FOUR WEEK UPDATE

Four weeks after the Catastrophe on K Street, which was immediately followed by the Major Urban Trauma Center 5-Day Meltdown, Cranky is back in the 'burbs and slowly on the road to recovery. One thing he is learning is that a wide variety of opinions exist in the Orthopedics community about the pace and process of rehab for a ruptured quad tendon. Should the leg brace be on for 4, 6, or 8 weeks? Should knee flexing start at 2, 4, 6, or 8 weeks? Is sneaking the brace off while you sleep a minor transgression or a mortal sin?

Cranky has also learned that the brace he left the Major Urban Trauma Center (MUTC) with was not quite state-of-the art. When Cranky went for a consult at another Orthopedics facility, the brace, pictured above on the left, aroused a few snickers and several snide remarks such as "war surplus" and "Smithsonian donation material." Still, the actual medical procedure performed on Cranky's leg at the MUTC was apparently top notch. So hopefully in a few months he will be in as good a condition as any 71-year old, which means he will be waiting for the next body part to reach its expiration date.

K STREET CASUALTY

Cranky had a significant K Street experience recently. Every Washington wonk dreams of becoming a K Street somebody, and after almost forty years in the town, Cranky finally made it.

Did Cranky succeed in convincing a Congressional staffer to change the position of a comma in an appropriations bill, thereby qualifying Cranky’s client for several millions in tax breaks?

Noooo.

Did Cranky find a way for a client to avoid complex and expensive EPA regulations?

Noooo.

Did a maitre’d say to Cranky: “Haven’t seen you in a few days, Sir. Your usual table?”

Noooo.

Well, what was it?

After finishing a day’s work at a legal sweatshop document review project, Cranky was crossing K Street at its intersection with 18th Street when his knee went belly up. Cranky was almost instantly crumpled on the street in intense pain and screaming emphatically about it.

Fortunately, several of the hundreds of home-bound passersby paused in their journeys long enough to drag Cranky to the sidewalk and stand him against a small barrier protecting one of K Street’s lovely trees. The pain had subsided a tad and Cranky was able to examine his knee. (He just had running shorts on although he had not yet commenced his evening run.) Something was majorly obviously wrong. The kneecap was not in its accustomed place, having relocated down and to the left, and was sort of free-floating. The foremost thing in Cranky’s mind was, “I gotta get outta town.”

Now residents of the north side of the Potomac River in the DC area may not understand this, but many citizens of Northern Virginia prefer to keep certain functions on the south side and close to home, medical care being one of them. And there is some concern about trusting one's well-being to a large urban medical institution. The medical care may be among the finest, but it can come with some less-than-pleasant secondary accouterments. For example, about ten years ago, Cranky had a heart valve repair operation at a major urban institution. The medical procedure went as expected, but Cranky will never forget the week he spent afterwards, recuperating from major heart surgery, with a loud-snoring, quaintly odorous roommate who took frequent cigarette walks, returning reeking like a Camel commercial.

Anyway, think of him what you will, but Cranky did not desire to repeat the experience. So he tested his knee, found that he could gingerly make some progress, called his spouse to describe what had happened and his plan, and set out for a metro stop. The idea was to take the metro to a Northern Virginia station, and thus perhaps to a less stressful medical situation. Cranky did get part way to the Farragut West metro stop but then the knee gave way again, and he was once more on the ground, disrupting the commutes of many hundreds with his incessant screaming.

A few Good Samaritans were among the flowing crowds, however, and 911 was shortly called. An ambulance soon arrived. Cranky thanked his temporary guardians and was off to a large urban medical institution.

The rest of the story is as might be expected, only maybe a little worse. Cranky will try to keep it brief, mentioning the most salient points. The injury itself was a complete rupture or tear of the quadriceps tendon that attaches the quadriceps muscle to the kneecap, or patella. Or at least that’s the terminology as Cranky now understands it. Pain-wise, this is a baddy, but in terms of correction it seems to be a rather basic orthopedic surgical procedure involving the reattachment of the tendon to the kneecap. Indeed, it allegedly is sometimes done on an outpatient basis. The length and requirements of the rehab process, however, are no picnic.

