Monday, July 20, 2009

To the Moon Alice!


Vietnam War protester guy and his fellow travelers are going to have to wait at least one more post, because with the lightning fast pace I keep, the 40th anniversary of Apollo 11 snuck up on me, and it merits some thoughts here.

Bob Costas is one of the greatest TV interviewers ever, and I still miss his NBC Later program from the early 1990s. Marilu Henner once guested, and was discussing with Costas that she can remember what she did on almost every day of her life. Costas listed a couple of dates, and sure enough, Henner could remember exactly what she did on those days. The segment concluded with Costas tossing off “July 20, 1969,” the day that men first landed on the moon. Henner was obviously taken aback and immediately asked whether someone had put him up to asking that. After Costas replied no, she eventually revealed that was the date she lost her virginity, unfortunately adding the unnecessary detail “standing up, in the shower.” Costas, in one of the greatest ad libs ever, replied, “Well at least we know it wasn’t Neil Armstrong.” I was busy too, of course, watching Neil and Buzz.

My short-term memory has turned to swiss cheese, but my long-term memory keeps hanging in there. The earliest thing I can remember is watching the 1968 Super Bowl with my Dad (Green Bay crushed Oakland), which would have been just a few days after Ron was born. I remember later that year giving Mom her Mother’s Day present. I remember watching Laugh In with Dad, although I believe he later stopped watching it on political grounds or something like that. I remember Dad putting a George Wallace for President sign in our yard later that year, and ultimately the Apollo 8 Christmas orbit of the moon. I remember these things exceptionally clearly. But mostly I remember anything having to do with the space program. Especially to a boy growing up in Houston, whose baseball team was named the “Astros” and whose city council had adopted the slogan “Space City,” the space race was totally absorbing. I followed every detail I possibly could learn, and watched every TV report of every mission I could.

Apollo 11 landed on the moon around 3 p.m. or so, Houston time, and Armstrong and Aldrin stepped foot on the lunar surface shortly before 10 p.m. Having the foresight to know it was something I’d always remember, Mom woke me up (apparently I used to go to bed a lot earlier back then) to watch the famous TV broadcasts. An estimated 600 million people worldwide were also watching. Though I was only 4 1/2, I knew exactly what was happening, and was so excited and fascinated I could hardly stand it. It was like watching ghosts, but I remember every bit of it. I remember the thrill of the moment, and the pride that it was Americans that had conquered the moon. Mom also saved the paper from the next day, which is still somewhere in Kingwood. You can see the New York Times front page from the next day here.

There’s plenty of candidates to choose from, but, at least so far, I would choose Apollo 11 as the most profound and important event occurring in my lifetime, as well as the high water mark of what de Tocqueville called the “American Experiment.” No single event better symbolizes American initiative, ambition, achievement, and success than the lunar landings. Its also one of the last universally shared moments in American history. Other than Super Bowls or 9/11, almost nothing since July 1969 has so totally captured this country’s complete attention. Except maybe Tom Cruise on Oprah.

The Apollo program was one of the most incredible achievements in human history, particularly when considering some relatively forgotten facts. Landing a man on the moon was challenging enough, but NASA did it six times, and within a year and a half after the Apollo 1 fire proved the capsule design fundamentally flawed. How long did it take to get the shuttle program going after Challenger? NASA’s overall accomplishments in the 1960s were remarkable. It went from mostly exploding rockets in 1959 to three lunar missions in 1969, and a fourth mission in earth orbit. It relied on a handful of captured Nazi rocket scientists and a bunch of kids. The average age of Apollo controllers was 26; NASA was pretty much the only non-Defense Department entity or contractor hiring engineers and mathematicians in the 1960s. Perhaps that youth contributed to NASA’s can-do attitude of the times, something extremely rare for a government organization. Or maybe it was that National Socialist work ethic. Anyway, from top to bottom, NASA in the 1960s boasted some of the best and brightest, and most driven individuals ever assembled on one program. At a client’s Christmas party, I once met Eugene Cernan, the last man to walk on the moon. Even though he pretty much just stood there and talked, he absolutely controlled the room. Those guys really did have the right stuff.

