WHO GETS LEHMAN'S PATENTS?

Okay, Lehman Brothers, a premier investment bank, a venerable Wall Street institution, a key component of the nation’s financial system for over a century, has gone belly up. Now the question is, who gets its patents.

Patents!? What patents would a company that deals in intangibles—stocks, bonds, advice, financial derivatives whose acronyms span the alphabet—have? Aren’t patents limited to things you can touch, feel, get an electrical shock from? Well, my friends, if that is your view of patents, you are so 20th Century.

Today, the United States Patent and Trademark Office grants patents for fuzzy, nebulous things like tax strategies; and financial securities that are just a little bit different than existing financial securities; and systems for, allegedly, making money in the buying and selling of stocks, bonds, and other financial products, including the goofy ones that have contributed to our present troubles.

Last year, In July, Lehman was assigned patent 7,249,083. The subject of this patent is “a novel investment vehicle for increasing the flexibility of select convertible bonds and other equity-linked securities.” The description contained in the patent is convoluted in the extreme and if the subject of a U.S. Supreme Court case could easily result in nine separate opinions. But the essence seems to be a debt instrument that, upon the happening of various contingencies, the purchaser could convert into an equity security that the issuer in turn would have an option to purchase.

Sort of a heads I win, tails you lose thing.

The next month, August 2007, Lehman was assigned patent 7,263,502 for a method of selecting winners and losers based on their market positions. The method used a “volume/turnover filter” that would supposedly enable investors to predict “when to hold some stocks long and others short over various time period[s], thereby maximizing the profitability of a portfolio.”

Maybe you should have used it yourself, Lehman.

And in December 2007, Lehman was assigned patent 7,310,618 for a method of creating a loan delinquency database. The method involves the massaging of historical loan data and various factors concerning loans to arrive at probabilities of delinquencies. The description in the patent asserts that the method “simplifies the underwriting of . . . sub-prime loans.”

Immortal words, those.

Although granted in 2007, the applications for these patents had been filed much earlier, in the years 2000 to 2004, suggesting that the methods and systems described had been in use for some time.

Lehman Brothers is by no means the only financial firm with patents on financial practices that have turned out to be dubious at best. The list of others includes Goldman Sachs & Co., JPMorgan Chase Bank, N.A., and good ol’ Freddie Mac. The troubled Washington Mutual, Inc., even has a patent, 6,681,985, for the arrangement of furniture and equipment, including the provision of “kid’s area,” in a branch office.

Many of these patents are called business methods patents, and the growth in their numbers can be traced to the 1998 State Street decision by the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Federal Circuit (State Street Bank & Trust Company v. Signature Financial Group, Inc.). For the financial industry, these patents provide evidence of the muddled thinking, grand expectations, poor oversight, and outright greed that have brought Wall Street to its knees.

For the U.S. patent system, business methods patents are a beloved child who is growing into a rampaging, out-of-control teenager. The Patent Office contends that it does not grant patents for computer software, but a large proportion of business methods patents contain little more than software. Tweak a bit of existing software and you have a new patent.

The good news, at least for those who think the patent system needs reining in, is that the Court of Appeals for the Federal Circuit heard an important case on the matter in May. The case was In re Bilski, and the patent was for a method enabling energy consumers to hedge risk. A decision is expected anytime, and commentators in the patent field say the court will likely narrow the field of what may be patented.

And as for Lehman’s patents? The financial system might be better off if they join Lehman Brothers in Potter’s Field.

LIPSTICK ON A PIG

This lipstick on a pig thing has gotten out of hand. To recap, in her speech before the Country Club (Republican) convention, Sarah Palin aroused the audience and much of the right wing media, some apparently sexually, by saying that the only difference between hockey moms and pit bulls was lipstick.

Then Barack Obama gave a speech in which he listed the many ways in which John McCain is trying to resell failed or questionable Country Club (Republican) positions and policies. Obama finished with an oft used analogy: trying to pretty up the failed and questionable policies from the past is like putting lipstick on a pig, a phrase, by the way, that John McCain has himself used on occasion.

Country Clubbers (Republicans) gleefully countered by charging that Obama was making a derogatory reference to Sarah Palin. The Obama campaign has of course denied that.

But instead of being defensive the Obama people, in the opinion of the Cranky Old Guy, should go on the offense. Here’s a suggestion for a new campaign ad.

Clip 1: Sarah Palin is making one of her cute statements that has turned out to be inaccurate at best; for example, the statement that she rejected Congress’s attempt to fund the bridge to nowhere when in fact she was for it initially and only became against it after Congress had already turned thumbs down.

Clip 2: John McCain is shown making one of his lipstick on a pig statements.

Clip 3: Another of Sarah’s half-truths is shown, such as her implication that she disposed of the Alaskan Governor’s plane on ebay.

Clip 4: John McCain utters another lipstick on a pig statement.

Clip 5: Another Sarah half-truth.

Clip 6: Another John McCain lipstick on a pig.

Clip 7: “I’m Barack Obama and I approve this message.”

And that’s how Cranky would put lipstick on a pig.

HAIRCUT

Every now and then—actually, quite frequently—Cranky is reminded how the culture is passing him by. The latest reminder occurred recently at a barber shop.

You remember barber shops, right? Those places with red and white poles outside where guys go to get haircuts? That is, unless you’re the kind of guy that goes to a “hair stylist” place.

Cranky has always thought that things were pretty simple at a barber shop. The barber asked how you wanted it cut. You replied with something like, “Just a trim,” or maybe “Medium.”

Sometimes the barber might asked, “Tapered in back?” Cranky has never known quite sure what that meant, so he always answered “Yes.” And then after electric clippers on the sides and back and some scissors action, you were done. You felt some haircuts were better than others, but they were all mostly okay. Very infrequently, maybe once a decade, you thought the result was really odd, and family and friends snickered a bit, but new growth soon returned you to a familiar state.

So for most of Cranky’s life, barber shops have been places of stability in a world of bewildering change. The stability hasn’t been absolutely complete. For example, female barbers are much more numerous nowadays—a welcomed development, in Cranky’s view—but for the most part the barber shop of today is not much different than the barber shop of yesteryear.

Thus Cranky was not prepared for what transpired during his most recent trip to the barber shop. Shortly after Cranky was seated and bibbed up, another patron took an adjacent chair. The barber asked, “How do you want it?”

Which was the trigger for a dissertation. “Just clippers on the side except for ‘round the ears where scissors only. And scissors only on the top. Go easy on the neck shave in back. And just light scissors on the sideburns. Don’t shave below them.”

What the heck!? Cranky stole a look sideways. He was a youngish dark-haired dude with one of those spiked hair situations. Not a multitude of spikes, just a small one in front. Late thirties at the most, he looked at the peak of his game, a master of the universe. All success thus far. Life had not gotten around to those kicks in the groin.

The real question was, what was he doing in a barber shop? Hair stylist was where he belonged, pure and simple. “Hey Dude, this place is for us ancient types. There’s a fru-fru joint down the block, just the thing for you and other pretty boys, like John Edwards.”

TIMES ARE HARD AND YOU'RE NOT

In recent radio advertisements in the Washington, D.C., area, a local erectile dysfunction clinic has found in the troubled financial situation a reason to seek the clinic’s services. The advertisement says that in these difficult times, you need “intimacy” more than ever. The unspoken follow on is that apparently you can’t have “intimacy” without a great big throbbing, well, you get the picture.

So how about some other ad slogans linking the economy and ED:

Times are hard and you’re not.

Need a new stimulus package?

Are you as soft as the economy?

The job market isn’t the only thing shriveling up.

Mortgage loans and you: both subprime.

Shafted: the economy yes, you no.

The economy limps along, and you’re just limp.

The difference between you and the stock market? The stock market occasionally rises.

You and your portfolio, both shrinking.

Interest rates rise, interest rates fall. You just fall.

WORST FLUSH PERCENTAGE

Over the last year and a half, Cranky has had four different jobs. It's not that Cranky can't hold down a position, it's just that. . .well, it's complicated.

Anyway, the four jobs mean that Cranky was in four different workplaces. Being the observant guy he is, Cranky discerned that things were not always the same. One thing that was different among the four workplaces was lavatories.

Lavatories can be measured in various ways. For example, for a given system of commodes over a given period of time, what is the flush percentage? If a system has five commodes and they are all five operable for the whole period of time, the system has a flush percentage of 100 percent. If one commode is out for the whole period, the system has a flush percentage of 80 percent. If three commodes are each out for one-half the period, the system has a flush percentage of 70 percent (Cranky thinks this calculation is correct, but you’d better check the math.)

The last place Cranky worked had one commode for about forty users. One might expect that this many users would result in a significantly low flush percentage (and in forty uncomfortable individuals.)

But such was not the case. This commode took all that was dropped and kept right on flushing.

No, the place with the worst flush percent was an office building of, drum roll please, the United States Senate. In spite of surrounding walls, ceilings, and floors of first rate material—stone, fine tile—and top-of-the-line models, Senate commodes seemed to spend a lot of time just fermenting noxious nastiness.

A wiseacre might be tempted to say that with such a concentration of BS, no wonder the Senate commodes were constantly clogging up. But Cranky is not a wiseacre.