Cranky arrived in the emergency room of Major Urban Trauma Center (exact identification withheld to protect the innocent) at approximately 5:30 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon. He was soon joined by Ms. Cranky, who was to be transported back and forth over the following days by Long-Suffering, Across-The-Street Neighbor, who seems to get a perverse pleasure from Cranky's adventures. The ER was Cranky's home for the next seven or so hours as he was evaluated, allegedly scheduled for surgery, and entertained by the dramas that are part of the environment of an urban ER. He was finally told that surgery would not occur that night, partly because the available Orthopedic Surgeon had too many other cases.

At this point, Cranky broached the possibility of being transferred to a medical facility in Northern Virginia. He was to raise this possibility several more times over the next few days as the surgery timeframe was continually revised. Each time he was persuaded by the argument that the move, while doable, required a major administrative and logistical effort, that the preliminary steps already taken would have to be repeated at the new institution, and that things were not much more than an hour or so away from beginning. In hindsight, …oh well.

Surgery did not occur the next morning although its start was allegedly not far off. The other thing that did not occur was pain medication. Whether through oversight, ineptness, conflict with the supposedly imminent surgery, Cranky went without pain medication for a three-hour period, and felt every second of the time.

Finally late Friday afternoon, the surgery time arrived, 24 hours after Cranky’s admission to Major Urban Trauma Center. But Cranky spoiled things by, with the commencement of the anesthesia, permitting his blood pressure to fall to dangerously low levels. The implication in the explanation given to Cranky after he had been resuscitated was that if only he hadn’t been such a wimp, everybody else would not have been inconvenienced, and the efficient workflow of Major Urban Trauma Center would not have been interrupted. Cranky’s counter that perhaps the underlying cause was the 24 hours he had spent on practically no food or liquids fell on deaf ears.

Incidentally, Cranky's whereabouts became a little uncertain at this stage, and Ms. Cranky spent almost 30 frantic minutes trying to determine if he had been thrown out with the trash.

So Cranky was back to waiting. The surgery was to occur the following morning, Saturday. Then it was first thing in the afternoon, then later in the afternoon. At about 5 p.m., 48 hours after being admitted, Cranky had a discussion with a Person of Some Importance about his predicament. This person seemed to be in charge of the Trauma Center portion of Major Urban Trauma Center. As this person explained it, Cranky just didn’t understand how a Major Urban Trauma Center operated. A Major Urban Trauma Center handles the most traumatic cases first. If you’re next in line, you get bumped if a more traumatic case comes in.

Eureka! So Simple! Now Cranky saw the light. He just had to wait until he had deteriorated enough to not get bumped by some Johnny-Come-Lately! So Cranky got back to the business at hand, which he now understood was to deteriorate some more.

Finally, later Saturday evening, Cranky had his surgery. And apparently things went well, medically. But it was not until Tuesday evening, three days after the surgery and five days after the beginning of the adventure, that Cranky was able to escape the medical Kafkaesque fortress. And this only after been told all day Tuesday that he was leaving but then running into the roadblock of an obstinate Intern who somehow, in the great scheme of  things at Major Urban Trauma Center, outranked or at least was on a par with the Resident and the Attending on her medical team. There was a problem with some blood count. Cranky told the roadblock, “Look, I’m leaving,” and for once Cranky prevailed.

It will be awhile before Cranky goes north of the Potomac River again.

PS: If you know of any good K Street personal injury lawyers, let Cranky know.

 

LONG LIVE THE CALIPHATE

Just about everybody seems concerned about radical Islamic extremists gaining control of a hunk of desert stretching from northern and eastern Syria to northern and western Iraq. From there, it is argued, they will have a base from which to mount attacks on Western, and Eastern, Civilization.

 

But getting all the militant whack-jobs in one place might just be the best strategy for controlling them and their activities. Particularly if that place is pretty much nothing but sand and rock. In such a place they can't hide from drones, overflights, and satellites. Their activities can be readily observed. An aggressive border surveillance can control ingress and egress. And a few airstrikes from time to time would keep them in a defensive posture.

