RIP, Sen. Byrd

So it's Wednesday and I've been irritated at myself for choosing to babble like a ninny about sports when one of the Senate's old lions roared his last. So, I'm late to the party.

I'm not from West Virginia. I'm not a particularly partisan fellow. As anyone who knows me or has read this crapola blog before knows, I lean to the left. I've voted for both parties in gubernatorial and presidential elections - which has led to some (and those people were and probably remain asshats) informing me that I'm: 1) naiive; 2) insane; or 3) seriously confused.

Which has no real bearing on what follows, it's my blog and I write about myself. If that surprises anyone, piss off.

West Virginia Sen. Robert Byrd passed on Monday at the age of 92, about the age my maternal grandfather should've passed had he not been intent on exacerbating his alcoholism. I was only mildly familiar with the Senator, a mere by-product of growing up in the suburbs of D.C. and reading The Washington Post. I'll remember him for his flourish with the spoken word and his well-reported pocket copy of the Constitution.

I'll also remember the superficially critical title bestowed upon him by his colleagues as the "king of pork."

It's apt. But as is often the case there's more to the story. And I've got a sliver- a teeny tiny sliver of personal experience to toss in.

West Virginia is the poorest State in the nation, somehow even moreso than remote Alaska. In parts of the state, what we in suburbia would call basic necessities (water, electric, sewage) are rare. Sen. Byrd was, I'm certain, well aware of this and used his position in DC to assist his constituents back home. I'm not sure how this was a bad thing. Any elected public official's job is to help the people who sent them to Washington - and failure to do so leads to political estrangement.

Rush Limbaugh once stated that acting in one's own radical self-interest was what made America, and capitalism, great. I think he meant that the drive to succeed, and the ambition to do great things propels society forward (and can line your pockets). Though Nietzche said it more poetically. So it is with politicians in Congress. 100 Senators all look out for the best interests of their own home states, regardless of party, race, or creed. They all know the penalty for failure.

So, a trip to Wheeling Jesuit University will uncover the Robert C. Byrd National Technology Transfer Center. The Senator has also been credited with assisting the continuing operations of Wheeling-Pitt Steel, which helps provide some jobs to an area that remains at or below the poverty line.

I find it difficult to find fault in this instance. I was put off, for example, by the lavish spending in Utah around the Salt Lake Olympics - it was temporary and ultimately unhelpful. Yes, the workers hired for the Games were employed, but the Games ended and....zippy.

By contrast......

In West Virginia, the aforementioned Tech Center at least gives students the opportunity to develop and create new technologies for the future. Anyone can take a million buck of federal money and cynically "create" 100 new janitors earning $100k for a year. Investing in the future, well, at least it's not 100% cynical. I'm not arguing the guy was perfect...he wasn't. His former membership in the Ku Klux Klan has been well-documented - this can either tarnish him completely or serve as an example that, yes folks...men can change for the better. I'm sure he was a preening publicity-starved loudmouth Politician like all of 'em are, and enjoyed going to his home state to bask in the love of the little people. What I am arguing is that he did a hell of alot for people who needed someone to do it for them.

I attended Wheeling College, as it was known, for a year. Good school, made some great friends, and left to be closer to a girl I later married. I've lost some of those friends along the way, some for good reasons and some just because Time Marches Ever On. The town had once been a shining city on a literal hill, 100 years before I got there. My paternal grandfather grew up in Martin's Ferry, Ohio - right across the river from Wheeling, he joined the Army to leave there but now he's buried up there, too. By 1989, the place was right outta Springsteen's "Your Hometown", a dying city. I had alot of good times, but on my gloomier days I'd feel sick and sad there, the town slowly being beaten into dusty extinction.

I hear it's better, I've not been up in years. I know that the College provides many good jobs and is a pretty good school, all the folks I knew graduated and have moved on to be bright and productive citizens. Sen. Byrd was a tremendous benefactor of the school, so they all owe him a small debt for his service, as do the citizens of West Virginia. They're the butt of alot of jokes, and have been a long time. But he looked out for them and was their Advocate when no one else was.