PREACHERS AND POLITICS

One beneficial result of the brouhahas caused by some religious leaders over recent weeks and months just might be a lower role for men (and women) of the cloth in the political arena. For some years now, words from at least a few pulpits have had a decidedly secular tinge. Yes, the ostensible theme may have been how to achieve eternal salvation. But the means have included the proper stances on political issues, and political figures.

Concerning religion, the First Amendment to the Constitution is often described as mandating the separation of church and state. But the specific language is a little more one-sided: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.”

Note that the prohibitions are directed at Congress. Nothing in the First Amendment explicitly prevents religions and their adherents from seeking to impose their views on government. On some questions, the views may coincide with those of many other citizens. On other questions, however, a position pushed by a religion and its adherents may not be much evident in other elements of the population.

Moreover, nothing in the First Amendment explicitly prevents political pronouncements, economic theories, diatribes, rants, absurdities, and whatall from the pulpit. Many citizens, whether church goers or not, may have been unaware that from a few pulpits strange words are heard, and that in a few pulpits are strange individuals, narcissistic, self-absorbed, playing to the crowd.

The exposure of such words and individuals to the judgment of a broader audience could tarnish somewhat the halo that a few religious leaders have attempted over the years to wear around the political arena. To be more explicit, Preachers are like the rest of us: some good, some bad, some rational, some not. If such long time political evangelists as the departed Jerry Falwell and the still with us Pat Robertson are seen not as just a step removed from the mainstream but as just a step removed from the Reverend Jeremiah Wright, more people might be less inclined to accord them and their views respect.

JOHN McCAIN, PLEASE STOP TALKING LIKE THAT

John, you have got to stop talking like last century. Most recently, you said something to the effect “I will never surrender in Iraq.”

Hey John, there is nobody to surrender to in Iraq! It is not that kind of war. You and the guy you want to replace keeping talking about victory, surrender, and other things that just don’t apply to the situation. If we left Iraq tomorrow, hook, line, and sinker, not leaving a single American soldier, it would not be surrender. We would just be quitting. Maybe not a good thing to do, but surrendering is not what it would be.

Here’s the problem, John. A good number of Americans, probably at this point most Americans, realize Iraq is not a World War II kind of war. Whatever the ending is, there is not gonna be a peace treaty signed on the battleship Missouri as the Navy stages one humongous flyover. For years, probably decades, and maybe even centuries, Iraq, and indeed the whole Middle East, will continue to be one messy place.

Democracy as we understand it in the U.S.? Forget it. Stability? Precarious at best. Our goal in Iraq and the Middle East should be modest: keeping the lid on as the people, hopefully, mature politically.

John, if you keep talking like a George Bush clone you will get the votes of a certain hardcore constituency. But I would be plenty surprised if the World War II era talk gets you to the White House.

You are a bona fide American hero, John. But being a hero doesn’t mean you have an understanding of what makes the world tick.

CONSERVATIVES & LIBERALS

At their best, conservatives want the status quo.

At their worst, conservatives want yesterday’s status quo.

At their best, liberals want a better tomorrow.

At their worst, liberals want a perfect tomorrow.

TORTURE, PUNISHMENT, AND GUNS

To have a successful blog, the blogger should be up bright and early. She or he should exhaustively peruse news and commentary sources. Then she or he should pound out her or his thoughts, opinions, and whatall.

Cranky is much too lazy for all this. He’s usually up late. He does peruse news and commentary sources, but it takes him most of the day. And only occasionally does he burden you with his thoughts. (Be thankful for small favors.)

All of this is by way of explaining why Cranky is just getting around to commenting on an event that occurred a couple of weeks ago. U.S. Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia appeared on CBS’s 60 Minutes. Among the subjects that intellectual giant Leslie Stahl discussed with Honorable Antonin was the Eighth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, the amendment that prohibits cruel and unusual punishment. Honorable Antonin contended that the Eighth Amendment does not necessarily prohibit torture because torture is not necessarily punishment. Pulling fingernails to make some alleged terrorist spill his guts is apparently just trying to get information; it is not punishment.

Talk about nitpicking on the meaning of words. Honorable Antonin is definitely one heckuva nitpicker.

Okay, but if you’re gonna be a nitpicker, you should nitpick all the way. For example, let’s take another Constitutional Amendment, the Second, you know, the one that says the right to bear arms shall not be abridged. Here's the nitpick. Strictly construed, really strictly construed, “arms” should have the meaning it had at the time the Amendment was adopted. And at that time, the meaning was ye olde musket.

So the Second Amendment permits you to have all the muskets you want. But forget about that AK-47, or even that .22.

Some might contend that Cranky’s reasoning is defective. His Second Amendment interpretation is a time warp thing, which is different that Honorable Antonin’s torture is not punishment thing. But Cranky contends that at the heart of both arguments is nitpicking in the extreme. If you’re gonna pick a nit between torture and punishment, you should be consistent and pick a nit over the meaning of “arms.”

Back to you, Antonin.

PROFOUND QUESTIONS OF LIFE #1

Do women still use bobby pins?

ALBATROSS DEBATE

Hillary Clinton’s call for an unmoderated debate between her and Barack Obama is at least intriguing. And it might really, finally be a debate with substantial substance. We certainly need something better than that last pathetic effort overseen by Charlie Gibson and George Stephanopoulos. The media have become much too part of the story.

But a much more interesting debate might be between the campaign albatrosses: Hillary’s albatross Bill and Barack’s albatross Jeremiah.

For you people unfamiliar with the albatross thing (asleep in senior English, eh?), the metaphor, allusion, or whatever, refers, according to Wikipedia (yeah, Wikipedia, you got a problem with that) to an encumbrance, or a wearisome burden. The origin of the concept is Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner. In the poem, the mariner (refers to a guy on a ship) shoots an albatross with a crossbow. Then all kinds of bad things happen; so the negative concept of having an albatross hanging from one’s neck.

Get it now? Bill is Hillary’s albatross, and Jeremiah is Barack’s albatross.

Wouldn’t that be a heck of a debate? Two more articulate guys are hard to find. And two more perfect albatrosses. Jeremiah could spout his gibberish about religion, his evil homeland, and whatall, and Bill could vent his rage at the fact that he can’t be President anymore.

MILITARY TALKING HEADS

In this past Sunday’s edition of The New York Times (April 20, 2008), the military talking heads that have been clarifying the Iraqi excursion for us for the last five years were taken to task. The Times presented considerable evidence that many of them were not only faithful parrots of the Bush/Cheney/Rumsfeld line but also eager participants in the lucrative business of defense contracting.

Military talking heads, of course, are the retired military generals, colonels, and lesser ranks who are the war “experts” on CNN, NBC, CBS, ABC, MSNBC, and last but certainly not least, FOX.

Now the Cranky Old Guy has always been aware (meaning since he was cognizant of a world beyond his sandbox) of the military-industrial complex thing. He even remembers President Eisenhower’s speech on the subject. Or at least reading of the speech. Recently, he had the opportunity to see again “Why We Fight,” a PBS production of several years ago that, with Eisenhower’s speech as an introduction setting the theme, looked at the supportive, often incestuous relationship between the Pentagon, defense contractors, and Congress.

So Cranky is not naïve. And as a veteran he has even spent some time in the MI complex himself. But the Times article was really pretty startling. Not only did Rumsfled and his flunkies make a substantial, coordinated, and largely successful effort to coop the military talking heads. Many of those heads were receiving big bucks from the defense contracting establishment. Conflicts of interest? Apparently not enough that the TV mucky-mucks thought we should know about the possibility.

Some of the military talking heads allowed to the Times that they didn’t buy all the stuff they were briefed. But they largely kept their doubts out of their public comments.

And speaking of “briefed,” notice how central this concept has become in this PowerPoint age. PowerPoint briefings have become the principal way information is conveyed. A problem might be that PowerPoint simplifies far too much. Our ability to delve deep into complex situations, to grasp pros, cons, nuances, the big picture, and the details may be eroding.

Perhaps nowhere is the PowerPoint culture more deeply embedded than the military establishment. Congressional committees don’t usually permit witnesses to use PowerPoint. But blown up PowerPoint slides can become easel-size charts, and these charts are liberally allowed. In General David Petraeus’ recent appearances before Congress, he had a full bird Colonel putting charts on an easel and pointing out stuff as Petraeus talked (for you non-military types, a full bird Colonel is pretty high on the totem pole). And the Colonel had a Captain to hold the pointer when it wasn’t being used. They were both probably part of the 33rd PowerPoint Platoon (Airborne).

“He [or She] gives good brief” is the sign of an up and comer at the Pentagon. Iraq may be the first PowerPoint war. Helluva precedent.

COMPASSION FORUM

Cranky is reaching the end of his rope with this Presidential campaign. The twenty-four news cycle threatens to make us all imbeciles. Needing something new at the top of every hour, the talking heads hop on every malapropism, slip of the tongue, pick of the nose, scratch of the zit, sideways glance, and what all. A candidate’s every word and action is dissected, resected, and dissected again. A meandering thought becomes occasion for analysis akin to a Phd dissertation.

Occasionally, issues are discussed. Mostly though, the focus is on the superficial.