Another remarkable thing about Apollo 11 is the times in which it occurred. Simply put, 1968 was one of the worst years ever. Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King had been assassinated within months of each other. One assassination derailed a political movement that likely would have captured the Presidency and potentially worked a sea change in American government. The other marked the end of the initial phase of the civil rights movement, and sparked nationwide urban rioting. Raging protests over Vietnam brought down Johnson, and riots at the 1968 Democratic Convention (and petulance of the protest movement in not embracing Humphrey) tipped the election to Nixon, elected on a law and order platform. Hmm…my brother Ron was born in 1968 too. Well, I’d call that a bright spot shining through the darkness. Though the country by comparison took a deep breath in 1969, we were still experiencing 1968’s aftershocks in ways both momentous and subtle when Apollo 11 blasted off. Reagan had Berkeley put under martial law, Midnight Cowboy was released, the Stonewall riots marked the birth of the gay rights movement, the Tate/LaBianca murders occurred, and US troop levels reached their absolute peak before the Apollo 11 liftoff. A few weeks after splashdown, Woodstock took place, only to be followed within months by the death of the Love Generation at Altamont. Sesame Street debuted on PBS, the New York Times reported on the civilian killings at My Lai, and the very first internet message was sent. So America was experiencing incredible and unprecedented social change when Apollo 11 reached the moon. That turbulence could easily have set the Apollo program adrift. Yet, that's one government program that actually worked as intended.

Apollo 11 also bailed out a US senator over something that happened at a little place called Chappaquiddick. Talk about a scandal having the greatest timing ever. Ted Kennedy’s “mistake” happened August 18, 1969, two days before the moon landing, which would totally blow it off the front page and temporarily take the heat off. Just like 9/11 blew all Gary Condit, all the time off the cable news shows, Apollo 11 took away just enough heat to stop the scandal from ruining Kennedy’s senate career. Imagine a United States Senator of today driving away, drunk, from an event with a 28 year old female worker for his brother's presidential campaign, who asked for a ride "back to her hotel" but who left her purse and hotel key at the party, plowing his car off a bridge and into the water, leaving the girl trapped in the car, leaving the scene, and not reporting it to the police until nearly a day later. And only getting a two month suspended sentence. The House post office scandal found that hard to believe. How did that guy get off so light, and get re-elected to the Senate for 40 more years? If he had been named Ted Smith, something tells me it might have gone a little differently.

One other fascinating thing about the Apollo program, and Apollo 11 specifically—None of those guys cashed in on their fame. These days, they’d have hired a PR firm, gone on a world tour, and endorsed everything from cereal to Tang (or as we learned in Jerry Maguire, the big four, “shoe, car, clothing line, soft drink”). After the ticker tape parade, those guys fell off the face of the earth (no pun intended). Armstrong practically became a recluse; he pretty much turned into the engineer version of the mean old lady in To Kill A Mockingbird whose camellias Atticus called the finest he’d ever seen, and who kept a Confederate pistol under her shawl). Collins and Aldrin wrote books, and Aldrin occasionally does interviews, but for the most part none of them earned much for their trip other than their NASA pay. In fact, almost none of the astronauts traded off their time in space for big-time dollars. Frank Borman became chairman of Eastern Airlines. John Glenn got elected to the Senate. Fred Haise was elected to the House. But by and large they mostly returned to obscurity.

From its Olympian heights, NASA’s post-Apollo record has been mixed. The Hubble telescope, international space station, and Skylab all count as successes. The Shuttle failed to pay for itself as originally advertised and we've lost half the fleet during operations, but it has contributed much through basic science and satellite deployment. But most people can only remember that whack job, diaper wearing astronaut, on the road to off the bitch that took her man. Sort of like Cops in space. Yikes. That really wasn’t a small step for man. Hopefully Obama and future administrations will implement President Bush's commitment to return to the moon by 2020 and to land on Mars.

But today, lets all celebrate one of mankind's greatest achievements, with admiration for our past triumphs and hunger for even greater accomplishments in the days to come.