 

So long live the caliphate. Give the terrorists and potential terrorists a place to gather. And then keep them there. Anybody got a better idea?

DICK CHENEY, PUMP HEAD

Ever wonder how Dick Cheney came to be? You know, the infatuation with torture, the un-thought-thru decisions about undertaking wars, the failures in planning and logistically supporting those wars? The knee-jerk hard-right response to pretty much any problem? Well, someone may have hit upon the answer.

 

In an opinion piece in the April 9-15 issue of the Boise Weekly—yeah, that’s right, Idaho—John Rember discusses Mr. Cheney’s history thusly:

 

He’s been under general anesthesia for a substantial portion of his life. One can assume high-school concussions [Mr. Cheney played football in high school], some months or years of not enough blood to the brain, some hardening of the cerebral arteries, long moments when one or more of his hearts ceased to pump blood, times when, fascinated with videos of water-boarding, he simply forgot to breathe.

 

Mr. Rember raises the term “pump head,” a condition of temporary, and sometimes not so temporary, mental problems experienced by some recipients of anesthesia. Cranky can vouch for the existence of pump head. He’s had two heart operations and several less serious but still anesthetized procedures, and his head ain’t been completely right since. Oh, he’s gotten a little less foggy as the operations have receded, but he’s still prone to excessive peevishness, decisions too quickly made, and a general reduction in compassion for his fellow man (and woman).

 

Lest anyone contend that Mr. Rember’s analysis is based solely on politics, he also mentioned Bill Clinton’s somewhat less than stellar press conferences following his open-hear surgery.

SUPERB OWL XLVIII--THE PERFECT TRIFECTA

Superb Owl (see Steven Colbert) XLVIII was the perfect trifecta: lousy game, lousy ads, lousy half-time show.

At least we won't be hearing weeks, months, and years of "Peyton Manning is the best quarterback of all-time." (But really Peyton, you ain't half bad.)

And Roger Sherman did not yell at the camera, causing some poor news chick to winch in discomfort. (Hope he's OK.)

And who was that half-time singer, anyway? (Guess I'm showing my age.)

And Queen Latifa singing America the Beautiful? (Wasn't bad but just don't seem right.)

And those pre-game, half-time, and post-game commentators! (Really, the whole concept of talking heads needs to be revisited; on the other hand, it is employing the otherwise unemployable.)

And what's next? (That's right, the Final Four; life is such a grind.)

No, the Winter Olympics comes first! (There's hope after all! Hundreds of hours of watching people play in the snow and on the ice! Just like watching TV from Atlanta!)

ALASKA, WHERE IS IT?

Hope Alaska Senator Mark Begich does not find out about the U.S. map painted on the playground at George Mason Elementary School in Alexandria, Virginia. According to an article in the Washington Post's Style section of January 22, the Senator's pet peeve is U.S. maps that ignore or misplace his state. The George Mason map has Alaska, the nation's largest state as measured by land mass, at about the size of South Carolina and located just to the south of California.

At least Alaska fared better than Hawaii, which is no longer in the Pacific Ocean but has been relocated to the Caribbean.

In defense of the educators at George Mason, perhaps their goal is not a geography lesson but an attempt to illustrate a component of Quantum Physics theory, that component being Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. Still, it's a little disconcerting to think of all the Alexandria urchins who go forth thinking a state with humongous glaciers exists immediately south of California. Maybe they pass it off as just a Sarah Palin thing.

MORE ON "POSITIVE RESPONSE"

More ED physicians and clinics seem to be guarantying, in radio advertisements, a "positive response" while in the doctor's office. The problem is that the guarantor is usually an earnest clinical-sounding male. Nothing against male ED docs and clinics, but such advertising falls a little flat, if you catch my drift.

A preferable advertisement would feature a sultry female voice, maybe from a Doctor or Nurse with a last name such as Svensen who invites you to call her "Brigitte." She would offer the guaranty thusly:

"I guaranty you a [pause, then uttered with innuendo] positive response while in the office or your money will be refunded. And no one has asked for a refund in a long, long time."