And it isn’t all the media’s fault. The candidates light into each other’s musings with the intensity and ferociousness a feral cat ripping into a song sparrow. To Hillary and Obama, John McCain’s off-hand comment about the possibility of being in Iraq for one hundred years becomes a major policy announcement. To Obama and John, Hillary’s war story embellishment reveals a fundamental character flaw. To John and Hillary, Obama’s unguarded comment about small-town America exposes a bigot’s inner soul.

Adding to the verbal cauldron is our man Bill. Up until the South Carolina primary, Bill was viewed by friend and foe alike as a political natural. You may not have liked him, you may have thought his morals a bit loose, but most acknowledged that he seemed a political genius.

Well, no more. In two short months Bill has shown that he can put his foot in his mouth with the best of them. If Hillary finds herself not her party’s nominee, she can give Bill much of the credit. Should make for an interesting phase of their unusual marriage.

But all this is prelude to Cranky’s thoughts of the moment. Tonight, CNN had what it called a Compassion Forum. In essence, the candidates were to be grilled on their personal religious beliefs. Jefferson, Madison, Franklin, Mason, Monroe, and the other Founding Fathers would not have been pleased.

Cranky lasted only a few minutes. CNN’s Campbell Brown, that theological giant, started Hillary off with a question about the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Whaa! We’re electing a President, not Medieval Monk of the Year.

So six months still to go before the idiocy is over. This twenty-four news cycle stuff, this interconnectedness that has come to dominate our lives, can’t be for the better. Cranky doesn’t necessarily think the world as a whole is dumbing down. But in this information age, this electronic age, the lowest common denominator has become the standard in the public forum. Is this the future?

WAR STORIES

Okay, so Hillary Clinton told a whopper of a war story. She did not in fact run across the tarmac with her head down to avoid snipers. Her lie was contradicted by the video.

But as many veterans might admit if really pressed, war stories often stray from the basic facts. When described later in a calm setting, the basic facts do not capture the stress, tension, fear, and excitement the individual felt at the time. To convey what the individual felt, it is very tempting to add a few embellishments, and later a few more, and so on.

Put another way, the truth at the core of a war story often becomes obscured by the teller’s need to convey what the event meant to him or her.

The difficulty of sticking to the truth in war stories is a component problem of how we treat war in general. We easily mouth condemnations about the horrors of war, about the need to avoid war if at all possible. But we have considerable difficulty acknowledging the attractions of war and how those attractions can lead us to the very thing we profess to despise.

In his own unique, tactless, chilling way, President George W. Bush recently stumbled on the subject of wars’ attractions. In a call to U.S. military personnel in Afghanistan, the President waxed envious about how romantic it must be to chase bad guys in the mountainous wilds halfway around the world. The President wished he were younger so he could participate, sort of a wannabe war story. (Uh, Mr. President, didn’t you once have a chance for something similar? Okay, won’t go there.)

The presumptive Republican nominee for President, John McCain, who certainly has earned the right to tell bona fide war stories, indirectly chided the President by noting in a speech that there was nothing romantic about war.

So we have Hillary Clinton telling a whopper of a war story, George Bush with a wannabe war story, and John McCain seemingly contending that wars have no attractions for human beings. Which of the three mouthed the most dangerous words?

Ms. Clinton comes in last, the least dangerous pronouncement. Yes, she told a flagrant lie. The telling of the lie does not reflect well on her overall truthfulness. But her lie would not likely lead to a bad decision on national policy, to the commitment of American flesh and blood to some quixotic adventure.

Mr. McCain comes in second. By implying that war is all horror and no romantic adventure, he dismisses a cause of war: the seeking of that romantic adventure, either by our enemies or by us. This is not to say that war is never justified. It is justified on occasion, at least to most of us, but the justification should be thorough enough to remove the element of frolicking for fun in exotic lands.

In addition, if Mr. McCain is completely dismissing the attractions of war, one has to wonder about the motivation of three generations of McCains, career navy men all. Okay, so a career in the military does not necessarily imply a love of war. But it makes unequivocal expressions about a hatred of war a little hard to take.

Perhaps the ambivalence of the military man toward war was best captured by General Douglas MacArthur in his farewell address at West Point. After paying lip service to the desire for peace, he said:

I listen vainly for the witching melody of faint bugles blowing reveille, of far drums beating the long roll. In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns , the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield.

We want our military men both to hate war and to acknowledge its attractions.

Which brings us to the winner of the most dangerous words contest. The President’s words carry the opposite import of those of John McCain. The President talked of the romantic nature of war without much convincing talk of war’s horrors and brutality. And his words are not in a vacuum. He and like minded cohorts cavalierly took the nation to war in 2003. There was inadequate planning, inadequate thought about the future, inadequate attention to the consequences. There was just the romantic notion of bringing, by force or arms, freedom and democracy to the Middle East.

Unfortunately about war is the fact that its nastiness, dirtiness, horrors, brutality, and tragedy are partially offset by its romanticism. The nation needs a leader who recognizes and acknowledges the ambivalence and contradictions.

HILLARY'S TRACY FLICK MOMENT

The resemblance between Hillary Clinton and Tracy Flick has not gone unnoticed. Goggle Tracy Flick and various Hillary-related websites pop up. For those who don’t know Tracy Flick, she was the Reese Witherspoon character in the 1999 movie “Election.” And for those not familiar with “Election,” which also starred Matthew Broderick (Ferris Bueller), only watch it if you want to be reminded of your worst high school nightmares.

Every high school has a Tracy Flick or Flicks. She is the earnest, calculating, striving self-promoter who answers all the questions, dominates class discussions, and participates in more extracurricular activities than you can shake a stick at. She is a perennial mainstay of student government. She knows neither sarcasm nor cynicism. Her senior yearbook entry puts yours to shame. And she can just as well be a he as a she, but in our culture a female Tracy Flick is somehow the more common stereotype.

In the Ohio debate on Tuesday, February 27, Hillary had a Tracy Flick moment. Tim Russert started grilling Barack Obama about his endorsement by Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan, an individual with a long history of anti-Semitic statements. Obama said he had no contact with Farrakhan, had not solicited the endorsement, certainly did not agree with any of Farrakhan’s anti-Semitic remarks, and in fact denounced those remarks.

But Russert was not satisfied. He wanted to know if Barack specifically “rejected” Farrakhan’s endorsement. Barack was obviously having difficulty with the concept of “rejecting” an endorsement. What does “rejecting” something intangible mean? How does one go about it?

At this point, Hillary’s inner Tracy Flick felt compelled to explain the matter to Barack, and to the rest of us. She described at length how in her first Senate campaign in New York she had, at great political risk, “rejected” the support and endorsement of potential backers with anti-Semitic views. It was clear to her that Barack’s denunciation was not enough. An affirmative “rejection” was explicitly called for. The implication was that Barack had been tested and fallen short.

In just a few words, Barack defused the issue, took the wind out of Hillary’s and Tim’s sails, and probably gained the support of many who have bad memories of long ago smug corrections by a Tracy Flick. Barack said that he saw no difference between his denunciation and Hillary’s rejection, but if it made her happy, he would both “reject and denounce.” Too bad he didn’t add a “whatever.”

So there, Tracy, er Hillary.

CONGRESSIONAL CHART DOOFUS

Avid watchers of C-Span—and that would put you amongst a pretty weird group—may have caught a glimpse of the Cranky Old Guy recently. Due to a pretty convoluted set of circumstances, Cranky found himself as a Congressional Chart Doofus.

Now, the world doesn’t have many Chart Doofuses, and Congressional Chart Doofuses are an even rarer species. When members of the House or Senate speak on the floor of Congress, they don’t have any of the technological assistance that speakers in other environments rely upon. There is no PowerPoint, no video, nothing to acknowledge that the world is half a century or more into the information age. What there is, is big physical charts, maybe three feet by four feet. A chart may contain words, pictures, graphs, and the like.

The charts are put on easels as a legislator speaks. C-Span aficionados will have seen these easels and charts behind or to the side of speaking legislators. The individual who puts a chart on an easel at the appropriate moment in a legislator’s speech is known as a Chart Doofus.

Contrary to what one might think, Chart Doofusing is not an easy job.

For one thing, Chart Doofusing is like field goal kicking: you’re only as good as your last effort. Put a chart upside down, put up the wrong chart, not even having the correct chart at hand—such faux paxes can instantly erase the memory of dozens of successful, straight-through-the-uprights shots.

And for anyone other than a member of Congress, the floor of the House or Senate is an extremely authoritarian environment. A whole passel of disciplinarians is on hand to make sure lesser mortals do not walk, sit, whisper, scratch, or whatever in the wrong place. Screw up more than a couple of times and a Congressional Chart Doofus is seeking another line of work.

Cranky survived, barely, his bit of Chart Doofusing. But it’s not something he wants to make a habit of. And indeed it would be unwise to put old antiauthoritarian types like Cranky in such a public position. Cranky’s days of trying to work his way up a career ladder are long past. Right now, he’s just trying to pad his pension. So he wouldn’t have a whole lot to lose if he reacted to one of the disciplinarians by loudly saying, on C-Span, “Bite Me.”

TIME FOR BILL TO GO

Dear Hillary:

If you want to be President of these United States, you need to cut Bill loose. He has become a colossal distraction. His ranting and raving are not being well received. He cost you beaucoup votes in South Carolina. He has people asking, “I want to put up with his enormous ego for the next four years?”

