Opps. Pardon the double entendre, or whatever. Anyway, Idaho’s poor Senator Larry Craig has joined the sizeable ranks of those in the Republican Party who preach but do not practice family values. Their motto: Do What I Say, Not What I Do.
But after listening to the recording of the post-arrest conversation between the arresting officer and the good Senator, the cranky old guy thinks the Senator got the shaft, at least the legal shaft. Admittedly, in that men’s room at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport the Senator certainly seemed to be after more than Number 1 or Number 2 relief. And even if he had successfully fought the charges, little public doubt would have existed as to what he was indeed after (Number 3 relief?).
A good defense attorney, however, would have had a shot at convincing a judge or a jury that guilt beyond a reasonable doubt did not exist. After all, what actually happened?
The Senator looked through the cracks between the edges of stall doors and stall walls. The explanation? He just wanted to find an empty stall.
He rubbed his hands in a suggestive way. The explanation? His hands itched.
After entering a stall, his foot touched the foot of the guy—the arresting officer—in the next stall. The explanation? Hey, those stalls are small. And some people do sit wide.
He reached his hand under the stall wall. The explanation? He was trying to pick up a piece of paper (caveat here: how many people feel compelled to pick up something off the floor of a public restroom).
He was reaching with his left hand under the stall wall, an action requiring, since he was in the stall to the left of the officer, that he reach down across his body, then up. The explanation? The officer was mistaken about the left hand. Besides, what does it matter which hand it was?
Now the officer would likely testify that the sequence and scope of the Senator’s actions are common to those seeking Number 3 relief in public restrooms. But the defense attorney would note the reasonable explanations, and would emphasize that nothing actually happened: no one unzipped in front of the other, laid a hand on the other, touched a sexual appendage of the other.
In short, it was all just a little men’s room misunderstanding. The Senator goes legally free, subjected only to massive public derision.
Incidentally, if the cranky old guy ever changes planes in Minneapolis-St. Paul again, he will try to hold his water until he’s back in the air.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
George Bush And Vietnam
George Bush, that Vietnam tough guy—even though he was never actually there, which, incidentally, applies to others in his talk-tough-about-war Administration—is now giving us a history lesson. The lesson apparently is that never-ending pursuit of some ill-defined “victory” is preferable to any rational discussion and analysis of what may actually be achievable.
In an August 22 speech before the Veterans of Foreign Wars Convention in Kansas City, the President cited various aspects of the war against Japan in the 1940s, the war in South Korea in the 1950s, and the war in Vietnam in the 1960s as arguments for “getting the job done” in Iraq. And the major point about Iraq seemed to be that if we left before the “job” was “done,” a bloodbath would ensue.
Well Mr. President, maybe, but a bloodbath is ensuing already. Besides, just about every prediction you and your buddies have made about Iraq has proved wrong. For example, we found no WMD, we weren’t greeted as liberators, the force we (actually you) sent to control the country was inadequate, and so on.
The point is that the track record of your and your cohort’s predictive powers is pretty poor. Maybe a bloodbath would ensue, but maybe not, particularly if we stop talking belligerently about some undefined “victory.” A controlled, gradual withdrawal—say over a two-year period—as we try to bring the Iraqi Army and Government up to some minimal level of competence seems a much more realistic goal than “victory,” and perhaps would not lead to a bloodbath.
And if it did lead to a bloodbath, it would not be an American bloodbath. This may sound harsh, but the inhabitants of the Middle East have been bathing in blood for millennia. We are not going to change that in a few years or so.
A couple of other things, Mr. President. First, one can make the case that your mindless pursuit of something called “victory” has actually made our task in the Middle East much harder. The way you have gone about the ill-named war on terror has probably created more terrorists than even a precipitous withdrawal from Iraq ever would. Second, please stop talking about the terrorists following us home. Yes, another terrorist attack on American soil is certainly possible, maybe even likely, in the years ahead. But your imagery of the last Soldier, Sailor, or Marine leaving Iraq being followed onto the plane or ship by a terrorist is just nuts.
In an August 22 speech before the Veterans of Foreign Wars Convention in Kansas City, the President cited various aspects of the war against Japan in the 1940s, the war in South Korea in the 1950s, and the war in Vietnam in the 1960s as arguments for “getting the job done” in Iraq. And the major point about Iraq seemed to be that if we left before the “job” was “done,” a bloodbath would ensue.
Well Mr. President, maybe, but a bloodbath is ensuing already. Besides, just about every prediction you and your buddies have made about Iraq has proved wrong. For example, we found no WMD, we weren’t greeted as liberators, the force we (actually you) sent to control the country was inadequate, and so on.
The point is that the track record of your and your cohort’s predictive powers is pretty poor. Maybe a bloodbath would ensue, but maybe not, particularly if we stop talking belligerently about some undefined “victory.” A controlled, gradual withdrawal—say over a two-year period—as we try to bring the Iraqi Army and Government up to some minimal level of competence seems a much more realistic goal than “victory,” and perhaps would not lead to a bloodbath.
And if it did lead to a bloodbath, it would not be an American bloodbath. This may sound harsh, but the inhabitants of the Middle East have been bathing in blood for millennia. We are not going to change that in a few years or so.