Wouldn't such advertising be a bit more effective?

TEA PARTY AMERICA: THE ‘60s COME FULL CIRCLE

Remember those wacky ‘60s? At least some of us old-timers do, and you kids, you might have read about those years in your history classes. (Do they still teach history in school?) Anyway, those were fun times. A raucous group of anti-establishment, anti-government, anti-authoritarian wackos dominated the national discourse. They were a minority of the population but you would never know it from the amount of attention they attracted to themselves. They competed with each other to see who could be the most outlandish, who could produce the most consternation amongst their fellow citizens.

 

And guess what!? They’er back! Anti-establishment, anti-government, anti-authoritarian wackos dominating the national discourse. To be sure, they don’t have quite the same political philosophy as did their 1960s’ predecessors, but the details are minor compared to the central focus shared by the two groups. That central focus was then and is today the desire to collapse a good portion of society, and mostly just for the fun of it.

NEOCONS, WHERE’D THEY GO?

Remember a few years back when neocons—neoconservatives—were all the rage? Remember the large role they played in getting the nation into those little skirmishes in Iraq and Afghanistan? Well, they certainly seem few and far between today. A handful are still around: Bill Kristol, Charles Krauthammer, Laura Ingraham, for example. Dick Cheney still sounds off occasionally. But by and large they seem to be lying low.

Which on one hand is a pity, because their willingness to throw military might at a situation could contribute to the backing the President seeks before delivering a bit of punishment to Bashar al-Assad for using chemical weapons, a punishment that definitely should be delivered.

But on the other hand, those neocons weren’t the most rational people. Their answer to most problems in the foreign affairs arena boiled down to us kicking the snot out of some country or group. Winning hearts and minds was not their thing. Their attitude was, “Grab ‘em by the gonads. The hearts and minds will follow.”

And the “us” that was to do the snot kicking wasn’t necessarily them, safely ensconced in their think tanks, literary havens, political positions, and the like. The “us” was the sons and daughters of ordinary Americans. As Mr. Cheney once said about the five military deferments he received in the sixties (Vietnam, remember?), “I had other priorities.”

Moreover, the neocons weren’t very good on the details of snot-kicking. Just throw some troops at the problem. We’ll think about goals, objectives, strategy, and stuff later. They were sort of the opposite of Teddy Roosevelt’s “speak softly and carry a big stick.” They were more “scream loudly ‘til the other guy quits.” Only the other guy can often outlast the inept application of military power.

So most of us won’t miss the neocons. They were fun while they lasted, but all good things must end. Now we can turn for entertainment to those rising laugh-a-minute libertarians. It’s like your favorite TV show went off the air but this new one definitely has possibilities.

OBAMA'S SYRIAN SPEECH

This is what the President should say in his upcoming speech to the nation on Syria. Oh, not necessarily the exact words. His speech writers should be able to smooth the jagged edges. But these are the points he should get across Tuesday night.

My fellow Americans. I come before you tonight to present the case for military action against the Syrian regime of Bashar al-Assad. The reason for military action is simple: punishment for using chemical weapons.

War is horrible. But chemical weapons are especially horrific. They were used extensively in World War I. The revulsion against them and their terrible effects was so great that they were absent from the battlefields of World War II and have been employed only in isolated instances since then. All but a handful of nations--Angola, North Korea, Egypt, South Sudan, and Syria--are party to the Chemical Weapons Convention outlawing the production, stockpiling, and use of chemical weapons.

Bashar al-Assad was warned about using chemical weapons in Syria's current civil war. But he ignored the warnings and recently slaughtered more than a thousand fellow Syrians, including over four hundred children, with chemicals.

This despicable act requires punishment. And that is the nature of the military action I am prepared to undertake. The action is punishment for waging war in a manner that is condemned by the vast majority of the world's nations and peoples. The action is designed not only to punish Bashar al-Assad but also to discourage any other powers from resorting to such evil in the future.

But, many ask, how would punishing the Syrian dictator impact our policy toward him in general and toward the civil war he is conducting?

