words over the years if not the fruits I might've earned from following the advice he gave me.

In memorializing him, the local weekly ran a wonderful front-page photo of Earl in his football gear--circa 1954 when he led his team to victory at the Rose Bowl, site of the national junior college title game that year. The article also carried the eulogy presented at the funeral by TV sportscaster Howie Long. Leggett had mentored Long at the Oakland Raiders, where Earl had eventually coached and Howie had come into his own professionally as a defensive lineman. Earl clearly had gained Howie's love and loyalty over the years.

So now I'm wondering: what personal advice did Earl give Howie along the way? Not sure, but I imagine if it was about love, it probably was about faithfulness. Earl and his college sweetheart married young, had several kids and enjoyed a long life together. May this devoted husband, loving father and memorable mentor rest in peace. This great Bear of a man is missed by many.

Hillary and History

Today Hillary Clinton made history.

The speech she gave suspending her presidential campaign and endorsing Barack Obama as the Demo nominee was remarkable not only on those two fronts, but more important, on the fronts involving race and gender in American politics. From now on, it will be harder for all of us to think of women and persons of color as Lesser Than's in any competition, any pursuit, any personal or professional agenda involving character, intelligence and leadership.

I am grateful to Senator Clinton and to Senator Obama for their vigor in proving to America once and for all that anyone, everyone, all of us have a right and an opportunity to say "Yes, we can!" and to mean it. This is a great day for America--and I'm glad I was here to see it.

Gertrude Stein, Gertrude Stein, Gertrude Stein

The Arch Repeater, was Gertrude.

Spared the worst of it in "The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas," I'm now being inundated with repeated lines of thought and dialogue in "Each One as She May," Stein's account of a fictional "negress" (sic) named "Melanctha." It's based on the ex-patriate writer's sympathetic exposures to black culture in early 1900's America and France. Here's an example, an example, an example:

(Melanctha's reluctant lover Jeff is speaking.)
"Why, Melanctha dear, I certainly don't now see what it is you mean by what you was just saying to me...you certainly never did believe I ever knew I was giving you real suffering."

(Melanctha replies:)
"I certainly never did know just what it was you wanted to be doing with me, but I certainly wanted you should do anything you liked, you wanted, to make me more understanding for you."

Back to Stein.

The word "certainly" appears nearly a dozen times on that page, which page is a single paragraph. "Can't stand it," "couldn't stand it," and "certainly did stand it" appear almost as often. Yes, yes, yes, I tell you; on the same, same, same page.

It's too easy, isn't it--this poking fun, I mean. The fact is the writing is effective; it lasts and lasts. Critics and analysts--including Stein--say it was her way of showing what actually happens when human beings are communicating silently OR aloud. I'm not sure I buy it, but I am sure I won't forget the thoughts and feelings of Jeff and Melanctha.

Even more, I'll keep the opinion of the late, great American poet Richard Wright, who said (in essence) that Gertrude Stein understood more about black culture than any other white person of her time. Wright was an ex-patriate black American living in Paris--a Mississippian from Natchez. I figure he certainly did, certainly should have, certainly was certain that he certainly knew what he was talking about!

Eureka!

I've just found 19 handsome, wonderfully preserved copies of HORIZON, that hardbound culture and arts magazine from the 1950's and beyond. I bought them at $2.50 each in a local antique shop last weekend. All are 1970's vintage and are a joy to peruse, read in earnest or earmark for later study. The range of topics and quality of writing are stunning. Some glimpses from the Spring 1971 issue:

Cover Notes (about the classic reprint pasted on front): "A demure Eve presents the fateful apple to an innocent Adam and ushers in the fall of man in a painting by Lucas Cranach the Elder. Today another kind of fall of man is being proposed by the Women's Liberation Movement with its vigorous attack on male domination. The controversial subject is discussed in an article beginning on page 4."

Granted, the topic is dated, but the article presents a valuable overview of men, women, marriage and social history of the sexes. Worth 21st century eyeing.

As is the item labeled "The Canterbury Tales," a review by renowned British novelist Anthony Burgess, whose contempt for a (then) new London musical based on Chaucer's masterpiece is clear in passages like this one: "It is, on the whole, a pretty bad adaptation: the songs are tuneless, the lines lack the medieval gusto of Chaucer's original, and there is an air of sniggering lubricity about the production...this enstaged and watered-down Chaucer is...sanctioned naughtiness." Burgess then more seriously explores Chaucer and some of his characters from the ageless classic.