A couple of other things, Mr. President. First, one can make the case that your mindless pursuit of something called “victory” has actually made our task in the Middle East much harder. The way you have gone about the ill-named war on terror has probably created more terrorists than even a precipitous withdrawal from Iraq ever would. Second, please stop talking about the terrorists following us home. Yes, another terrorist attack on American soil is certainly possible, maybe even likely, in the years ahead. But your imagery of the last Soldier, Sailor, or Marine leaving Iraq being followed onto the plane or ship by a terrorist is just nuts.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
KARAOKE
Recently, the Cranky Old Guy learned about this new fad called karaoke. There are these bars where instead of listening to music, you actually get to participate in making the music. You get up on the stage, or just up in front of the bar’s customers, watch a little TV-type screen across which flash the words of a song, and attempt to sing the song. Accompanying music is provided by electronic technology that is well beyond the Cranky Old Guy’s comprehension.
Anyway, the Cranky Old Guy found himself beyond the beyond, specifically in a remote part of the State of Idaho. Now, don’t take this the wrong way because the Cranky Old Guy’s heritage is deeply rooted in parts of rural Virginia and Maryland where “redneck” describes the more refined inhabitants, but this particular bar in this particular part of Idaho had some colorful folks.
The occasion was an impromptu party following the marriage of a daughter. After the festivities, a small group, at the behest of an individual we shall call “Kathleen,” adjourned to a local bar where karaoke facilities were provided. Among the small group were some individuals who had experience with this karaoke thing, although in staid New England. One of these individuals, we’ll call him “Adrian,” promptly got up on the stage and belted out a semi-recognizable version of Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline.
Now the Cranky Old Guy expected the worse. How would this crowd of colorful folk in a remote part of Idaho react to an obvious interloper bellowing “Hands, Touching Hands, Reaching Out, Touching Me, Sweet Caroline. . .?”
Cranky prepared himself for mayhem. He wondered if he would comport himself up to the standard Toby Keith sang about in Not As Good As I Once Was. But surprise, the crowd went wild with enthusiasm. One particular young lady, in a bikini only partially covered by cut-off farmer’s overalls, practically mauled poor Adrian in a paroxysm of ecstasy.
So the evening went. To increasing excitement, Adrian sang more songs. He was joined by “Bart,” maybe not quite as talented but possessed with considerable exuberance. “Charles” provided dance moves of unparalleled contortions. Kathleen, “Betty,” “Adie,” and “Ronda” functioned as serious groupies. “William” managed to maintain a designated driver status.
Finally, Cranky, who definitely was not maintaining a designated driver status, was prevailed upon to join the song fest. He, Adrian, and Bart did a version of the Righteous Brothers’ You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling that would have been the envy of Mav, Cougar, and the Iceman. The crowd went nuts.
After a few more songs, it was time to go. The crowd yelled “No, not yet!” So the group together did one more song: Elvis’ Suspicious Minds. Cranky, who actually remembers Elvis, let it all hang out. As they departed to thunderous applause, Cranky swore he heard the good ol’ boy running the karaoke equipment announce, “Elvis has left the building.”
Cranky has visions of a karaoke tour.
Anyway, the Cranky Old Guy found himself beyond the beyond, specifically in a remote part of the State of Idaho. Now, don’t take this the wrong way because the Cranky Old Guy’s heritage is deeply rooted in parts of rural Virginia and Maryland where “redneck” describes the more refined inhabitants, but this particular bar in this particular part of Idaho had some colorful folks.
The occasion was an impromptu party following the marriage of a daughter. After the festivities, a small group, at the behest of an individual we shall call “Kathleen,” adjourned to a local bar where karaoke facilities were provided. Among the small group were some individuals who had experience with this karaoke thing, although in staid New England. One of these individuals, we’ll call him “Adrian,” promptly got up on the stage and belted out a semi-recognizable version of Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline.
Now the Cranky Old Guy expected the worse. How would this crowd of colorful folk in a remote part of Idaho react to an obvious interloper bellowing “Hands, Touching Hands, Reaching Out, Touching Me, Sweet Caroline. . .?”
Cranky prepared himself for mayhem. He wondered if he would comport himself up to the standard Toby Keith sang about in Not As Good As I Once Was. But surprise, the crowd went wild with enthusiasm. One particular young lady, in a bikini only partially covered by cut-off farmer’s overalls, practically mauled poor Adrian in a paroxysm of ecstasy.
So the evening went. To increasing excitement, Adrian sang more songs. He was joined by “Bart,” maybe not quite as talented but possessed with considerable exuberance. “Charles” provided dance moves of unparalleled contortions. Kathleen, “Betty,” “Adie,” and “Ronda” functioned as serious groupies. “William” managed to maintain a designated driver status.
Finally, Cranky, who definitely was not maintaining a designated driver status, was prevailed upon to join the song fest. He, Adrian, and Bart did a version of the Righteous Brothers’ You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling that would have been the envy of Mav, Cougar, and the Iceman. The crowd went nuts.
After a few more songs, it was time to go. The crowd yelled “No, not yet!” So the group together did one more song: Elvis’ Suspicious Minds. Cranky, who actually remembers Elvis, let it all hang out. As they departed to thunderous applause, Cranky swore he heard the good ol’ boy running the karaoke equipment announce, “Elvis has left the building.”
Cranky has visions of a karaoke tour.
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