I especially like one of his later quotes, on his former support for segregation, but there's wisdom in the words that bears on anyone who's committed wrongs against their fellow man:

" I know now I was wrong. Intolerance had no place in America. I apologized a thousand times....and I don't mind apologizing over and over again. I can't erase what happened."

That's what an honest man or woman does. Stand up, take your lumps. Yep, you might have to take them over and over again. In a world where stubborn pride seems to be the behavioral norm, a little humility shines like the proverbial beacon in the dark.

Godspeed

Rah Rah Rah blah blah blah!

Hi gang! It's baseball season and I stayed up way too late last night watching the Dodgers/Yankees game. Sadly, my team lost - quite unbelievably to some but to those who follow the Dodgers the sight of Jonathan Broxton walking a tightrope is not entirely unusual. Sorry, JonBoy, I bought your tee-shirt at the Top of the Park store and you're friggin' doomed. But it looks good on me.

So....which way to go? Another blog entry about my self-image? Hmm. A polemic about Life and It's Many and Varied Wonders? Meh. Free advice? Not today.

Today it's the SHPORTSH Page. I'm creatively checking out and replacing anything interesting (and that is - admittedly - a stretch. When is any of my crap interesting???) with A DAMNED LIST!!!

Are you like me? Do you hate lists? The Top 100 celebrity bowel movements!!! The Top 10 Funniest Things My Wife can do with her Rump! My Personal Top 10 greatest Farts........

No, I guess you're not like me. Well......THE EASIEST TEAMS TO ROOT FOR!

Interested? No? Bollocks to ya, go watch soccer.

First, a preamble. I'm not shooting for "where we've been lately." So, kids, the Indy Colts are off this list. Yeah, they're good now, but they haven't always been (see, e.g., 1983). Ditto for my New England Patriots - when I was a kid they were a joke. New Orleans? Nope. Tampa Rays? Puuuhhh-leeze. I'm talking about consistent "greatness" and popularity

In no order at all:

LA Lakers/Boston Celtics: I'm lumping them together. The Lakers just won another title two weeks ago, and deservedly so. Lots of titles, combined. The Celtics have more, but the Lakers have more flash, more "star power". The Yin and Yang of basketball - all offense or all defense. I'll give Honorable Mention to the Chicago Bulls when Jordan was there.

Montreal Canadiens: ugh. The Yankees of hockey. I'm not even bothering to look up how many Cups they've won, but it's twice what any other team has won. Blanc, bleu, and cheesy. I'd thrown in the Detroit Red Wings, but that's a fairly recent development. Honorable mention goes to the NY Islanders (yes, they were outstanding once), and Edmonton Oilers.

Oakland/LA Raiders and Pittsburgh Steelers: Yeah, a joke lately. But from the mid-70's to early '90's they were consistently good and perennial contenders, and had a good run there earlier in this decade. The silver and black are everywhere, from Northern Cal to South Florida. Coined the whole "commitment to excellence" thing. Of course, the Steelers are much-beloved by many across the country, winning 6 Super Bowls does that for a team. The NFL has many honorable mention teams, like the recent Colt and Pats teams, or the old Dolphin, 49-er and Packer teams.

Boston Red Sox: in terms of titles this is Jonny-come-lately. But the Sox are over 100 years old and part of the fun of pulling for the Sox is the futility. Nowadays that's less of a negative. I think alot of fans gravitated towards the Sawx when the Yankees had that great run in the late-90's. Yankee-haters united under the Sawx banner. Just my opinion, I was baptized during the infamous Sox/Mets 1986 Series. Why lose Bruce Hurst??? Why? I'll toss in a few teams here, like the Dodgers, Cardinals, and Braves - all really good teams but without the "ease of rooting for" that I'm referring to. It aint tough to be a Red Sox fan right now.

NOTE: I can't include the Cubs. I WON'T include the Cubs.

Dallas Cowboys: the second-worst type of fan is the Alaskan Cowboys fan. "America's Team." Yeah, in this life ya really do go out on a limb when you declare your allegiance to this f-ing dungheap of a football team. Why are there so many Cowboy fans? I'm a little clueless and - as a Skins fan - biased as all get-out. The Star? eh, ok. The history? OK, if history was the barometer there'd still be lots of Cleveland Browns fans out there. I know that just about every NFL team has it's own passionate following, but Dallas seems to be a universal....some sort of unknown universal nexus. They've had some great teams in every decade and have lately come up far short of the expectations of their rabid fans, but their popularity is as undeniable as it is inexplicable.