So it’s time to say to him: “Bill, I let you get away with being serviced by the fat intern. But now you are standing between me and the Presidency. It’s splitsville time for us. My lawyers will be contacting your lawyers. It’s been real.”

Sincerely,
The Cranky Old Guy

CRANKY'S CHRISTMAS BLOG

Cranky has had a helluva year, and he thinks you should know about it. He never got into the writing of Christmas Letters, those long meandering tomes about what the family has done the past twelve months, but the internets, with all their interconnected tubes and stuff, give him another avenue of presentation.

Cranky’s year started with open heart surgery, his second such operation. At issue was a bad valve. No sweat for the docs: they opened Cranky up, sliced and diced, and were done by lunch. As for Cranky, he was a hospitalized zombie for close to a week, and then an agitated over-medicated basket case for three months. Restless leg syndrome? Cranky had it day and night. Sleep was an occasional thing.

While Cranky was recuperating, he was fired from his contract job editing stuff for some federal agency. Talk about hard-hearted.

So Cranky ended up training as a Patent Examiner for the U.S. Patent Office. One problem was that Cranky was in a training class whose instructor was an angry little guy from somewhere in Central Asia, which was also where Attila the Hun was from. Cranky hadn’t been yelled at that much since Army basic training some forty years ago.

The second problem was that Cranky’s field of patent applications was something called business methods patents. Talk about garbage. A patent is supposed to be about an invention, but business methods patents are just mostly lengthy wordy descriptions of how to shuffle paper. Many of the so-called inventions are no more than feeding data into a computer, letting the computer massage and manipulate the data, and getting some result.

Six weeks into his career as a Patent Examiner, Cranky, as he was leaving for the day, handed his security badge to the guard, saying, “I ain’t coming back.” The guard commented, “Bad day, huh.” Cranky responded, “Bad month.”

So Cranky was back in the ranks of the unemployed. Weeks of unsuccessful job hunting went by, as did weeks of watching the family’s savings evaporate. Even what Cranky thought of as his ace-in-the-hole job didn’t pan out. Given his outdoor experience and several decades of buying their stuff, Cranky figured he could always get a job selling outdoor gear at REI. But his lack of knowledge about modern fabrics and about how one should dress for looking good in the wilderness apparently were reasons for no second interview. Those plus the fact that when asked how previous employers would characterize him, Cranky responded: “trouble accepting authority.” Anyway, Cranky is transferring his business to Hudson Trail Outfitters or Eastern Mountain Sports.

In the meantime, Cranky’s oldest daughter and her husband quit perfectly respectable jobs and move into Cranky’s basement. Bringing with them two dogs the size of ponies. The dogs are named Biff and Biff.

Cranky’s other daughter gets married in some place on the back side of Idaho. Cranky lets off steam by belting out the Righteous Brothers’ “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” and Elvis’ “Suspicious Minds” at a local karaoke bar. The daughter moves to Kuwait.

Finally, as the year wound down, Cranky landed a temporary writing job at, of all places, the U.S. Senate. The downside is that Cranky is putting in far too many hours. The upside is that it’s a paycheck.

So from Cranky and his family—Ms. Cranky, daughter #1, husband, and Biff and Biff in the basement, daughter #2 and husband in Kuwait—Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Pleasant Holidays, and all that stuff.

DEMOCRATS TAKE AIM AT FOOT

In their effort to tie Iraqi war funding to a timetable for withdrawal, Congressional Democrats are taking dead aim at their collective foot. Only two outcomes seem possible: the Democrats capitulate ignominiously or are blamed for the disruption of Defense Department operations. If an outcome exists that is more favorable to Democrats and their aspirations regarding the 2008 elections but still compatible with tying funding to a withdrawal timetable, it is not apparent.

Why this need to court disaster? One reason is that since the 2006 elections the left wing base of the Democratic party has been accusing Congressional Democrats of being wimps. The attitude is “Hey, we won the election. We captured both the House and the Senate. How come the war is still going on?” This criticism ignores elementary math, nothing complicated like algebra, trigonometry, or calculus, just your basic math, the type you use to balance your check book.

Yes, Democrats captured the House and the Senate. But not by much, certainly not by enough to impose their will on a stubborn, recalcitrant President who has demonstrated zero ability or desire to compromise. The desire of the left wing base for instant gratification is simply unrealistic.

A second reason for courting disaster is extreme anger at that stubborn, recalcitrant President. Someone so densely assured of his own righteousness is most certainly infuriating. Just once you want to wipe that smirk off his face, to make him cry “uncle.” But blinding anger is a dangerous basis for action.

What should the Democrats’ strategy be? Faced with George Bush’s childish my-way-or-the-highway approach, Democrats should unceasingly preach the need for more Democrats in Congress and for a Democrat in the White House. The elections are less than a year away. Patience and an election strategy emphasizing the rational alternative to a Republican party that has purged its moderates and become captive to its own wacko base constitute a smarter approach.

Democrats should also not ignore that a timetable for withdrawal does exist. It was announced by General David Petraeus when he testified to Congress several months ago. It may not be quick enough for many Americans, but it certainly provides a benchmark that the President, and his successor, ignore at their peril.

What the instant-gratification portion of the Democratic Party ignores is that the United States has strategic interests in the Middle East. This interests will last well beyond George Bush’s debacle. Yes, the maintenance of a large military force in Iraq for the indefinite future is not a realistic strategy. But neither is the immediate withdrawal of all military forces.

CRANKY GETS A BLACKBERRY

The Cranky Old Guy’s first calculator was a slide rule. His first key board was part of a manual typewriter. If either of these things is unfamiliar, you might check Wikipedia.

Anyway, Cranky, unable to function on the modest retirement funds he had accrued over the years, recently found himself back in the workforce. And one of the things he was issued his first day on the job was this Blackberry thing.

Now, from time-to-time Cranky has used cell phones, basic cell phones. And they have been a problem. Turning them on and off, seeing things on the little tiny screens, punching little tiny keys with big arthritic fingers, figuring out how to enter phone numbers, how to answer the things, how to actually get a phone number out into the air, all this stuff Cranky only reached a minimum level of competence regarding.

So now Cranky has something that allegedly is a phone, an emailer, a web browser, a GPS navigator, a music player, and a whole bunch of other stuff. But there’s no manual. Supposedly there’s a help button or menu or something, but no tangible manual that you can hold in your hands and thumb through. For Cranky’s generation, manuals are essential.

If Cranky’s success in this new job is dependent upon getting this Blackberry thing to work, he will be shortly looking again. On the other hand, maybe with all the abilities this Blackberry thing has, it can function as a TV. A couch potato at the office: now that’s cool.

IS THE PATENT SYSTEM BROKEN?

Should the arrangement of furniture and equipment, including the provision for a “kid’s area,” in the branch office of a bank receive patent protection? It did in Patent No. 6,681,985, issued January 27, 2004.

Should a search request in the form of “a string of words” in a computerized investment research delivery system receive patent protection? It did in Patent No. 5,502,637, issued March 26, 1996.

Should a “computer program product storing computer instructions therein for instructing a computer to perform a process of at least one of ranking and indexing enterprises with respect to at least one of each other and predetermined criteria to be used in at least one of investment decision making and enterprise decision making” receive patent protection? Whatever it means, it did in Patent No. 6,154,731, issued November 28, 2000.

Such patents may not be evidence of a broken patent system, but they certainly suggest to some that the system needs overhauling. After a stint of a little more than a month as a patent examiner trainee, the Cranky Old Guy is one of those some.

Cranky is a retired federal government employee who is not ready to leave the workforce completely and who needs to pad his pension to pay those lovely Northern Virginia real estate taxes. To handle an avalanche of new patents, the Patent Office is trying to expand by over 1,000 examiners a year. It seemed a good match. Examining patent applications might prove interesting and challenging, and the Patent Office certainly seems to need warm bodies, ideally warm bodies with a little experience, particularly legal experience.

Why does the patent office need new examiners? Between fiscal years 2000 and 2006, the number of utility patent applications, the most common type, filed each year increased from just under 300,000 to over 400,000. At year end for fiscal years 2000 and 2006, the number of applications pending soared from approximately 485,000 to over 1 million. Some applications have been pending for five years or more.

And what is behind those numbers? Two related factors are among the causes of growth. First, in 1998 the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Federal Circuit issued the State Street decision that significantly bolstered the concept of business methods patents (State Street Bank & Trust Company v. Signature Financial Group, Inc.). The decision led to a substantial increase in applications for this type of patent.

Second, and more far-reaching, computers and the digital age have dramatically lowered the costs of innovation and invention in a number of fields, including the business methods field. Using computers, incremental changes to patented items can be investigated and simulated with relative ease. In addition, many so-called inventions today are little more than data-in, data-out manipulations of data. Some broad ill-defined data inputs are run through some sort of computer program or programs the output of which is some broad ill-defined rating, or score, or advice. This soft, fuzzy center is camouflaged by much description of computer hardware and by detailed diagrams and flow charts, but the essence of the so-called inventions is simply the manipulation of data. In the business methods field, a business or finance student on a slow afternoon at the computer can come up with an “invention,” and maybe eventually a patent.