Following that article is "A Canterbury Album" written and illustrated by French architect Zevi Blum. Monsieur B. verbally and visually captures the "Byzantine melodrama" of five of Chaucer's most famous characters: the Wife of Bath, the Man of Law, the Miller, the Merchant and the Friar. Delightful, witty work by artist Blum.

Other articles from that spring include "The Scoundrel Who Invented Credit" (about Scottish libertine John Law), "The Tempesta Puzzle" (about Georgione's mysterious world famous painting), "The Ashanti" (re: rain forest tribe in Africa), "The Rise and Fall and Rise of Leon Trotsky" ("Rise" is twice part of the title; text has huge b/w photo of Trotsky, his wife, pal Diego Rivera and armed guards at the Trotsky compound in Mexico City), "Everything You Always Wanted to Know about the Dodo" (yes, the extinct bird), "Loser" (about a disastrous Roman general) and other esoterica that only HORIZON could claim with head unbowed and intelligence intact.

How I love these treasures. They've already taken a commanding place in my heart and on my bookshelves. Reeling and gleeful, I remain the hunter in search of "new" HORIZONs.

"Lida Rose" and Then Some

Been to a barbershop singin' lately? If not, are you in for a surprise. Today's groups are WAY past "Lida Rose" and "Hello my Honey, Hello my Baby." You can still hear the traditional stuff, as my pal James (a real barber) and I did at "Festival of Harmony" in Jackson, MS tonight. But the novelty groups, tunes and arrangements--complete with comedy and choreography--are the ones to write home about.

Two guest groups wowed us: LUNCH BREAK, based in Nashville, and RED LINE, based in Portland, OR. Both are new. They've been together for less than a year and are already out there howlin', complete with fans and websites.

The Nashville guys are quirky and hilarious. They include a fat man preacher, a bald man teacher and two neighborhood guys of unnamed occupations. They do rock-style parodies and putdowns that update and upstage "barbershop" by miles. In excellent pitch and voice, I might add. With traditional barbershop backgrounds.

RED LINE is more decorous but still funny while harmoniously styled in silk suits AND soothing sounds. They could have been well dressed senators or airline pilots. As it turns out, they're a building contractor, a banker, a national v.p. of sales and a nonprofit guy. Rehearsals? Every six weeks, they get together in Portland for practice. Two of the guys live there; the other two fly from Denver and Nashville.

Least surprising? All the groups made jokes about wives who complain of their husbands' near obsessive singing and traveling. Fortunately, tonight the audience got to hear only the men's side.

Desperately Seeking Scott

Poor Scott McClellan can't seem to get it right. I refer to his effectiveness, not to his facts. I don't for a moment doubt what he claims about the Bush White House in his new book, which, thanks to an errant colon, isn't even effectively titled, i.e., "What Happened: Inside the Bush White House and Washington's Culture of Deception."

Alas, I see in the former Bush press secretary an outsized need to gain acceptance of whoever's in power. Right now, that's not the Bush crowd. It's the American people and those who're voicing their views, i.e., the press, broadcasters, bloggers and those of us who're telling pollsters we want the louts thrown out.

Thus, I would say Scott's book comes less from a need to line his pockets or to clear the record than to reinvent himself in ways that make him more palatable to powerful insiders. Right now, the power players are Thee, Me, Opinionmakers and the Anti-Bush Majority--not the George, Dick, Karl and Condi crowd. McClellan knows this and is knocking at our door in hopes we'll admit him to the hearth of professional respect he so obviously lacked while warming himself at the White House fires.

I maintain McClellan has miscalculated. He can sell a million books, and he'll still seem ineffective, still come off the outsider. Why? Because strivers and wannabes lack "it." Sadly, Scott comes off as a striver-wannabe who lacks "it" bigtime. As if we needed more proof, even while the man is out there making news, he's also spinning his own headlines. Serving as his own Second Life avatar, apparently.

Short Vacation

NN&V is on hiatus this week. Back at it Wednesday, May 28. See you then.

Gay Marriage: Predictable Rights

When I taught American history at Sentinel High School in Missoula, Montana some 30 years ago, my first department chair was a wise, maternal, conservative mayor's wife named Rose Hart, then close to retirement. Rose's family of origin somehow combined ties to Minnesota and to Iceland. I remember thinking how blue skies, shining lakes and frozen climates must be in her genes, as she had a clarity and range of vision that was almost shocking at times.