Our desire regarding Bashar al-Assad and Syria is that he no longer be the ruler of Syria and that Syria start down the path to a democratic government and freedom and justice for its citizens. But these goals are not things we will pursue with large-scale military action. To impose our will on Syria by force would require a massive military invasion, an effort similar to the one we led in 1990-91 to remove the forces of Saddam Hussein from Kuwait. The wars we have fought in Iraq and Afghanistan over the last decade show the confusing, unsatisfying outcomes that can flow form trying to do too much with too little military. 

Partly as a result of the inconclusive Iraq and Afghanistan wars, partly as a result of a decade of exposure to the perplexing conflicts of the Middle East, the American people would not be supportive of open-ended military action in the area, much less a large-scale military effort in Syria. Moreover, a large-scale military effort would have to be followed by a large-scale, long-term military occupation in order to protect the fragile new government. And again, this is not a mission Americans are currently disposed to undertake.

We will continue to explore diplomatic solutions. We will provide various sorts of support--short of large-scale military action--to what groups we can find in Syria that share our desire for peace, justice, and democracy in the country. But we are not prepared to attempt to solve the many problems in that part of the world by force. We are the most powerful nation in the world, but there are limits to that power. There are limits to what we can accomplish in, or impose on, other cultures. 

What we can do is to punish pure evil. And chemically killing over a thousand of his fellow Syrians, including over four hundred children, was an act of pure evil by Bashar al-Assad. I propose to punish him and his instruments of power for that act.

 

Thank you, and may God bless and protect America.

OBAMA ROLLS THE DICE

In what could be one of the defining actions of his Presidency, President Obama has rolled the dice on military action against the Syrian regime. Instead of ordering military action, he has asked Congress for authorization to do so.

The need to respond to the despicable conduct of the Syrian regime−using chemical weapons against its own people−would have been unquestioned in decades past. But the combination of three factors is threatening to turn back the nation's clock to the pre-World War II years when peace at all cost was the shameful stance of many Americans. First, after the costly and drawn out conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan−drawn out in large measure because of the military incompetence of Bush, Cheney, and Rumsfeld−the American people are tired of foreign involvements, particularly in the perplexing, confusing Middle East.

Second, the current Congress is certainly one of the most partisan and inept in the nation's long history of partisan and inept Congresses. If this Congress is a true reflection of the electorate, we are indeed a nation dominated by dummies. And third, far too many so-called conservatives, including far too many conservatives in Congress, simply want to see Obama fail, never mind the cost to the nation. The visceral dislike−hatred is not too strong a word−of the nation's first President who does not have a typical middle or upper class American background is more than palpable in some quarters.

So it does not seem too strong a statement to say that the President has put his ability to govern effectively over the next three years, and his place in history, on a roll of the dice. Maybe this isn't his reasoning, but his bet seems to be that the Congress can rise above itself, can rise above the passions that have engulfed tea-party, Fox-Noise America, and do what is required of a world power with responsibilities it may not want but most certainly should not avoid.

That is one helluva bet.

THE APOCALYPSE NEARS

Signs that the Apocalypse ain't far away:

) Private Chelsea Manning (It's not the transgender thing; it's that someone with such obvious mental and emotional problems had practically unlimited access to sensitive documents pertaining to the nation's security)

) Senator Ted Cruz

) Republicans in general (Remember the good ol' days when Democrats were the whacko party? At least they were never a real threat to bring the American experiment to a crashing halt)

) Facebook

) Twitter

) The Middle East

) Climate change deniers

) Fox Noise

 

) A financial system that is totally at the mercy of computers (and hackers and technological glitches and whatall)

STAND YOUR GROUND = LICENSE TO KILL

Stripped of legalese and high-sounding bows to an individual's right of self-defense, the essence of stand your ground laws is a license to kill. You find yourself in a ticklish situation with a loud-mouth ahole, you don't have to expend energy in trying to defuse things. You can just blow his sorry a** away.

 

In the Trayvon Martin-George Zimmerman confrontation, whoever survived arguably had a stand-your-ground defense. Zimmerman was allegedly on the  ground getting his head pounded into the concrete, so he was justified in shooting Martin. Never mind that Zimmerman had stupidly put himself in harm's way.