Why is this bad? Because in the hands of a litigious “inventor,” or more likely a litigious collector of patented incremental alterations in existing processes, a patent becomes a tool of extortion and a burden on legitimate commerce. The desirable public policy of rewarding the efforts of a long-tolling inventor falls flat: the efforts were minimal and the tolling was not long.

Currently, the main tool of patent examiners in the rejection of patent applications is known by the term “prior art.” Prior art refers to an invention identical or similar to the one in the pending application. Most prior art is found in patents that have already been issued. In the business methods area, however, many practices have never been patented, indeed were until recent years never considered the proper subject of a patent. Thus even though a method or something very similar has long been in use, no patent covers it. The search then turns to what is called nonpatent literature, but searching nonpatent literature can be very time-consuming and in some cases unproductive. Many long-established, widely-used practices in business are so commonplace that they are not the subject of much publicly available literature.

What is needed in the business methods field, and in other fields, is a more fundamental look at the patent laws, a look that would take into account the ease with which “inventions” can be made in the digital age. Under current law, a utility patent, the most common type, can be granted for any “new and useful process, machine, manufacture, or composition of matter, or any new and useful improvement thereof.”

Note there is no specific mention of “product.” Nevertheless, the patent system, which was established in 1793, has long been operated on the premise that a product falls somewhere in the categories of machine, manufacture, or composition of matter. Indeed, the Supreme Court has stated the expansive view that the patent system covers “anything under the sun that is made by man.”

Prior to 1952, the list of patentable categories began with the word “art.” In that year, art was replaced by “process.” But process has a rather odd, somewhat redundant, and expansive definition of its own in the statute. Process means “process, art, or method, and includes a new use of a known process, machine, manufacture, composition of matter, or material.”

Somewhere out of this history, process evolved to cover a lot that was not likely envisioned in 1952, when computers were just massive number crunchers in the hands of a few scientists and engineers. Whether the term as adopted in 1952 was meant to include the largely intangible data-in, data-out situations that are common today, or indeed any methods that did not involve tangible, physical processes to a substantial degree, is certainly arguable. Perhaps it is time for the courts, Congress, or the Patent Office itself to narrow the definition of process.

“New” and “useful” are two other words that should be revisited. Each has come to have very little limitation upon what may be patented. Indeed, the presumption in many corners of the Patent Office is that an application would not have been submitted unless the contents described something new and useful. The current interpretations of new and useful become even less helpful when the so-called invention is just an incremental change to an existing invention.

For example, in a computerized investment advice process, does the addition of one more input variable, such as the size of a chief executive officer’s salary, create something new enough to be awarded a patent over an existing patent for providing investment advice? And from a broader perspective, just how useful is investment advice anyway? Your brother-in-law’s shoot from the hip approach may well be as useful as any fancy computerized investment advice program available through a brokerage firm.

In short, “new” and “useful” currently are of little help in deciding what deserves a patent and what does not. One consequence is that too many marginal improvements may be receiving unwarranted patent protection.

Other provisions of the patent laws could also be revisited to give patent examiners more powerful tools. For example, an invention must be described in sufficient detail to enable others “skilled in the art” not only to understand it but also to make it themselves. The limits of an invention must be clear. Judicial decisions and Patent Office interpretations, however, have diluted much of the power of these requirements. Particularly with regard to “inventions” in business methods and related intangible and semi-tangible fields, precisely defining what has been invented, how it is to be used, and how it could be replicated by others are requirements to which little more than lip service is often paid.

Finally, regarding business methods patents, of the world’s patent systems the United States system goes the furthest in according them legitimacy. They may be found in other patent systems, but not to the extent and not as explicitly as they are found in this country. Maybe the U.S. patent system has something to learn from the rest of the world.

The state of the patent system is not all gloom and doom. Although a thorough overhauling would likely require a reworking of the patent laws by Congress, other adjustments are taking place.

For many decades, the courts took an expansive view of the scope of the patent laws, a view that the Patent Office was more or less forced to adopt. The courts may be rethinking the matter, however. Recently, for example, the Supreme Court issued a decision (KSR International Co. v. Teleflex Inc.) that in some circumstances will likely make it more difficult to get a patent.

The Patent Office itself has made admirable efforts on several fronts, including the field of business methods patents. The approval rate of those patents is relatively low, probably no higher than 30 percent. Still, examination of business methods applications requires considerable resources, and the danger that an egregiously absurd business method patent will sneak through the examination and review processes is always a threat.

Among other initiatives, the Patent Office is considering limiting the number of claims, or at least major claims, that a patent application may contain. Claims are the heart of a patent, the words that define exactly what the invention is and what is covered by the patent’s legal umbrella. A common practice among patent applicants is to describe the same invention is several different ways.

The invention may be described as a product consisting of a number of components. Then it may be described again as a method of doing something, the method consisting of steps that are just the components of the previously described product. And then it may be described again as a system, and so on. The result is that a patent application, and an allowed patent, may contain numerous claims: 20, 40, 60, even more. Stating the same invention in several different ways increases significantly the time required for a patent examiner to examine the application. A limitation on claims would reduce the examination burden.

These judicial and regulatory initiatives, however, are probably not enough to cure fully what ails the patent system. The fundamental problem is the expansive definitions that terms in the patent laws have acquired over the decades, and Congress is the best fixer of that problem.

As for Cranky's career as a patent examiner? Well, he's always had a problem playing with others. That plus the growing feeling that he was on the bottom rung of a system in need of serious overhaul led him to pull the plug late one afternoon in early June. In fact, he's thinking of applying for a business methods patent for his method of exit. In the peculiar wording and terminology of the patent world, the claimed invention would be as follows:

“A method of resigning from a position comprising the steps of handing one’s security badge to the security guard at the exit with the comment, ‘I ain’t coming back,’ having the security guard respond with a chuckle, ‘Bad day, huh,’ and in turn responding, ‘Bad month.’”

RETURN ON SUCCESS

Okay, so it isn’t the greatest motivating slogan to come down the pike. In fact, it’s really pretty pathetic. Smacks much too much of W’s business antecedents. The folks at W’s alma mater, Harvard Business School, should be proud.

But let’s get to tonight’s speech. The Democrats will most likely go berserk and attack the President’s reasoning and conclusions with considerable vehemence. But they ought to pause. W has served up a pitch just begging to be knocked out of the park.

What W has done is adopt the principal of withdrawal. That is what the Democrats, indeed most of the American people, want. Now all we are doing is quibbling over the details.

The Dems ought to say:

“The President has finally seen the light. He is withdrawing troops from Iraq. We applaud him. We don’t totally agree with him on the details, schedules, but we are now together on the principle that the U.S. footprint must be reduced. So let’s see if we can speed this thing up a little.”

TIME FOR MOVEON TO MOVE ON

The first nail in the possible coffin was pounded Monday, September 10, 2007. The nail was an ad in the New York Times. The pounder was the leftist group Moveon.org. The poundee was the hopes of the Democratic Party for the presidency in 2008.

In a burst of unthinking exuberance, Moveon succumbed to adolescent smart-aleckness by playing upon the name of commanding general in Iraq, David Petraeus. The name became BeTray Us. The slander was immediately pounced upon by Republicans and their allies in the land of punditry, enabling them to distract attention from the Congressional hearings on the war in Iraq.

Most Americans are likely offended by the slandering of an honorable four-star general. And most Americans include those in the center of the political spectrum—independents and moderate Republicans and Democrats—who determine the outcome of Presidential elections. But offense is something that those at the extremes of the political spectrum, either on the left or right, have little concern for.

Indeed, a never-ending task facing both political parties is to mesh their extreme with their portion of the center. And a never-ending effort on the part of both political parties is to characterize the other as the captive of its extreme.

Over approximately the last three decades, the Republican Party has probably been the most successful in portraying the opponent as a reflection of its extreme. And the extreme of the Democratic Party is viewed as anti-military, against the use of force, naïve, touchy-feely, and prone to inflammatory language.

Moveon’s ad played into the Republicans’ stereotype of Democrats and served to remind citizens of that stereotype. The ad’s inflammatory nature ensured widespread attention. So how is the ad helpful to Moveon’s political home, the Democratic Party?

It isn’t. And the centrists in the Party, and the Party’s Presidential hopefuls, ought to say so, forcefully. More generally, it’s time that centrists in both parties, assuming there are any left in the Republican Party, start treating their fringes with more firmness. Most Americans are in the center of the political spectrum. As things now stand, they are represented in large part only by the stalemate between the political fringes.

SENATOR CRAIG GETS THE SHAFT

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.

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.

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.

THE HONORABLE WOMAN HAD CLEAVAGE

The cranky old guy was browsing through the land of cable TV the other night when he stumbled upon C-Span’s coverage of the British Parliament. A system in which government leaders have to actually answer questions and attempt to explain their actions is certainly a pleasant contrast with a system revolving around an uncommunicative, haughty executive branch, so cranky paused to watch.