Next—okay Hanoi Jane, your time is gonna come.

Friday, July 10, 2009

The Psychedelic Mix Tape



You know the Woodstock generation of the 1960s that were so full of themselves and conceited? None of those people could dance.

Charlotte Pingress, The Last Days of Disco

Actually Sly Stone was at Woodstock and he could dance. Sort of. Carlos Santana and Joan Baez sure can't dance though.

There's been some fun things going on around here from time to time. I had a weekend trip recently. Got to see the Fourth of July fireworks by walking to the end of my street. My best friend and the greatest religion writer of all time, Kimberly, and our good friend from college and the greatest Kilgore Rangerette of all time, Lisa, visited me one weekend. My secretary wondered about two married women staying with me for the weekend. Let me tell you, it was non-stop naked Twister around here. By that, I mean it was a weekend of beading, getting to sleep early, eating healthy food, watching An American in Paris and Singin' in the Rain at the Paramount, and talkin' about kids, knitting, and health problems. In short, it was bad-ass awesome. I also went home for my niece Abigail's birthday and saw most of the family too.

But overall, its been pretty grim here at Daily Affirmations. The dog days of summer have begun about six weeks early, what with one 100 degree day after another. Running at the trail has been more like a nightly reenactment of the Bataan Death March (with fewer beatings and beheadings). Some people really close to me are having some bad medical troubles or other personal troubles. My work often resembles a hostage negotiation situation more than practicing law. Celebrities are dropping like flies. Hugh Hefner and Barbara Walters are extremely nervous right about now. I'm turning 45 in about a month, which seems unimaginable, but for some reason my back and right hip are now old enough to qualify for Social Security by themselves. I observed the birthday anniversary of another close friend who passed away many years ago. And I have "tree troubles" at my house. That's not a euphemism, by the way. I had to have a tree surgeon come out. Which is also not a euphemism.

Its all showing up in this blog too. Alligators in lakes, separation of church and state, media coverage of celebrities, and from here its going on to Vietnam War protesters, gay marriage, and American Idol. How do you spell one of those Three Stooges noises when they're poking each other in the face?

So how about writing something happy for a change? Or at least something a little less preachy? Can't you just be nice?

I hear you America (and random countries around the world whose citizens hit this site for about eight seconds to download near-naked pictures of Catherine Zeta-Jones and Dara Torres). How about a mix tape?

Ok, what's the most ridiculous thing you can do? That's right-make a mix tape to impress a girl. As Debra Messing once put it in a Will and Grace episode: "A mix tape is not a project. It's something you do between bong hits." Think of that stupid scene in Say Anything where John Cusack holds up the boom box and plays In Your Eyes to serenade way out of his league Ione Skye, thereby annoying everyone in the neighborhood. What a noodge. Yeah, you know that guy made her some mix tapes before that unfortunate scene. Sort of like older and more losery John Cusack in High Fidelity, who also made mix tapes to impress girls.

As you know from reading this blog, revealing your embarrasments is liberating and empowering, so I sadly must disclose that I, now, brace yourself, I, as insanely cool as I am, came dangerously close to making a mix tape a few years ago to impress a girl. She really liked all kinds of music, and I'd have done just about anything for her (thanks everyone for all your warnings...maybe a little help next time please?). She mentioned once that although she liked 60s psychedelic music, she didn't have any in her ipod. So, you know how awesome I am right? I can add two and two, usually. I immediately set out to fulfill her psychedlic music needs (since, to my chagrin, I wasn't getting the opportunity to fulfill any of her other needs-hey, no accounting for bad choices).

So I drove home, and like a 14 year old boy anxious to be liked (or at least to get a little sweater lifting action), immediately began planning the definitive psychedelic playlist. The plan, such that it was, was to load up these songs on her ipod in a new playlist, which would so overwhelmingly impress and amaze her that she would succumb to my manly charms and wear my class ring (which as we all know from the drive-in scene in Grease means that she knows I respect her). Fortunately, at some early point in Project Mix Tape, I got distracted and never put together said playlist, thus allowing me to hang on, narrowly, to some semblance of dignity.