"Every few generations," she told me, "the American people determine it's time to grant another group a bold expansion of rights previously enjoyed only by men of privilege." She cited the end of slavery and the start of property and voting rights of women before asking me to speculate on the next big leap.

Saturated with long-haired teens and their wisecracking, profanity-laced language and tee shirts back then, I instantly said, "Children? Seems to me they're getting away with more and more, so maybe we'll start granting more and more rights to them."

"No," said Rose, "you're speaking of social rights; I'm speaking of the law and a breaking of bonds that are prohibitive to large groups of people." Eventually we got around to her "correct" answer: homosexual property and marriage rights. I was flabbergasted. Not offended, but shocked to think my friend Jack might someday be able to marry his partner Jim and share all the privileges and problems of heterosexual relationships under the American legal system. Such rash prospects had never occurred to me.

Yesterday the State of California followed the State of Massachusetts in catching up to Rose Hart's predictions. I'm sorry Rose isn't here to appreciate her prescience, wisdom and clarity of vision. She died knowing she was right, though, I'm sure. Not boastful, just clear. Like the lakes in Iceland, I'm thinking.

1980--A Watershed Year

When historians evaluate the 20th century, I suspect many of them, if not most, will cite 1980 and the election of Ronald Reagan as a watershed year and a watershed event. Why? Because it marked the end of FDR's America and the start of Reagan's "supply side economy," i.e., a massive shift of power and wealth from the American middle class to the American rich, super rich and their international friends. Not even Reagan, though, took it as far as Bush II did.

Bush and friends took it to unimaginable extremes 20 years later by stealing the 2000 presidential election and doing to America what W did to Texans when he used their tax dollars to buy the Rangers professional baseball team and walk away without having to use his own money to pay the bill.

Credit David Cay Johnston of the New York Times for investigating the evidence of the last 30 years and showing it in a book entitled FREE LUNCH: HOW THE WEALTHIEST AMERICANS ENRICH THEMSELVES AT GOVERNMENT EXPENSE (AND STICK YOU WITH THE BILL). He cites example after example of "welfare at the top" and "corporate socialism."

One set of facts in particular is easy for many of us to remember and relate to: the facts that show how often over the last three decades we've watched our tax dollars go to build giant new venues for professional sports teams. That's at the same time we were slowing or outright denying needed tax support to public services, e.g., parks, schools, libraries, highways and bridges--to name just a few.

Another set of examples--less well known, perhaps, but as or even more offensive to those of us who think public money should stay in the public sector--shows how federal sales taxes at the major "box stores," e.g., WalMart, Target, et al, are NOT going to the U.S. treasury but rather to the companies themselves. They're using our tax dollars, awarded as tax subsidies to pay for their stores.

Not sure about you, but I loathe seeing my tax dollars go to subsidize payments to billionaires and not to the American poor and middle classes. We can't even be sure the big guys are paying ANY taxes. Under the corporate welfare state, they've become masters at going offshore, relocating overseas and god knows what all to keep you and me from cutting into their profits by demanding they pay their fair share. They've robbed us blind, frankly, and have laughed all the way to the island banks where their opulent yachts have carried them.

Johnston also cites "institutionalized corruption" in the American housing industry. He especially shines a light on darker practices that mean homebuyers
get stuck with excessive costs exacted by land title companies. Too many of them have been caught in kickback schemes that amounted to outright crime. Crime that no one sees fit to prosecute, now that the government and the courts are sympathetic to anti-taxpaying schemes of big business, certainly, if not of you and me.

To friends who grew tired over the years of my citing 1980 as The Worst Turning Away from American Social Responsibility in my lifetime, please read David Cay Johnston's FREE LUNCH. He's gathered far more real evidence than I was ever willing to. I honor the man for his patriotism!

Should Hillary Quit?

No. Not by my account. Sure, the road to nomination is steeper for Hillary than it is for Obama, but no strong woman I know has ever shied away from steep hills. It goes with being female, frankly.

As to the business of splitting the Democrats and weakening the party's chances to win the presidency in November, I say balderdash. Once the choice is presented--either the Republican stand-in for George Bush, or a Democrat who'll try to reverse massive debt, two wars and an economy in shambles--I expect the majority of voters will say, "Give me the Democrat."