And lo and behold, another pleasant contrast with the U.S. system revealed itself: cleavage. The Prime Minister was not present, and the government’s side in the parry and thrust of debate was being led by the Home Secretary, Jacqui Smith. And The Honorable Ms. Smith was sporting an only partially concealed pair of honest-to-gosh hooters. Cranky kept expecting a member of the opposition to say something like “Before discussing the problem sparrows in East Fendwich, I wish to compliment the Honorable Woman on her most ample endowments.” But no one commented on the awesome sight.

Now one has to ask oneself how such a display of political cleavage would be received on this side of the Atlantic. Can you imagine a similar revelation by the likes of Nancy Pelosi, Hillary Clinton, or Susan Collins going uncommented upon?

And how would the commentary break down ideologically? Both liberals and conservatives would snicker, but the conservative side, unless the displayer was one of their own, would also launch into rants about the general moral degeneracy of anyone not a true blue conservative. In other words, conservatives would play their usual tut-tutting role, still trying to obliterate the memory of the 1960s.

The different likely reaction on this side of the Atlantic might be explained by this nation’s youth. The United Kingdom is an old nation, and its views might be categorized as matronly and world weary. The United States, on the other hand, might be compared to an adolescent just experiencing the full force of puberty and convinced the world is one big double-entendre.

TOUCHY-FEELY

For reasons much too boring to detail, the cranky old guy recently, after retiring twice, returned to the work force. And not just any work force. He returned to the FEDERAL work force. Yes, it was painful.

The return was to an agency that puts new employees, even cranky old guys, through a training program, a LONG training program, eight months long. So the cranky old guy found himself in a large classroom, fortunately with cubicles, with 15 or so mostly very much younger classmates.

In keeping with current ideas on bonding and the like, the first few days were spent in getting acquainted and bonding activities. Now, the cranky old guy comes from a different time and generation. Getting acquainted activities consisted of, “Here’s your desk, get to work.” Training efforts involved a fair amount of “Figure it out your own self.”

Over the years, the cranky old guy has had to adjust. There was one time when he found himself in a new section of an agency, and the new section was the domain of a perky young thing who thrived on touchy-feely, introspective stuff. In a period of six or so months, the cranky old guy must have taken an equal number of Myers-Briggs multiple choice personality tests. He experimented with different approaches to the answers: “a” for the first ten questions, “b” for the next ten, and so on. In another test, he might just repeat a, b, c, d. For another, he might do a, b, c, d, c, b, a, b, c, d. . . .

This, of course, produced some perplexing results for Miss Perky to ponder. Maybe that’s why the group had to take the test so many times.

Anyway, the cranky old guy was not unfamiliar with getting acquainted and bonding activities, but he was certainly not favorably disposed toward them. So what’s the first activity in his new home? Each member of the class had to make a personal coat of arms.

The coat of arms was to be divided into four quadrants. The upper left was to indicate where the individual was from. The upper right was to indicate what the individual was known for. The bottom right was to indicate a talent. The bottom left was for what the individual was proudest of. And across the coat of arms or along its bottom was to be a slogan.

Well, most of the class set to work with much enthusiasm. Cranky said to himself, “Oh s***.”

Some real works of art were forthcoming. It seems everyone had drawing talent except Cranky. And the exercise was taken seriously by almost all. The time came for each individual to describe the result. The slogans were along the lines of “Always 110%,” “Forever Upward,” and “The Sky’s The Limit.” It being mostly a just-out-of-college crowd, the thing people were most proud of were diplomas. It being a cosmopolitan crowd, sketches of faraway places filled the upper left quadrants. Acting and drawing dominated the talents. And no one was bashful about claiming some save-the-world thing they were known for: working with children, the sick, the infirmed.

Cranky’s motto was “Whatever.” An outline of Virginia indicated the faraway place he was from. A rough sketch of a lawnmower indicated he was famous for cutting his grass. Three circles were an attempt to describe a modest juggling talent. A girl had drawn a clown actually juggling. When Cranky describe his talent as juggling, “but I’m not very good at it,” the girl announced, “I am.”

And for what he was proudest of, Cranky attempted two stick figures with long hair that were supposed to be his daughters. But when it came time to describe the stick figures to the class, Cranky couldn’t resist saying, “And what I’m most proud of is my first two wives.” The silence was deafening.

FIRE 'EM ALL

Don Imus said something that was not very nice, pretty revolting actually, and he was fired. Tom Delay is now seeking to have Rosie O’Donnell fired for intemperate, inflammatory remarks regarding 9/11, terrorism, and other stuff. This trend has possibilities. Why don’t we fire everyone who annoys us? Here is the cranky old guy’s list of those who should go.

Tom Delay: He’s already been fired, or an equivalent thereof.

Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson: Yeah, Imus needed to be chastised and taken down a peg, but Al and Jesse certainly didn’t come to the task with clean hands. They have had their own problems with foot-in-mouth disease over the years, as well as some more serious matters. But mainly Al and Jesse should go for seeking to perpetuate the notion that African-Americans are nothing more than victims requiring the protection of Al and Jesse.

Bill O’Reilly: He must have said something not politically correct over the years, but if not he should go simply because he falls into the basic-jerk category.

Sean Hannity, Fred Barnes, Brit Hume, Charles Krauthammer: As knee-jerk right-wing whack-jobs, they should go.

Fox News: Why stop with Bill O’Reilly and the preceding four? Can the hold lot.

Nancy Grace and that Beck guy: They habitually violate reasoned discourse. Outta here.

Dick Cheney: Despite all the evidence to the contrary, he keeps insisting that Saddem Hussein was somehow responsible for 9/11. Because that assertion has almost reached the point of being an outright lie, Dick should go.

George Bush: Incompetence has always been a reason for dismissal.

In short, the cranky old guy says fire ‘em all.

DSH

IS BUSH THIS DIABOLICAL?

The President’s threats about vetoing any Iraq War funding legislation that contains even a hint of time lines may not reflect his, and his allies, actual desires. If one were a cynic, which, of course, the cranky old guy is not, one might conclude that what W and his cronies really want is to pin the Democrats with the blame for the Iraqi debacle.

And even if the so-called “surge” strategy has some temporary success, the Iraqi effort will almost certainly be viewed as a debacle. Oh, perhaps historians in the distant future might conclude, “in the short and medium terms, it was a debacle, but in the great scheme of things, at the level where any analysis is far removed from individual human costs, the blundering of the United States under the so-called leadership of George W. Bush set in motion forces that ultimately were beneficial.” But that is certainly speculative and is of no solace to those who have suffered in the here and now.

But back to W’s current predicament. If he truly believes that “victory” is possible in Iraq, there is no predicament. He simply wants unfettered commander-in-chief power to pursue this “victory.” But it is possible that even he has come to realize the extreme unlikelihood of anything approaching “victory.” Thus the possible attractiveness of being able to say, “if the Democrat (opps, Democratic) Congress had only given me what I asked for, we would have achieved victory. But it didn’t, so Democrats are the reason we failed in Iraq.”

And if that is indeed W’s strategy, the nation is in for a great amount of unseemly political jockeying. The Democrats will push for time lines and other goals to get U.S. troops out of the line of fire, and ultimately Iraq. W will dig in his heels, avoiding any compromise or effort to find a middle ground. The Democrats then will be faced with two alternatives: capitulate to W’s apparent desires (which under this argument is a result he really doesn’t want because his ownership of the debacle would be uncontested); or be more and more assertive in efforts to bring the troops home. And the more assertive the Democrats are, the more they can be blamed for the almost inevitable messy—at best—outcome.

In other words, by being stubborn and not giving an inch, W either gets everything he wants (a result he actually might not want) or he gets to blame the Democrats for the failure to achieve victory.

Is W indeed this diabolical? You’ve observed him for the last six years. What do you think?

DSH

CUZ THE 2ND AMENDMENT SEEZ I CAN

I own a gun cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I drive on the beach cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I smoke in restaurants cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I ignore the speed limit cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I look at porn sites on the web cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I hate people who are different than me cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I give liberals the bird cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I drive a pickup truck with big wheels cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I shoot endangered species cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I litter cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I drink and drive cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I cheat on taxes cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

COLD IN THE SAWTOOTH

How cold was it? So cold that the water in my Army-style canteens froze solid, top to bottom, front to back, side to side. So cold that my wet boots were blocks of ice in the morning. So cold that my fingers were still numb and tingly a month after the trip.

Why didn’t I put canteens and boots in my sleeping bag to use body heat to keep them from freezing? Because I had too much other stuff in there that I was trying to keep warm.

In short, cold, and its sibling snow, were the central ingredients of a late September backpacking trip into the high country of Idaho’s Sawtooth Wilderness Area. A winter backpacking trip had not been the plan. No, the plan had been a pleasant fall stroll into the mountains, with warm days and cool put not disagreeable nights.

More specifically, the plan was an eight-day sojourn exploring the southern and western portions of the Sawtooth. I was to enter at Alturas Lake in the southeastern corner, work my way west and north, perhaps going as far as the western boundary, and exit at Pettit Lake, which was just a few miles north of the starting point. Thus I would be making a loop, a loop that could be as short as 30 or so miles if I took the most direct route or much longer if I was ambitious and had good weather.