 

If Martin had been the survivor, he most certainly would have had a stand your ground defense. He was being followed by some weird wannabe tough guy who had a gun. If that is not a threatening situation justifying a bit of preventative killing, nothing is.

 

Yeah, standing your ground is a great addition to the Second Amendment. No more need to show a preference for peaceful solutions or defusing actions. Rationality is for losers. The law says you can shoot first. Ain't that great?

F-BOMB IN COURT

Much to the delight of the nation's media, pundits, and assorted talking heads, the prosecutor in his opening statement in the George Zimmerman trial dropped the f-bomb. It was a planned drop, not one of those spur-of-the-moment “oh f***”s. The prosecutor was quoting Mr. Zimmerman in a call the latter had made to the police shortly before slaying another individual, a slaying Mr. Zimmerman claims was self-defense but the state, represented by the prosecutor, asserts was murder.

The prosecutor was not the first lawyer to drop the f-bomb in a trial. Cranky his own self did so almost four decades ago. At the time, Cranky had a little part-time law practice down in Williamsburg, Virginia, where he had grown up and was working on a graduate degree at the Big Green, or The College of W&M. One day a cousin dropped into his office, a young lady he had last seen when she was a child. She was now a young adult and in a bit of a jam.

Seems she had gotten into an argument with another young lady over the affections of a young gentleman, a truck driver as near as Cranky can recall. Some unpleasant words were uttered and there may have been a bit of hair-pulling. The local constabulary became involved, and Cranky's cousin found herself with a court date. Only a misdemeanor was alleged, so it wasn't the crime of the century.

Still, Cranky didn't get into a courtroom much. Thus here was an opportunity to shine. The only witness against Cranky's cousin was the other young lady. In fact, since only a misdemeanor was involved, there was no prosecuting attorney. The complaining young lady took the stand and told the judge her version of events. The judge, incidentally, who Cranky had been before on several other occasions, conducted his court in the head-down position. He was continuously writing and rarely looked up for eye-contact with anyone in the courtroom−attorneys, parties, police officers, spectators, anyone.

The young lady completed her perceptions of the truth as she remembered them. As one might expect, she was just an innocent victim of a wrathful other woman. But Cranky had heard his cousin's version of the incident, and that version included one item that the complaining young lady had not mentioned.

So Cranky got right to it: “Miss Jones, isn't it true that you called my client a 'Mothaf***ing B****'?”

The low rumble of courtroom back-up noise ceased. Jaws of spectators and attending law enforcement officers dropped. The judge looked up from his writing. And the young lady on the stand commenced a flustered bout of hemming and hawing.

Soon after, the judge ended the proceedings by instructing the two young ladies to stay the heck away from each other. Some months later, after several billing notices, Cranky's cousin paid him his $10 fee.

All in all, it was one of Cranky's finest courtroom moments, rivaled only by the time a young male client ran from the courtroom shortly after being told by the judge that he needed to spend some time at a state facility for troublesome youths. After following his client for several hours through the picturesque Colonial Capital, Cranky was able to flag down an officer of the law, who returned Cranky and the adventurous youth to the courtroom.

But that's another story.

BATON BEING PASSED

The big picture significance of Edwardo Snowden and the NSA situation is that the generational baton is being passed. Maybe slowly but certainly inexorably. This doesn't mean that Ed is any sort of hero, or even that he shouldn't spend considerable time in the slammer, provided he eventually surfaces in U.S. custody.

What it does mean is that the generation now on the precipice of power will not be denied, as previous generations on the precipice of power were not denied. The flow of time is inexorable, and no ranting and raving by the likes of Dick Cheney, Bill O'Reilly, and others standing athwart history yelling "Stop" can hold back the tide.

The generation on the precipice of power is a nerdy group. Computerized social media and computerized everything else have been their environment. They are the first generation fully a product of the Information Age. They don't see 9/11 as older generations do. Older generations see 9/11 as a momentous, paradigm-threatening event epitomizing and releasing forces that must be defeated. The precipice generation is not so sure. Many of its members have no strong recollections of "Before." They came to adulthood in uncertainty. Sometimes they wonder what all the fuss is about.