If that's Obama, so be it. We'll find out soon enough whether he can govern after we've heard (no doubt) his inspiring, history-making Inaugural Speech. If the Democrat elected is Hillary, we'll find out fast whether her long years in government and public service actually translate into effective governance under extremely difficult social, political, economic, military, environmental and global policy circumstances.

Given those choices, I say the more experienced Hillary is the Democrat I want in the White House. To get us out of the mess we're in, the next president--whoever it is--cannot, must not be A Quitter.

Why I Love the Internet

In a word: "discovery." Never a day passes when I'm on the internet that I don't find something compelling to read, ponder and sort out for myself. Today's discovery still has me smiling.

Until a tab here and a click there, I knew not that Annie Dillard of "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" fame and Eudora Welty of "The Petrified Man" fame had even the remotest connection. Thanks to a 1999 article by David Bowman, discovered at salon.com today, I fancy I have new and amusing insights into both ladies.

Understand, I'm a big fan of both writers. Dillard's "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek," which I marveled at in the mid-1970's, ranks near the top of my nonfiction favorites. "The Ponder Heart" and other Welty tales keep me in touch with my Mississippi self. So how do the ladies interconnect? Writing for "Brilliant Careers" at salon.com, David Bowman puts it this way (paraphrasing):

Eudora once wrote a piece in the NY Times commenting on Annie Dillard's prose. Voluntary or solicited--David doesn't say--Eudora confessed that she had no idea what Annie was talking about when she wrote such as this: "You cannot have mountains and creeks without space. And space is a beauty married to a blind man. The blind man is Freedom, or Time, and he does not go anywhere without his great dog Death."

"Dillard's personifications baffled poor Eudora," wrote David. He then quoted this line from Eudora sugesting she sympathized with Dillard nonetheless: "A reader's heart must go out to a young writer with a sense of wonder so fearless and unbridled." My take? Polite Southern female's way of saying, "Damn! This bitch is crazy!" But Eudora was Far Too Gentle for such words to escape. It is we card-carrying, 21st century, practiced Southern females who prefer the uncoded language yet easily resort to coded cooing when necessary.

So here's the bottom line:

Having recently toured Eudora's home, gardens, bookshelves, and more of her writings, AND having eagerly revisited Dillard and her biography on the internet today, I'm amused at the distance between the genteel, perceptive Welty and the imaginative, creative, self-described "insane" Annie Dillard. Theirs is the distance between Earth (Welty) and Sky (Dillard). Both women contemplated both realms, for sure, but one was decidedly more earthbound and the other decidedly more metaphysical. Without the internet, I doubt I would've discovered such amazing, amusing mileage between this pair of prized women writers.

Fat Moms, Fat Dads, Fat Kids

Mississippians have the unenviable distinction of being the fattest people in the USA. So say recently published statistics on obesity. After visiting the "Jerry Clower Festival" in downtown Yazoo City today, I must agree. Practically everyone at the festival--including kids--was seriously overweight and eating something over the top in calories. It was a bold reminder of how many salads we aren't eating and preferring instead all the bad stuff.

MEMO TO SELF: Throw away the M&M's and pay more attention to the front and rear images in the mirror. Don't be the super fat lady with the super tiny poodle that struck such a laughable sight at the festival. Tragicomedy on a beautiful, sunny Saturday in the Delta.

Worshipping at the Altar

The altar of Mississippi writers, that is. Eudora Welty and William Faulkner have occupied a lot of my time--and that of my Washington state guests--this past week. We've toured the famous writers' homes in Jackson and Oxford, MS, and have learned enough to want to read more and more of each person's work. Both won top international prizes and are thought of to this day as "great writers of the South." And both are known as well for their intellect and sense of humor. Two quick tales will illustrate:

Eudora, who never married or took lovers that anyone knows of, had a mischievous sense of humor. Mississippian Willie Morris, the youngest-ever editor of Harper's magazine when he took the helm in the late 1960's, told the story of the day he drove "Miss Eudora" up Highway 49 toward his hometown of Yazoo City. Eudora was well into her 90's by then. During the leisurely drive, Willie spotted a sign that read "Paradise Road." He asked Miss Eudora if she'd like to turn up that road and see where it led. "Oh, yes!" she said. "I've always wanted to go to 'Paradise' with a man!"

Then there's Faulkner, whose novels and short stories had made him a household name by the 1950's when he won a Nobel Prize for literature. Late in his career, he was enticed to Hollywood to do some screenwriting. Soon after his arrival, he was guest at a Hollywood party attended by Clark Gable. When the two were introduced, Gable said, "Hello, Mr. Faulkner, I understand you're a writer." "Yes,
Mr. Gable," said Faulkner. "And what do YOU do?"