I recall some DJ on a sports station opining that in the 1970's alot of dads raised their sons as Cowboy fans so as to enhance the child's self-esteem, to make them feel like a winner. The hypothesis lacks for any kind of scientific method, so I'm not convinced. More likely, in my estimation, is that the kids knew the Cowboys were winners and wanted - of their own accord- to root for a winner.

Which leads me to the Absolute Worst, the Final Circle of Hell, the New York Yankees. An undeniable team full of f-sticks who consistently buy titles. Yes, that is bitter, go eat one. Politicians, celebrities, soldiers, muppets, and Emperors doff the Yankee cap. It's almost more American than the stars and stripes. In its' excess, it represents us at our worst. 27 titles, the most in professional sports - AND YET LAST NIGHT ESPN CUT TO A G-DAMNED SHOT OF A LITTLE KID PRAYING FOR ANOTHER YANKEE COMEBACK!!!!

Shit, junior, if God isn't a Yankee fan, He doesn't exist. OK? Ok.

In my imagination, I see a kid in Kentucky and in Alaska wondering which baseball team he wants to pull for - and the KY kid knows he just can't wait for Johnny Bench and Pete Rose to come 'round again for the Reds, so - independently of the other they each pick THE BESTEST TEAM EVAH! It's fun to pull for winners, right?! Rooting for the Yankees is like rooting for Goliath to crush David....the odds are just stacked in Goliath's favor.

Tick off some great Yankee players...Jeter, A-Rod, Jackson, Winfield, Tartabull (oops!), O'Neill, Gherig, Ruth, Mantle, Berra........I'm willing to bet that the Yanks have their own wing in Cooperstown (I haven't been yet). Almost seems unfair.

Well, that's my lame little list. It's not ironclad. Every team I picked has had High Times (see, e.g., South America's Team) and Low Times (see "Red Sox, Boston; 1919-2004), even those damned Yankees (the late '80's to mid '90's). I guess that's part of the fun. If I was going for FUTILITY I'd mention "any Washington baseball team" and the Lions and Bengals. In fact, what's with the State of Ohio and championships? What did you people do to deserve such lousy luck, especially you folks in and around Cleveland? Must be the water, the bad teeth, or Drew Carey.

Well, there's always that OSU marching band channel, where ya can watch highlights of the Buckeye Band's greatest, um, marches. Yup.

Thanks, Carol? BMW? SMB...Oh, hi! It's the hair ball!

No, that's not me in the photo above. Just clearing that up.

Summer has arrived and with it the inevitable unveiling of my furry body. I am blessed with what a kid on my son's baseball team termed "The Hair Curse." Yep. Though my skull is currently balding, my hair-to-skin ratio seems to increase annually at an alarming rate. As Drew Carey once wrote - I'll paraphrase - my hair is migrating from my head to my ass.

It's probably been true since I was about 18, but I didn't notice it until I was in my twenties. Like my father before me, I've got a lush, thick coat of hair covering my chest and back. It goes without saying - but I'll say it because this is my friggin' FORUM, that my extremities are likewise luxuriously coated with black, grey, and now the occasional white hair.

This makes me something of a FREAK on the beach, or at the pool.

I think I can recall a time in the 1970's where guys sported body hair and chicks dug it. I was only a kid, but I think that used to be true.

Nowadays, guys are mostly as hairless as the little boys running around playing with sand buckets. I know from what I hear on the radio or read in the papers that men now remove their unwanted body hair because women these days prefer the "no-hair" look. I can't figure out why I'd want to do this simply to conform.

But, I must admit, being hairy is OUT.

Tattoos are cool. Piercings are cool. Body hair aint. This is awesome! Another chance for me to cast myself in the role of the outcast!

Nah. Maybe not.

The hairy guy on the beach is the guy everyone laughs at and says "thank God I'm not like him." Or, and I'm only imagining here, the guys who meticulously shave down their bodies can look nervously around (and reach back to make sure the stubble aint too long) and THEN bust on the hairy guy.