I did, however, list on a notepad all the songs that would have been on the playlist. I put the list on a shelf in the black hole more commonly known as the back third of my house, and promptly forgot all about it. Recently, however, like the evil ring in Lord of the Rings, it has resurfaced, seeking publicity (or at least for others to get to know it).

Therefore, for the first time, I give you, the Definitive Psychedelic Mix Tape (Playlist). Fire up the lava lamp, load up on the diet cokes, turn down the lights, turn off your mind, relax and float down stream. Please hold your questions until I'm through.

Who Loves the Sun-Velvet Underground
Armenia City in the Sky-the Who
Amazing Journey/Sparks-the Who
Tales of Brave Ulysses-Cream
In a Gadda da Vida-Iron Butterfly
You're Gonna Miss Me-13th Floor Elevators
You Just Keep Me Hangin' On-Vanilla Fudge
White Rabbit-Jefferson Airplane
Today-Jefferson Airplane
Legend of a Mind-Moody Blues
Blue Jay Way/Flying-the Beatles
Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds-the Beatles
Strawberry Fields Forever-the Beatles
I Am the Walrus-the Beatles
Tomorrow Never Knows-the Beatles
If 6 Was 9-Jimi Hendrix Experience
Are You Experienced-Jimi Hendrix Experience
Third Stone from the Sun-Jimi Hendrix Experience
Wasn't Born to Follow-the Byrds
Astronomy Domine-Pink Floyd
Saucerful of Secrets-Pink Floyd
See Emily Play-Pink Floyd
The End-the Doors
Crystal Ship-the Doors
When the Music's Over-the Doors
I Talk to the Wind-King Crimson
She's A Rainbow-Rolling Stones
2000 Light Years from Home-Rolling Stones
Who are the Brain Police-Mothers of Invention
Mother People-Mothers of Invention
Ball and Chain-Big Brother and the Holding Company
Section 43-Country Joe and the Fish
Not So Sweet Lorraine-Country Joe and the Fish
Dark Star-Grateful Dead
That's It for the Other One-Grateful Dead
Cosmic Charlie-Grateful Dead
St. Stephen-Grateful Dead
Fresh Air-Quicksilver Messenger Service
Hurdy Gurdy Man-Donovan
Crimson and Clover-Tommy James and the Shondells
Song for Jeffrey-Jethro Tull
White Bird-It's A Beautiful Day
Heart Full of Soul-Yardbirds
You Set the Scene-Love

What are your favorites?

Next-we return to seriousness. You Vietnam War protesters have your day of reckoning coming, so don't have too much fun kicking your hero Robert McNamara.

I Don't Want to Be Like Mike

A moment of silence please, for the passing of the King of the Island of Misfit Stars. Michael’s gone. Mike had a long run, fending off strong competition from the likes of Anna Nicole, Robert Downey, and Anne Heche. After a suitable period of mourning, of course, Britney and Amy Winehouse will get in a cage for a no holds barred grudge match to replace him as Chief Freak. Ordinarily I’d pick Britney, based on her residual athletic ability and innate trailer park toughness. But I see Amy as a possible biter and able to fight dirty due to chemical enhancement.

If I told you that coming to your neighborhood was an unnamed wealthy, reclusive middle aged man, with a plastic surgery addiction, who had been tried for pedophilia, paid a large private settlement in another pedophilia suit, had children to his house for sleep-over parties, and maintained a full amusement park on the grounds of his last house, you might have some concerns.

Sort of like if I asked you to give me a reaction to whether you’d like to get to know the following:

A former federal official with a law degree, who was disbarred for committing perjury, had sex with a subordinate for whom he used his office to obtain a lucrative job outside of government
A federal official who had diverted millions in illegally obtained funds towards paying for acts of violence in another country;
A man who taped himself having sex with an underaged woman;
A man who had multiple jail stints for spousal abuse and narcotics possession;
A woman who repeatedly endangers her children and who lost custody of them and control over her estate due to substance abuse problems;
A repeat drunk driving offender; or
A convicted tax cheat.