The Welty home in Jackson and the Faulkner home in Oxford are well worth touring. Each reflects the writer and the writer's lifestyle, as well as exposes tourists to the endless yards of books the writers read. If you're in Jackson or Oxford soon, make time for one or both shrines. They're worth it, and then some.

THE POPE'S VISIT

Good for Benedict XVI. He came, he saw, he conquered hearts and minds across America. No small task, given the affection many of us felt toward his predecessor.

It's amazing when you think about it: a stern Bavarian intellectual, with a bent toward orthodoxy and precision, shows up in red shoes, conducts mass on baseball fields and surprises everyone by meeting with "sexual abuse victims." And he does all of it while managing to steer a tight course in his homilies and his Popemobile.

The Popemobile--my favorite part of the visit. I'm still intrigued at the architecture of that vehicle. For one, it's a customized Mercedes Benz SUV. For another, it has a couple of levels inside the bullet-proofed, see-through glass interior. As I understand it, his bodyguards sit behind and one level below the Pope's chair and standing room. The driver, of course, is in the cab up front. Impressive construction that gets it right, given its mission.

OK, so I'm a secularist and not that keen on orthodox religion. But I do know a good story and good p.r. when I see it. Whether we agree with the Church or not, the Pope did well in reminding us that he's human--and even more, the Big Papa who knows what he's doing and why. What's not to admire about THAT?

The Harry Potter Case

If you're a Harry Potter fan (I've neither read the books nor seen the movies), please tell me why J.K. Rowling is suing the man who's compiled and plans to sell a "dictionary" of words, characters and meanings in the Harry Potter books.

Even after reading about Ms. Rowling's testimony in court yesterday--and catching bits of argument from defense lawyers who're representing the dictionary fellow--I admit to confusion. Check my grasp (or lack of), please:

The dictionary writer has a popular website devoted to the Harry Potter series. Ms. Rowling herself has even visited and complimented ("supported," I think she said on the stand yesterday) the site. But once she learned the host was going farther and publishing a book that would generate big sales of (essentially) his take on her plots, her characters and words she used to create them, she balked and sued him to stop the sales? or is it to stop the publication? Which?

If the latter, might this be a "prior censorship" case? Might it be that a Rowling win in court could be challenged on grounds of censorship before full-blown publication of material she's objecting to? Or is it that she's claiming her words, by virtue of having appeared in print, HAVE been published already? Is that it?

So far, the whole story seems muddled to me and amounts to wasted court time and talent--unless, as I suspect, the world-famous author has another agenda: more money from compiling and publishing her own encyclopedic dictionary.

Note to Ms. Rowling: I said "muddled"--not "muggled." Please don't haul me into court over your precious arrangements of letters in the alphabet. And those of you who're just wild about Harry, forgive me. I'm blissfully unaware of his magic.

Power Politics: Bush and Big Business vs. The People

Years ago as a high school American history, government and political science teacher, I learned a ton of theories about how governments emerge, how they develop and how they fall or survive, depending on how they treat the people--and how the people must act to keep watch on their officials.

Later as a graduate student in journalism, I learned how governments court or eschew Big Business, the press and public opinion, depending on needs and goals of those who hold the government's key powers. And how the people must act to keep watch on the interplay between government and Big Business.

Still later, as a teacher lobbyist and union official, I learned up close and personal--in the halls of Congress and state legislatures-- how all these forces interact to produce what we see, hear, read and experience as citizens. And learned how the people must keep themselves informed and wary of manipulation by those players and those interactions.

But never--repeat never--in my days as an active teacher, lobbyist, unionist and tax-paying, law-abiding citizen did I expect to see the worst of those forces come together to undermine democracy in America. But that is precisely where we are with the Bush 2 Administration.

Not only are we spending billions on an unjust, unpopular war, but we're also NOT spending billions on problems here at home that are staggering the democracy. And why? Near as I can tell, for one reason more than any other: Big Business is running the show and cannot stand to see any shrinking of gigantic profits. Spending here at home would cut into their outrageous margins. Immoral margins. "Greed is good," a la Gordon Gekko.

For my money, there's an even worse, bigger problem in letting Big Business have all the power: it's THE INTENTIONAL USE OF GOVERNMENT TO UNDERMINE ITS OWN AUTHORITY.