What they do see, in the United States that is, is a government and ruling class that can be somewhat hysterical. Every minor issue has the potential of going viral, of causing massive and conflicting paranoias. The members of the precipice generation may have concerns about the aggressiveness and rigidity of foreign powers and ideologies, but they have similar concerns about the aggressiveness and rigidity of the right and left sides of the political and cultural spectrums in their own country.

Edwardo Snowden, Bradley Manning, they represent a generational rebellion against the old order. And us members of the old order? We best prepare for change, at least as far as the dominance of our world view is concerned.

WORST ELECTION CHOICE EVER?

Voters in the Commonwealth of Virginia (not a state, Dude; we're a Commonwealth) may be facing the worst election choice in the history of democracy, a history stretching back to at least Aristotle, Plato, Socrates, and their pals in ancient Greece.

Okay, that might be an overstatement. At least the two candidates for November's gubernatorial election are not crooks (that we know of). And at least the election appears to be real and not one of those pro forma phony (and often crooked) things held in many parts of the world.

Still, for voters in the vicinity of the political spectrum's center, it is hard to imagine two more unpalatable candidates than Republican Ken Cuccinelli and Democrat Terry McAuliffe. The Cuch is one of those far right whack jobs who have pretty much captured the Republican Party. Terry Boy is a Virginian mostly by virtue of paying Virginia taxes. The Cuch got his party's nomination by hijacking the nomination process from an open primary to a convention dominated by like-minded again'ers (those against just about anything). Terry Boy is on the verge of getting his party's nomination because the Virginia version of his party is devoid of state-wide leadership at the moment.

Do issues matter in this election? Probably some. What will probably matter most, however, is turn out. If turn out is low, the advantage goes to the Cuch who can count on the rabid support of fellow again'ers. If Terry Boy can persuade enough middle-of-the-roaders to overcome their apathy and show up at the pols, he has a chance.

But that's a lot of apathy for Terry Boy to overcome.

CONSERVATIVES AS GRADUATION SPEAKERS?

A conservative was complaining on a recent radio show that only a small percentage of graduation speakers at colleges and universities are of the conservative persuasion. Well, duh.

Of course conservatives are not well represented at graduation ceremonies. Graduations are a time of happiness, a time of optimism. Who wants to hear gloom and doom at such events? Gloom and doom may be correct. We may all be going to hell in a hand basket. But really, is that what you want to hear at your graduation, or your kid’s graduation?

Conservatives are all about gloom and doom. And about the past. They are ever moaning about the lost paradises of yesteryear. As a general matter, they are only happy when opining on two topics: their own alleged victimhood at the hands of liberals and the mainstream media, and the alleged decaying state of society.

Occasionally, a conservative will come along who doesn’t sound like Dr. Grump ninety percent of the time. Ronald Reagan was one such individual. But by and large, conservatives impress the rest of the populace as dour and dogmatic, incapable of expressing a positive view of the future without tying it to a particular political stance or a static economic structure.

So yes, Conservatives, you might be under-represented on graduation stages. But most of us get enough of cranky old aunts and uncles at Thanksgiving dinner. Who wants to hear one at a graduation?

"POSITIVE RESPONSE"

A local radio station has been running an ad by a medical clinic specializing in the sexual problems of the American male, the major problem apparently being the erectile dysfunction (ED) epidemic that is making the nation's obesity epidemic look like small potatoes (small potatoes, obesity, get it?). The ad suggests that the clinic focuses on the really hard cases (oops, another poor word choice), experiments with combinations of almost two hundred medicines, has successfully helped a 94-year old, and promises a positive response right there in the clinic or your money back.

The ad raises a number of troubling images, one of course being that of a 94-year old guy gettin' it on. Perhaps the most troubling images, however, involve what might constitute a "positive response." Here's one image. A patient is lying on a bed, or maybe just a gurney. He might be completely naked, or maybe just his head and groin are uncovered. Four or five medical types with clipboards and pens are gathered around. The group might consist of one or two doctors, maybe an intern, and several nurses, most likely elderly. They are watching for movement.