Chances are, you probably wouldn’t think too much of those people. You sure wouldn’t invite any of them to your wife’s Christmas pot luck (you know, the one she makes you have every year so she can flaunt her pasta salad royale recipe to those holier-than-thou dames up the street). You’d probably think that whatever punishment these people got was too light, or that we should throw the book at them.

But if I asked for your opinion of Michael Jackson, Bill Clinton, Oliver North, Rob Lowe, James Brown, Britney Spears, Kiefer Sutherland, or Wesley Snipes, you probably would have a very different reaction, at least to some of them. Based on some of the comments I’ve heard the last couple of weeks, you might say they’re misunderstood, that everyone’s made mistakes, who hasn’t messed up, that we’re bigger than our problems, or who hasn’t made a few mistakes, or who got hurt really?

This is the Barry Bonds syndrome (in Dallas, its called the Michael Irvin syndrome). When someone screws up we condemn them, unless its “your guy.” When its your guy, however, then your unyielding insistence that everyone follows the same rules you have to goes out the window. If you’re a Giants fan and you hear that Rafael Palmeiro gets busted for steroids, you want to throw the book at him. But when “your guy” Barry Bonds is revealed to have admitted to a grand jury that he took steroids but made a demonstrably preposterous claim he did not know he was taking an illegal substance, despite the fact his trainer refused to testify and went to jail instead, it takes you about five seconds to get past that. “He’s never failed a drug test.” “There’s no proof.” How about the fact that his head is the size of my car and has its own gravitational field? Giants fan had absolutely no problem cheering on a felon, as long as he was hitting home runs out to McCovey Cove. Cowboys fan had no trouble cheering for coke head Michael Irvin, as long as he was scoring touchdowns.

The same thing has happened with Michael, in death, and unbelievably so. You know, there’s a reason the only news about this guy for about a 15 year run was bad (no pun intended). From dangling his children over hotel balconies, to paying off child molestation suits, to selling his assets to avoid foreclosure brought about by bizarre shopping sprees, to accusing Sony of racism when his last albums tanked, Mike had nothing but bad news for years. I don’t remember of lot of celebrities rushing to the media to extol Michael’s genius during those years.

But you didn’t see much mention of this “unpleasant” side of Michael’s life in most of the mainstream media reporting of his passing, or in the celebrity reactions either. One caller to a talk show literally dismissed all of Michael’s problems with the phrase “who hasn’t made some mistakes.” While we were reminded every 15 seconds of Michael Jackson’s worldwide fame, of his musical genius, of his iconic status, and treated to scenes of a gold casket of all things, there was nary a word about the things for which Michael had become nearly as famous-world-class freakery.

When someone famous dies, there’s no question that’s not the time to pile on. Make no mistake, Michael Jackson was an enormously talented musician, dancer, and choreographer, and he contributed to the public good through philanthropy and in other ways. But its also the time to give a balanced and complete account of his life. Some mention of, not a morbid or vulgar obsession but at least a passing reference to, his various flaws and mistakes was in order. Repeated accused acts of pedophilia is not the kind of mistake we all make and which can be dismissed when one’s life story is told.

In failing to balance out the hosannas to his genius with a discussion of how he lived his life, the media missed the real Michael Jackson story. His life was a classic tragedy. Simply put, his profound flaws ruined his spectacular career. This was a man who had everything, and was in the slow process of losing everything due to his tragic flaws. This was a modern Gatsby. Or Sal Mineo.

This curious silence about Michael’s track record also minimizes the gravity of the acts he allegedly, and let’s face it, most probably committed. He was acquitted of criminal charges, but keep in mind that he paid a multi-million dollar settlement to the alleged victims. When that, and all the other facts like the sleepovers and the interior room in his home with the “adult alarm” are factored in, there can be little reasonable doubt that he got off for his celebrity. Acting like none of this ever happened and deifying Michael Jackson in death can only reinforce the perception that child abuse should not be reported because the abuser will never face punishment and the victim will simply expose his personal life to scrutiny.