Witness these: the Federal Aviation Authority's intentional use of its power so as NOT to regulate airline safety, thus saving money for the owners; the U.S. Labor Department's intentional turning away from labor and almost wholly siding with Big Business in any dispute involving their separate interests; the Education Dept.'s intentional overregulation/strangulation of public schools, so as to promote growth and development of private and chartered academies, thereby leaving whole segments of the nation's less privileged youth undereducated and underemployed in the future; the Environmental Protection Agency's wholesale shrinking of national parks and national wildnerness areas so as to encourage private developers to use pristine lands for use of/sale to the wealthy; the Defense Department's apparently purposeful weakening of the traditional military so as to give ever more lucrative management and prosecution of wars to private contractors, e.g., Haliburton, Blackwater, et al.

We could cite many other examples--chiefly the intentional failures of FEMA to come to the aid of Katrina victims, thereby weakening the local fabric and leaving it to monied developers for their own purposes.

But the most astonishing example of late is one not to be believed: the use of Census Bureau officials to undermine and perhaps even do away with the annual count of citizens every 10 years. The current Bureau is in shambles, for lack of money to operate sufficiently. So how does such a failure benefit Big Business? By leaving the national count to private contractors and doing away with tax-supported neutrality of figures.

Last but not least, there's this infuriating aspect of the Bush Administration's method: once Congress steps in and demands regulation, the Administration chiefs of all those business-friendly bureaus will act in ways aimed at creating maximum chaos and blaming it on regulatory exercise. "See? This is what happens when you want Big Business to be regulated" type thing.

The latest example is all the chaos around the nation's airports this week. It is NOT necessary to cancel thousands of flights to get inspections done. But you can be sure it's necessary to go to that extreme if you're wanting to shape public opinion against regulating Big Business.

We'd better wake up NOW if we want to have a country left come November. Write or call members in U.S. House and Senate and tell them to get busy with removing the chains of Big Business from the arms and ankles of Democracy. Tell them to do it now. We're dying out here!

Zeke and Zelda

Zucchinis, they are. A pair of plants that popped up almost immediately after seeds were in the ground. Spirited and talented, Z&Z got there last but came up faster and stronger than any of their competitors, e.g., corn, potatoes, onions, tomatoes, eggplants. Not to mention carrots. They're still hiding. Have to admit, though, lettuce and turnips are almost as eager to head the class. They arrived first, showed some green and started a slow but steady path to what I hope will be their debut in a salad or a honey stir fry come Memorial Day or mid-June. You're all invited!

Old Stories, New Facts

Following up on earlier posts, here are some stories from the recent past:

CLASSMATES. Mini-reunion was fun. BOB, sans pocket protector, was an older version of the classic intellectual we always admired. Clearly struggling over whether to retire here (where wife has but he no longer has family) or to remain in the Boston area. Living close to MIT and Harvard, while not essential, is still important, his remarks suggest. BILL, the insurance executive, is a widower of two years and speaks lovingly and cheerfully of his talented late wife. Early death from breast cancer. Bill gave full and cautionary details for the three of us women present. His deafness is aided by a cochlear implant and lip-reading abilities that are impressive. Good man, and instantly recognizable from the past. All of us were, we said.

YANKEES IN NATCHEZ. Great trip with Pennsylvania guests. Weather nice. Toured two old mansions, had a couple of great meals and oohed and ah'ed at hanging moss and brilliantly hued flowers--plus pleasurable gaping at elaborate costumes in Natchez Pilgrimage Pageant. Unexpected highlight: freebie tour we took without knowing we weren't welcome. Sunny day, doors open, no one about, so we toured the roped-off areas inside "Ellicott Hill," one of the earliest mansions. Great view of Mississippi River. Attendant came late, shocked to find us there. We assured him we weren't packing off the silver. Fortunately, we had seen the place by then, so it was roger, over and out. Memorable 32 hours in Natchez.

WREN IN WREATH. Nuthatch, actually. Still on nest she created in rim of artificial wreath at front door. Tolerates our comings and goings amazingly well. No eggs have we seen, but we dare not investigate. Trusting her to tell us when or if some babies hatch. As to the roosting pair of dark brown ??'s, they, too, are reliable. There last night--both of them--with heads in the eave and tails extended for the public eye. There at dusk, gone at dawn; we never see them in open daylight.