I guess, personally, I don't care.

Oh, I would. If my wife or girlfriends had ever said "you look fine, but you'd look better without that fur, Wolfman" I'd get it removed. I would. Not because I'd feel better about myself but I'd do it to please the S.O. in my life. I'd also do more situps if asked, etc. I guess I like to try to please people and if they complained I'd try to "fix" myself. I think psychiatrists call that "co-dependency" but - and I'm being honest here- I'd want my S.O. to listen to me if I thought something similar.

But I'm 38 years old, my wife's known me for over 20 years and has never asked me (directly or indirectly) to endure the hair-removal process. At this point, the fact that I'm hairy elicits a resigned sigh to the slings and arrows of Those Who Hate on the Hairy, and an exhaled "whatever." A verbal shrug. I can't get motivated to give a sh*t.

I don't get the "metrosexual" guy. I can't imagine spending all that time grooming and shaping like Patrick Bateman in "American Psycho." I mean, I don't want to appear unhealthy so I exercise. I clip my nails. I shave my face. I shower (!!!!!) But...to properly shave all of my body hair would be an investment in time and razors that I'm not prepared to undertake. I have clothes that range from grubby to nice, but I'm not terribly thoughtful about fashion.

No - I'm not Johhny Tough Guy driving a pickup and hunting small game, either. I think of myself as very unremarkable - a schlub, really. Not the worst-looking guy on God's Earth and not the best.

So, if you happen to bump into me at the pool and I shed on you, I humbly apologize -I mean no offense. Or, if you see me at the beach, give a howl. When I get to surf I pull on a rash shirt, so that'll spare you the horror. Or, if I can ever learn to surf worth a damn, pull out that camera and snap a photo of me riding...then sell it to Weekly World News as :

SASQUATCH SURFS!

It's cool by me, maybe you'll make some cash off the picture.

Somewhat disgruntled

"do you feel the same sense of defeat,

have you realized all the things that you'll never be,

I've got no judgment for you, come and ache with me"

Against Me!, "Ache With Me"

So there's this big oily disaster spewing unrefined goo into the Gulf of Mexico. Maybe you've heard.

I detest this fact. I think anyone with a modicum of intellect or a love of visiting the beach in the summertime detests it... not to mention seafood lovers, oceanside realtors and hotel chains....alot of folks. And it bears mentioning that, yet again, the citizens of Louisiana are on the short end of the stick.

Running around blaming the GI-NORMOUS business entity called BP is beside the point. Of course it's their fault. It was their rig, their property, they were entrusted with appropriate stewardship of the operation and they - and their subcontractors - blew it. Big Time.

Which leads me to Mr. President Barack Hussein Obama.

He campaigned as an agent of Hope and Change and set himself as the opposite of Bush 2 - who was in no way a good President (name something, after his immediate handling of the attacks of 9-11-2001). I was truly torn between casting a vote for McCain, but his VP candidate deep-sixed my support for the GOP candidate (where have you gone, Jack Kemp...RIP). Drill baby, drill, indeed.

DUH!!! FRIGGIN' ALASKA NITWIT.

Moving on, and getting back to making a real point...

Circumstances make the person. Mr. Obama was faced with a fairly well-united front of GOP adversaries within a year of taking office. White folks who lean right didn't like him, talking secessionism and asking for a birth certificate. Most of it was static.

Now. This is different.

When a private business blows it like this, and lives/livelihoods are endangered, something's gotta give. I realize no one likes Martial Law, but in this instance the US Government has the resources and wherewithal to assist the cleanup. And...what are people wagging their tongues about? Oh, our President is moving too slow and he's not expressing anger.

So he goes and does just that. Lots of photo ops. Who's ass should he kick. Whatever.

NO ONE's but your own, Prez.

BP's well is private property but hazards to homes and habitats must precede legalistic wrangling and finger-pointing. Clean it up, figure out who pays later. Just clean it. Now.

And, while I like the idea of alternative energies,.....not now. Clean it up. Dummies. Get your Jetsons car later. Jane, stop this crazy thing.