"There, it twitched."

"No, that was strong enough."

"Well, it was certainly close."

"It could have been just a PH." (PH being an acronym for the medical term "penile hiccup.")

Now, if the ad is producing images such as this, perhaps the clinic's advertizing efforts need some adjustment. No matter how bad a fella's problems are, the possibility of group observation of his groin by serious medical types might be more than he is willing to chance.

A much better "positive response" image could involve young Swedish masseuses wearing the official uniform of the Swedish Bikini Team. Of course, developing a tactful, and legal, ED ad featuring Swedish masseuses would certainly be a challenge. But if you're promising a "positive response" or your money back, you gotta offer more than a group of dour medical types watching intently for the effects of a pill.

FIFTY SHADES OF, WHATEVER

Cranky is a little more than one month short of seventy. Cranky's wife is much younger, by a year to be more precise. So Cranky has a trophy wife.

But should that trophy wife be reading "Fifty Shades of Grey"?

Really, how is Cranky supposed to respond? Dinner at MacDonalds?

Or maybe washing the dishes one night.

Or being sure to put the toilet seat down.

Or vacuuming.

Or not complaining about his bunion. (You would be amazed at the size of that thing.)

Or maybe emailing Carolyn Hax for advice. (Note emailing instead of writing; Cranky is not unaware of social media and the Information Age.)

Or thinking, "It's just a phase."

Or suggesting more Nora Roberts.

Or recommending a different arthritis medication.

Or mentioning his heart condition.

Such weighty issues make Cranky sleepy. Time for a nap.

THE GOVERNMENT PROMISES NOT TO. . . .

After a thirteen-hour filibuster, Senator Rand Paul of Kentucky extracted a promise from the Government to not drone him while he was having a frappe cappuccino or something at a cafe. Whether the promise is valid in just Kentucky or encompasses the entire country is a little unclear, but subsequent negotiations between the Senator and the Government will presumably clear up that particular point.

Now some might contend that Senator Paul's fear of a personal droning was a little unrealistic. After all, the Government's theoretical capability of doing something does not necessarily mean that the something will be done. But one individual's seemingly irrational fear is another's distinct possibility, even likelihood, and the Constitution's guarantee of freedom from fear makes no distinction between the rational and the irrational, and indeed authorizes no branch of Government to make the distinction. Embedded in the Constitution's Preamble−"in order to form a more perfect Union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity"− is certainly the right to rationally or irrationally fear whatever one wants.

In any case, Senator Paul's success in achieving a personal promise from the Government concerning a particular fear of his has established a precedent. Taken to its logical conclusion, the precedent is that each and every citizen is entitled to a promise or promises from the Government to refrain from inflicting some unpleasantness upon him or her. Once the scope of this precedent becomes widely recognized, the deluge will begin. To cope, the Government might need to establish a new agency, the Department of Personal Promises, or DOPP. So much for balancing the budget.

An initial promise that many a citizen will request is "to not take my guns away." Despite the Second Amendment, more than two centuries of widespread gun-ownership, and promises galore by politicians over the years and across the political spectrums, fear of Government confiscation of guns is rampant in many areas of the country. So every citizen who desires a promise of no confiscation will be entitle to a personal letter from the Government: "Dear Mr. LaPierre, We the Government promise not to take your guns away. s/The Government."

Of course, given how deeply entrenched is the fear of gun confiscation, the promise will likely have to be re-expressed every month or so.

Other possible Government promises concerning fears some citizens might find unrealistic include:

) To not have your home nuked.

) To not have a microchip planted in your brain to control your thoughts.

) To not have poisonous snakes dropped in your backyard.

) To not have spider colonies put in your attic.

) To not be required to listen to Fox Noise at least four hours a day.

) To not be required to listen to MSNBC at least four hours a day.

) To not have black UN helicopters following you around.

And so on. A Government agency with the sole mission of promising citizens that their personal fears about Government intrusion won't come to pass might go a long way toward dampening the current epidemic of national paranoia. It certainly couldn't hurt. You have my word.