BEAGLE HUNT. Following a friend's invitation, I went to meet the formerly neglected, mature beagle female named "Chelsey." She was older, quieter and more laid back than I'd like. I've since learned I need a fenced-in area, lest any typically active beagle chase off into Nowhere and Everywhere. Bottom line: no dog yet.

OLE MISS IN MANHATTAN. The Big Apple took a toll on our Rebels. Ohio State beat them handily before going on to win the entire National Invitational Tourney at Madison Square Garden this weekend. Best of the earlier game for a Rebel fan was to see the team fight back to within 10 after being 27 down earlier in the contest.

Old Friends, New Looks?

I expect to be startled today. A couple of male friends from high school are stopping by--one at his invitation, another at mine. The former lives in Concord, MA and is in town only for short while. The latter is 30 miles away and is willing to drive to see his old classmates. My pal Ethel will join us. Others whom I asked can't make it; too busy with storm repairs. A severe boomer blew through and knocked power out and trees down yesterday.

So why do I expect a shock? The Massachusetts visitor--Bob--was the class physics and chemistry major. Classic nerd with rimmed eyeglasses and pocket protector. Vanderbilt engineering, if I remember correctly. He and his wife wound up some years later developing a huge day lily operation near Concord, MA--fields and fields, from which the owners fill orders internationally. Haven't seen Bob since high school, so I'm wondering if crisp white shirts and ironed trousers have given way to t-shirts, jeans and rich-black fingernails.

The other fellow--a big insurance guy--was an annual competitor for class president. For some reason, our classmates saw to it that the two Bills (the insurance one, and the nearby town lawyer who's too busy with tree limbs) and I always traded the offices around. The insurance Bill is now hard of hearing to the point that screaming is required. I expect it will be fun AND challenging.

Bottom line: will I know which mid-60's aged fellow is which when I see him? Stand by for news--perhaps mercifully, no film--at 11!

The Yanks Are Coming!

Household buzzing today. Only a few hours left to spiff 'n' polish before some Yankee friends invade.

Assuming travel from last night's stop in West Memphis, AR came off okay, the Mom 'n' Daughter pair from Pennsylvania are well on their way. Should be here in time for mid-afternoon tea and supper by 7.

"Gosh!" said Mom Lucy. "The Mississippi River looked like an ocean when we crossed it yesterday."

"All I know is I hope you have flowers blooming," Daughter Linda said. "Our spirits need lifting. We've been rained on every day since we left Pennsylvania."

No promises, Ladies. Mississippi weather--like weather everywhere this time of year--is a contrast of joy and disappointment almost daily. Morning sun gives way to afternoon clouds, and thunderstorms develop.

But not to worry. The Natchez Pilgrimage--daytime tour of antebellum mansions, and nighttime costumed pageantry--is what we've planned for our friends' stay. Even though Ol' Man River is expected to crest at 54' the day we're there, we'll be high enough over the water ("Natchez on the Hill") to enjoy the spectacle.

Spectacle? Yes. Not only the Natchez homes, but also the grounds to look forward to. The camellias, azaleas and other reliable bloomers will make every bit of it worthwhile for our cherished Yankee invaders.

Bold, Bad and Beautiful Bette Davis

Thanks to Terrence Rafferty in today's New York Times, I'm reminded that April 5, 2008, marks the 100th birthday of the indominatable queen of 1930's-1940's Hollywood: Bette Davis. It's tempting to think of her as The Best Actress Ever.

Thanks to Ms. Davis, I have a favorite film that won't leave me: "All About Eve." I count it the best written script of any movie I've ever seen. "Godfather II" isn't far behind, but for my money, "Eve" supersedes it, thanks to the way Bette Davis lives, breathes and speaks those unforgettable lines in the character of Margo Channing.

So what makes Bette a legend? First, last and always, her "Bette Davis" eyes. And yes, the mouth, the hair, the figure, and the face with a thousand shades that mesmerize. Even her shoulders and hands were expressive beyond compare.

Yet the Real Prize in the woman was character--HER character. Because she was more insightful than anyone else about her own psyche, she was able to draw from every aspect of "self" to apply the proper moment, deed or gesture to any scene or character she ever was assigned.

For full-out genius, watch her in "All About Eve," "Jezebel," "Of Human Bondage," "Now, Voyager" and "The Letter." Half a dozen others we could name won't dim once you see them, either, but the ones cited are sure to make you light a hundred candles for bold, bad and beautiful Bette next Saturday.