By the way, where the hell are our allies? An earthquake in Haiti - we send aid. A tsunami in Indonesia- we send aid. Disaster in China - we send aid. You know who your friends are when the chips are down. Thanks for nothing, a-holes. Guess we're on our own. That's gratitude for you. I believe I've read that the Saudis are well-versed in cleaning up large oil spills. And yet....WTF?

I guess the British aren't too interested in helping, either, despite the fact that their citizens are crapping oil all over our soil. Nice. No one screws up stuff like the British...Iran and Iraq; India; Afghanistan; the entire continent of Africa....brah-vo!

.....let's see...I'm ranting about, what?

So, playing politics with this issue is utter nonsense. I'm sure there are dummy Republicans are giddy over the President's lackluster response to this crisis -- which is absurd because if he fails people suffer.

But he's disappointed me, at least a little. The response to this Gulf crisis is one. The healthcare debacle was too long in the making, he was far too hands-off. The continued presence of US soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan (yoo-hoo! Anti-war folks??? Are you asleep? There's a war still going on and there's no protesting going on? WAS IT ALL JUST MOTIVATED BY YOUR DISLIKE OF GEORGE W. BUSH??).

I felt he was the candidate who might have a chance to break through the dysfunction and silly partisanship (there's a distinction between silly partisanship and reasonable partisanship...), this has not occurred, if anything it's worse. I think he's trying, but right now he's bogged down in some serious mud.

Not mud, I mean, that's oil. And it's a bummer, all around. Every President - as I grow older- seems smaller than the one before. Perhaps [though I don't like to entertain the thought] this is what the twilight of an empire looks like.

Kids and kids and kids...

I haven't written much about them, but I have two daughters.

Why?

I have no earthly idea. They're as demanding as my sons, if not moreso. Just as loud, if not moreso.

And, well, they're brighter. Perhaps I worry about them less.

Mostly I'll address our eldest, but my younger daughter deserves some ink. Camille's 10, and completed 5th grade a week ago, earning the President's Award for Academic Excellence. She earned a 3.5 GPA and scored in the 90th percentile on her standardized testing. Carol and I are very proud of her. The notion that anyone related to me would earn any award stamped with even the canned signature of the President of the US is mind-boggling to me.

Anyway, our eldest turns 15 in a couple days. This inevitable event leads the parent to the inevitable reflection upon All That Has Come Before.

October of 1994, my wife and I were newly-married and living in Virginia Beach while she attended grad school. I was a college-educated landscaper, ambitious as ever, but my back was strong and I liked the work. I guess we had a plan to have kids sometime down the road, but it obviously wasn't rock-solid (read your instruction booklets, people). I vividly recall sitting in our living room on a glorious Sunday afternoon looking at the EPT results. Carol jumped out of the sofa when the purple line showed in full, thinking that meant a negative result. For a change, I actually read the instructions and realized that she was completely erroneous.

Whoops!

We were both about 23 at the time. No house, no realized prospects, but with a suddenly-new list of priorities. Pregnancy made us dead to most of our friends, especially out-of-town college buds who got together to drink in the post-college transition between school and life. I think everyone was happy for us, but the prevailing expression was "better you guys than us."

My grandmother, and later my father, always said you knew who your friends were when the chips were down.

Carol had one more year to finish up, and she did so, landing a position as a GS-7 with the Medicaid branch of what was then HCFA. That alone was huge, as it guaranteed a 4-year ladder from GS-7 to GS-12, there was a future after all.

Me? I took a job with Chem-Lawn (ambitions, again) and worked myself to death in the Virginia heat until we moved back to the DC area, where I hooked up with the Montgomery County school system and taught.

Sarah was born on June 17th, 1995, a month before we left Virginia Beach. A beautiful, perfect, healthy baby girl. I recall the primary emotion being relief. I think at the time it was my greatest accomplishment. (which isn't saying much, obviously, since amoeba manage to procreate).

She's grown up fast, though when I realize it's been 15 years it sounds like a long time. As for the struggle - and there have been many - my family saw us through all of it and helped us get our feet. We'll always owe my mom and dad for giving us a roof to live under and Carol's mom and dad for babysitting Sarah so that we could work or go to classes. When the chips were down, family came through in a way that friends could not.