Fortunately, I was mostly, but not completely, prepared for cold, wet weather. The synthetic sleeping bag was rated to zero degrees. In addition, I had a military poncho liner that in essence was a blanket of nylon and polyester. It had proved its usefulness many times in the past in a variety of conditions. Clothes-wise, I had rain gear, an outer shell coat of heavy nylon, two fleece inner garments, military pants and shirt, several long and short sleeved tee shirts, medium weight long underwear, two knit hats, and one floppy-brimmed hat. The major inadequacies in the clothes department turned out to be socks and gloves or mittens: I only had two pair of wool socks and not the best collection of hand warmers.

Shelter was a three-season tent that survived the snow in part because I kept the snow from accumulating on it.

The first three days were cold but relatively uneventful. The trailhead was a little beyond the western end of Alturas Lake, at approximately 7,100 feet in elevation. The trail went up Alturas Lake Creek (yes, “Lake Creek”), over an 8,800-foot pass to Mattingly Creek, and down the creek to the Boise River. On the afternoon of the third day, I followed the river north for about three miles, making camp at an old campsite on the bank. Firewood was relatively abundant, indicating that even during the summer the area did not see much traffic. A good fire and a starry sky made for a pleasant evening, the first, and last, on the trip.

Pleasantness ended the next day. The old nautical saying proved true: “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning.” The early morning sun reflected red off clouds moving from west to east. The trail crossed and recrossed—several times—the Middle Fork of the Boise River. Each crossing required taking off boots and socks, putting on wading shoes, and working my way gingerly, with the aid of two walking sticks and under the bulky backpack, through the water and over slippery rocks.

Rain arrived in mid-afternoon. It was steady and occasionally heavy. The campsite was at the junction of the Middle Fork of the Boise and Flytrip Creek. The elevation was 7,500 feet. Rivulets created by the rain flowed through the campsite, making selection of a specific location for the tent no easy task. I finally located a spot that, with a little trenching and damming, avoided major water. With difficulty, supper was prepared—that is, water boiled for the dehydrated food—just outside the tent door, under the small vestibule.

By morning the rain had stopped, but the wetness was pervasive. I debated whether to continue on or to backtrack down the Middle Fork of the Boise. Ahead was high country—8,000 to 9,000 feet—four hard climbs, and uncertain weather. Back was an outlet at the southern edge of the Sawtooth. The journey would not be as long, the elevation not as great, and the margin of error a bit lower. I decided to tackle the high country. The only rational part of my reasoning was that my pick-up-person, my daughter, expected me at Pettit Lake. We had reconnoitered the trailhead. If I took a different route out, I would face the problem of notifying her of the change
.
So I headed north, into the high country. It was only eight or so miles to the last pass, 9,200-foot Sand Mountain Pass. If I did just one climb a day, I would be in the high country for four days and three nights. The major risk was getting snow bound.

The first objective was Spangle Lake. It was 10:30 a.m. before I got started. Packing in the cold and wetness was time-consuming. The route was up. . . , and up, and up. The distance was only two and a quarter miles, as the crow flies, but it took four hours. Initially, my hands were so cold that I had tears in my eyes. Note to self: next time, heavy mittens. Boots and socks became soaked in a poor effort at crossing a small stream. Fortunately, the afternoon and early evening were clear. I had a large fire, a roaring blaze actually—much too close to the tent—and dried out myself, boots, and soaks. The warmth was the last I was to have for two days.

Snow fell during the night, a heavy, wet snow that built up on the sides of the tent. In spite of the zero-degree rated sleeping bag and the Army poncho liner, I woke up cold and miserable. The thought of packing up was more than unappealing: it was down right scary. But I had to move. Shivering in the tent would accomplish nothing, and would have to end sometime.

Skipping coffee, fumbling with totally numb hands, I broke down the tent, stuffed stuff into the pack, struggled with buckles, straps, and snaps, and got underway at about 9 a.m. Again, the trail was up, only a mile, but it was stairway-steep. On the other side of the highest point, the trail was a switchback down an open mountain side and hidden in calf-deep snow. Gingerly, I made my way down, arriving at Ardeth Lake around 1 p.m. For the second day, it had taken four or so hours to cover a bit over two miles.

The choices were to stop for the night by the lake on which a cover of ice was beginning to form, or to go over the third of the four passes that separated the high country from warmer temperatures and civilization. I decided that the quicker I could get to lower elevations, the better it would be. Thus I set off for another climb. It was steep and snow covered but relatively short. By 4 p.m. I was over the pass and near Vernon Lake. I got the tent set up just as a heavy thunder snow storm broke.

Inside the tent I watched as the snow accumulated. The sides and top were, of course, not transparent. But the areas of accumulating snow on and against the tent were darker. I spent the remaining hours of daylight kicking and pushing the walls and top to keep the tent from collapsing. During a lull in the storm, I got out and packed down an area around my abode.

Sometime after dark the snow eased up. But a strong wind blew the cold air through the tent walls and into the far depths of my sleeping bag. And the temperature fell as the night wore on. In the sleeping bag, I had on a layer of clothes and the poncho liner wrapped around my neck, shoulders, and upper body. I did not feel I was dangerously cold, but only portions of my body approached warmth, and I was distinctly uncomfortable. It was a long night.

The morning dawned bleak and discouraging. Outside the tent, the snow was up to calf deep. I had one only more pass to cross, but it was the highest, and the previous night’s snow meant the way was more uncertain. I was not in the best of spots. Maybe it was even a dangerous spot. Dire scenarios ran through my mind. I hoped that if I was not at the trailhead at the appointed time three days hence, my daughter would call search and rescue pronto. Our usual plan for such wilderness endeavors was to give the overdue party some leeway before calling for help. But this approach ignored a troubling realty: if the overdueness was caused by real difficulties, pausing before calling for help would not be good, indeed could be tragic.

For a second morning, I forwent coffee, struggled with unfeeling hands to pack up inside the tent, broke down and packed the tent itself, and finally got underway. I had cleared one hurdle: the simple act of getting going. Now I had another hurdle: 9,200-foot Sand Mountain Pass.

An annoying problem soon developed. The ends of the boot laces and the draw strings at the bottom of the pants were somehow manufacturing ice balls. The ice balls formed around the ends of the laces and strings, reached the size of baseballs, and banged into my legs with each stride. I had to stop every so often and spend considerable time bashing ice balls. Tucking in the ends of the laces and strings only partially alleviated the problem.

I struggled upward. Once out of the treeline, the switchback trail became obscure. The steep slope was just an unbroken, smooth white blanket. I gingerly poked the walking sticks into the snow ahead of me, finding the trail a step at a time. The altitude was exacerbating the fatigue from the climbs, the cold, and the nights of fitful sleep. I was close but concerned about loosing the trail, running into an unnavigable section, or taking a tumble down the steep slope.

Fate was kind, however. About 1 p.m. I reached the top of the pass. I was elated but it was a subdued elation. Fatigue hindered exuberance. The first thought was that the need for rescue was now unlikely. Eight or so miles and a day and a half lay ahead, but it was mostly downhill.

The trail followed the contour line for a while and then started sharply down. The snow soon disappeared. I camped for the night at Toxaway Lake. It was still a cold night, but certainly better than recent ones, both physically and mentally. The next day—finally a sunny day—I encountered my first humans in a week, several small groups. I also encountered the pleasant fall day that my trip had anticipated. It was Saturday, and day hikers and overnighters were exploring the edges of the Sawtooth Wilderness.

I had that disconnected feeling one gets when, after a draining, challenging experience, communication is attempted with others who were not involved. I was on a populated trail, the day was warm and sunny, and I was wearing just a shirt. A day earlier and a few miles to the west, I had been alone in near winter conditions, dressed in multiple layers, and harboring concerns about basic survival. Small talk with those I encountered did not come easy.

DSH

(SMALL) WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY

Okay, so in spite of the advice from across the political and ideological spectrum, George Bush, the Decider, the Decision-Maker, is bound and determined to up the ante in Iraq. A cynic might note, what has he got to lose? If things continue to show no improvement, he is destined for historical infamy. But if by some chance the new strategy, the “surge,” causes even a small improvement, he might avoid making the list of the worst Presidents in U.S. history. He might even place above Millard Filmore.

But a favorable outcome will require a level of nimbleness and nuance that this “Bull in the China Shop” Administration has not displayed in six years of governing. Yet it does have one thing going for it. The Bush Administration could contain the best practioners ever of “spin.” If an award is given for talking a pig pretty, George and company certainly deserve it.

So here’s how the Decider and crew might stagger to 2008 with a pinch of dignity left. The “surge” is large enough to actually tap down violence in Baghdad for a short period. And latching on to the unfollowed advice given in another war, the Decider declares victory and leaves. If there is a short period before the inevitable chaos follows, the Decider can argue that he brought peace to Iraq. It wasn’t his fault that things later (a week, a month, whatever) deteriorated. After all, one can only lead the unwilling and ungrateful so far.

Of course, not everyone will buy into the notion of victory. But enough might that the Decider can convince himself of his greatness, and the true believers—the Wall Street Journal editorial page, Hannity, Coulter, Beck, O’Reilly, neocons everywhere—browbeat the unthinking into intellectual submission.

dsh

SIX-POINT PLAN

Yesterday, in his weekly radio address to the nation, the President challenged those who oppose his new “surge” strategy for Iraq to offer a different plan. Okay, Mr. President, here is an alternative plan. It may not be perfect, but it sure beats yours.