Not really knocking our friends, to borrow a comic-book cliche, life "hit us hard and fast," and our friends were smarter about it than we were. They knew they didn't have the means to do the job of parenting, and postponed it until they were ready. I think it works better that way, to be as prepared as you can be prior to entering the next phase of life. Carol and I had to grow up quick - perhaps a consequence of our rashness or hubris, and becoming 23-year old parents was a socially isolating experience.

Then, of course, came the real work. Raising a child from infancy onward is a life sentence. We endured the process of learning who this new little tyrant was, what she needed from us, and ...well....everything changed. You adjust. You deal. You move on. In between all of those morose and sober platitudes you have fun, too. Sometimes, just sometimes, parenthood is really like those commercials on TV where everyone's clean and healthy and happy running in the sunshine of a spring afternoon smiling and laughing.

Or- hell- maybe it was all just a bunch of stuff that happened, and it's worked out fine. She's 15 and a bright cookie, has already lettered in her school's Marching Band. We're proud of her, and completely vexed by her at the same time. Typical teenaged crap. But a good kid, we love her alot.

The Strasburg-iest...and other unrelated sh*t

Wow. That guy Strasburg was something, huh?

What's left to write? His induction to the Hall of Fame? Kid comes into the league through last year's draft having his slimy agent spout "you've never seen a kid like this before" and....less than a year later, all the smart folks are saying "I've never seen anything like this before.

Oooooooooo....k.

He was amazing, a must-see pitcher for at least the balance of this season. As for the encomiums...we'll see. Ego, injury, misfortune, salary disputes....anything could derail that future enshrinement in Cooperstown. But, for a Nationals game, it was more fun than usual.

Anyhoo.....

Spent the past weekend, the first weekend in June, working on my grandmother's old beach house. Built in 1959, or 1960, it's 4 blocks (or so) from the ocean, and the salt air wreaks havoc on the paint - every summer sees some scraping and painting. Plus, the humid Tidewater climate breeds vines that clamber all over the shingled siding. We rent out the upper apartment and visit occasionally to do the beach thing or just get a change in scenery. It's my grandmother's legacy to us. My younger brother and I spent alot of every summer between 1980 and 1986 in that house with my grandmother and her husband, John. I think both of us still love the place, I know I do. And when I'm there I miss my grandmother and her Italian accent, her great cooking, and how she doted on me like the sun shined outta my ass.

What I wasn't expecting was a tough job. I'd resolved to dig a trench and lay some drainpipe to move water from the outdoor shower (thus next to the house) and help the area near the house dry out more efficiently. I think it was, by job's end, about 70 feet. Normally, this is hard work but no real problem for me - the ground up here in Maryland is soft I guess. Down there? The first 2 inches are soft and then I hit solid clay for the next 6 inches down. I'm guessing, I didn't measure. It was all pickaxe territory. In nearly 100 degree temps....not fun. That was Friday's job.

Saturday got better, my dad and brother (plus my little nephew) showed up to help, and my younger brother was a huge help getting the trench across the finish line. One thing about my brothers and I - we may bitch alot but we can (and sometimes will) work like a bunch of Irish mules.

So, alot got done.

In between all the work and various "improvements" there was the whole father-son dynamic being played out. My dad was there with my brother and I, my brother there with his son (I was all solo, having left my 4 at home). I felt bad for my brother, as my dad spent alot of time either getting on the kid's nerves or critiquing my brother's parental skills (ie- "you've gotta toughen that boy up"). I think my dad thought he was being funny, or he was simply running his mouth too much, idunno.

For the record, my brother's a doting father and the little boy is 4 and a good kid - but he's 4. I saw nothing unusual. I guess that's what happens as you get older - you don't remember the petty annoying things kids do because you haven't been around them for year and years. By the end of the weekend, I'm sure my brother would have liked to have left the kid at home (he was driving my brother a little crazy, like my 3 year-old does to me).

We all went swimming, 3 generations of Blackfords splashing in the Atlantic at about the same place my grandmother took us while we were growing up. Because it was us - and not some family where everyone gets along without arguing - no Hallmark moments were had. Which is actually OK by me, I don't think I'd like phony Hallmark moments anyway.

It's fun, I like going down there alot. But it's not the same, I still miss her, her voice still echoes in the walls.