1. Stop yakking about victory. By viewing the struggle in such classic terms, you and others who have disagreed with you but still speak in your language, such as Senator John McCain, are striving for an impossible goal. In your speech the other night, you finally acknowledged that, even if your proposed strategy is followed, the struggle in Iraq will not end in “victory” in the sense of signing surrender documents on the deck of a battleship. Yet you still set up victory as the goal.

2. Similarly, stop yakking about the only alternative to victory as being defeat and some sort of great Middle Eastern catastrophe. The Middle East is going to be a mess for decades if not generations. But it could be a controlled mess. The challenge is to prevent the level of chaos from rising too high.

3. Stop shifting the blame to the Iraqis. We are trying to impose a complex, sophisticated form of governance on a politically backward people. Chiding them for not “stepping up” is more a comment on our naiveté than on their abilities.

4. Stop trying to preserve the nation of Iraq. Ninety years ago—a mere hiccup in human history—there was no nation of Iraq. Iraq is the home of three distinct peoples: Kurds, Shiites, and Sunnis. Maybe we can find a way to hold them together under one sovereign entity, and maybe we can’t. But our focus ought to be on building from the bottom up rather than imposing a national government from the top down. Concentrate on forming three sub-governments, and if they eventually are able to come together, fine. If they can’t achieve a sort of federalism, it is not a catastrophe. And how come Joe Biden is the only U.S. national figure that shows awareness of Iraqi history?

5. Stop making the false argument that a “defeat” in Iraq will result in a safe haven for terrorists. First, as noted above, just as we will not achieve a classic “victory” in Iraq, so we will not also suffer a classic “defeat,” unless we insist on defining the outcome as such. Second, if even what results becomes a Taliban-like rogue state that has to be thrashed periodically, okay. We will still be fighting on their ground rather than ours.

6. Learn from those who oppose us. They practice subtly and nuance. We are the proverbial bull in the China shop, aggressively threatening, thrashing around, smashing everything within reach, creating an image of gross incompetence. Whatever happened to Teddy Roosevelt’s “speak softly and carry a big stick?”

MORE TROOPS TO IRAQ?

A “surge” of U. S. troops to Iraq seems to be a distinct possibility. The numbers being bandied about are in the 25,000 to 30,000 range. An official rationale has not yet been provided, but the general, ephemeral idea is probably that more troops will reduce the overall level of chaos. Maybe. Or maybe it’s a case of a day late and a dollar short. Or maybe by this stage it’s just plain too late and any number of U.S. troops short of the 500,000 who should have been sent initially won’t, in the long term, make a difference.

Here are some facts about the U.S. involvement in Iraq. First, at some point in the not-too-distance future we are going to leave. It may be three years, it may be five years, it may be ten years or longer. But we ain’t staying permanently. They don’t want us there, and the American people don’t have the patience to be long-term occupiers.

Second, there will be no “victory” in Iraq in the classic sense: no surrender by the opposing forces, no wiping out of all opposition by us, no victory parade down 5th Avenue by triumphant returning troops. At best there would be a semblance of stability, most likely imposed by an authoritarian government whose human rights record will be dismal. The chances of this “best” scenario coming about are slim.

Third, to counter the nonstate forces that would do us harm in this world, we need to be one helluva lot smarter than we have been over the last few years. We have sought to meet the threat posed by a relatively small number of nihilistic terrorists by waging a conventional war. A major consequence seems to have been the creation of a lot more potential and actual terrorists. We have come to be viewed by much of the world as a lumbering ineffectual bully and are being treated accordingly.

Fourth, the nation of Iraq is a relative new concept. The nation was created by some mid-level British and French diplomats after World War I. The three distinct groups in Iraq—Kurds, Sunnis, and Shites—share one thing: a distinct dislike of one another. Why try to hold together these three ancient adversaries?

From the United States’ viewpoint, the major problem—other than George W. Bush’s pride and stubbornness—is summarized by former Secretary of State Colin Powell’s observation that if we break the pottery, it becomes ours. Well, we broke it. So now what?

Well, here is one solution from the peanut gallery. First, stop yaking about victory, accomplishing the mission, bringing freedom to the people of Iraq, and the like. Second, accept the fact that Iraq is really three distinct “nations.” If they can manage to live together under a federal umbrella of some sort, fine. But stop trying to mix oil and water. (Not a very good metaphor or analogy, but you get the picture.) Instead of trying to create an Iraqi army, an Iraqi police force, an Iraqi government, let the Kurds, Sunnis, and Shites each create their own. If in doing so the various sides feel they have to pound the crap out of each other every now and then, fine. Let them get it out of their systems.

Third, pull U.S. troops back to a few isolated bases. The near term mission would be to, when the fighting between the factions gets excessively rough, emerge and pummel the participants a bit. The long-term mission—18 months or so—would be get all U.S. troops out of the country.

Finally, in 2008 elect a U.S. President who does not believe the neoconservative notion that bringing democracy and freedom to the world is a task easily accomplished with just a modest expenditure of resources and the appearance of a few U.S. soldiers. In short, elect a President whose idealism is tempered by reality, who is not the slave of an ideology, any ideology, right or left. Core values are one thing. Trying to ram your view of the world down the world's throat is another.

DSH

NANNIES AGAIN

Wow! The cranky old guy didn’t realize that nannies were such a hot, er, touchy, er, compelling subject.

Let’s be clear. Cranky is not against nannies. And he does not mean to imply that having an attractive young foreign woman in a household is necessarily a source of tension and stress. Although to be perfectly honest, it certainly can be. No, the cranky old guy is mainly an interested observer of the nanny culture that has grown up in many localities, including his own. Nannies were once limited to the households of the elite super rich. No longer. In a middle class community such as the cranky old guy’s, nannies are now as common as cats (and not nearly as annoying).

The issues raised by the nanny culture constitute a sizeable proportion of the comments and queries on the website of the cranky old guy’s neighborhood. How do I find a nanny? What do I pay a nanny? What should the nanny call me? How do I discipline a nanny? Is a nanny my partner in raising my children, or my employee? What if my children don’t like the nanny? What if my children are little hellions who need a drill sergeant rather than a nanny? (No one ever asks this question directly, but Cranky can read between the lines.) What if my children get too attached to the nanny? What if my husband gets too attached to the nanny? Okay, the cranky old guy’s mind is wandering again.

A major topic concerns part-time nannies. “I need a nanny between 1 and 4 on Tuesdays, 3 and 6 on Thursdays, and for any hour Friday morning. Can anyone help me?” Or “Anyone need a nanny Wednesday afternoons? Our nanny has Wednesday afternoons off and would like to work during that time.” Or, “Need a nanny for two adorable children [yeah, right] and a dog on alternate Thursdays, except in November.”

Of course, nannies also have their side of the story. The cranky old guy has been doing some research into this (No, not in the way your dirty little mind is thinking). Some families apparently think nannying is a 24/7 job. Time off? Not from our household, Sweetie. Our jobs require emailing, cell-phoning, and Blackberrying around the clock, so don’t even think of time off.

Many nannies are found through agencies, and in theory the agencies have hotlines that a nanny can turn to if she is having problems with her family. But to the nannies, the hotlines appear to be manned only on the second Monday of every week. Not getting along with your family? Required to work on weekends? Being followed around by ol’ lecherous eyes? Forget about getting any help through the hotline.

Finally, the cranky old guy himself is in the market for a part-time nanny. He is a member of a neighborhood group of cranky old guys who play poker once a month. We need someone to serve drinks, stack chips, and other stuff. And no, a spouse would not be an acceptable substitute.

WHAT TO GET THE NANNY FOR XMAS

The cranky old guy lives in an upscale suburban neighborhood of the nation’s capital. A goodly proportion of the climbing, networking young families populating the neighborhood depend upon au pairs, or nannies as they are sometimes called, to hold the household together. The two adults can thus pursue their dreams and careers in government, the K Street law firms, or whatever, while the children are under the protective care of the finest young women of Europe, Latin America, or the Far East.

Of course, a nanny-dependent economy is not without its issues. One such issue was recently posted on the website of the cranky old guy’s neighborhood. Incidentally, communication via neighborhood website is fast becoming an integral component of modern urban and suburban life, but comments on this phenomenon are beyond the scope of the present piece. Anyway, the issue posted on the cranky old guy’s neighborhood website concerned nannies and Christmas bonuses: “Is there a standard for nanny Christmas bonuses? Any advice?”

Before responding to this inquiry, the cranky old guy, prompted by his too-much-time-on-his-hands son-in-law, must ask a question: “Is the nanny hot?” Depending on the answer to that question, the cranky old guy has two lists of suggestions.

BONUSES FOR THE NON-HOT NANNY

1. Christmas morning off.

2. Twenty-five dollars.

BONUSES FOR THE HOT NANNY

1. The gentleman of the house serves the nanny breakfast in bed.

2. The gentleman of the house gives the nanny a therapeutic massage.

3. The gentleman of the house and the nanny take Christmas week off, and maybe the next week too.

4. At least $500, more in "special" cases.

Okay, so the cranky old guy is also a dirty old man. He’s just happy that back when he and the Mrs. were a young couple, he was not surrounded by the temptations that now pervade his neighborhood.