It also promotes the view that if you’re rich and famous enough, you can get away with anything and people will still love you. If you’re honest, you know that if it was Michael Smith, he’d have been locked up long ago. Michael Jackson just happened to be “your guy,” whom you were willing to cut slack because you liked his music, and in some cases liked his personality. Or as a caller to a sports radio show put it a couple of weeks ago, if you’re going to be a pedophile, you better learn to sing and dance.

Ultimately, there’s an even deeper truth at work here, which is love the song, not the singer. We have no idea who these people are. They live different lives than we do, and carefully control access to their real personalities. Just because a person can sing a song, write a book, play a role, or paint a canvas, or catch or throw a ball in a way that moves us and which we admire doesn’t mean that person is admirable, or even tolerable. Bing Crosby-great singer, not so great dad. Joan Crawford-great actress, not so great mother. Dr. J-great basketball player, not so great dad. Michael Vick-great football player, not as good of a pet owner. The list goes on. Just because someone can write or sing an incredible song doesn’t make them an admirable person. What did we really know about Michael Jackson, other than we liked a lot of his music? Are we really sad that he died, or are we sad that there won’t be any more of those songs? But there haven’t been any of those songs for many years. Enjoy Michael Jackson’s music, but keep in mind, he wasn’t your friend. Admire his musical skills, but don’t confuse those for worth as a person. Don’t believe me? I have two words for you: Steve McNair.

Oh, and has anyone heard from Macaulay Culkin?

Next-my psychedelic mix tape.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Happy Fourth of July!



A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

The Declaration of Independence

What would you do if someone told you to fight for freedom?
Would you answer the call
or run away like a little p***y?
Cause the only reason that you're here
is folks died for you in the past.
So maybe now it's your turn to die kickin' some ass.

“Freedom Isn’t Free,” Team America: World Police

Obviously, public discourse has eroded considerably since 1776. But at least we have Tex-Mex and college football. Those guys just milked their cows, threw tea in harbors, and sat around and grooved.

Happy July 4th everyone! Hope everyone stays safe, away from oncoming traffic and bottle rocket fights. Remember, only you can prevent forest fires, so how about you back away from the roman candle fights this year, huh?

Today, while you’re mowing through your fourth BBQ cheeseburger and polishing off that last Natural Light in the cooler, take a moment at least to reflect on your incredibly good fortune to live in the United States of America. Unlike others around the world, you did not have to swim, parachute, raft, stow away, or tunnel here to make a life for yourself. Despite what puppet news services serving despotic regimes around the world may say, America is still the greatest country in the world. How do I know? People have voted with their feet. They may hurl Molotov cocktails at our embassies (or in Berkeley they may ban the American flag) but give them the first chance to live here and they’re on that boat. Actions speak far louder than words.

Why is that? Unlike other countries led from the top down, our country leads from the bottom up. Our leaders, collection of dimwits that they are, more or less respond to popular will. Riot police and armed thugs do not decide elections, votes do. (Save your "hanging chad" smack for another day-the Supreme Court ruled 7-2 that the planned statewide Florida recount was an Equal Protection violation because it applied different standards in different counties). Our economy moves according to people’s choices, not central planning (a lesson the Barackistas will soon learn). The cop on the beat, the teacher who stays after school to help a troubled kid, the youth minister, the lawyer who fights for justice, the nurse who cares for you, your mom, your dad…that is America. And that is the genius of America.

Those who founded this country, and by that I mean not only the Jeffersons, Adamses, and Hamiltons, but also the poor folks moving to Kentucky with a cow and 19 kids (basically my Mom’s family), essentially had two things in mind.

The first was not necessarily religious freedom, but freedom of religion. Freedom to practice whatever religion one wanted (religious choice), as well as the freedom of religions from the organs of state. Its difficult to fathom during these days of Sodom on the Plain, but for most of this country’s existence, religious worship and belief was an enormously important factor in daily life, and religious belief shaped most people’s views and actions. This is still true in many parts of the world, and particularly in parts of the world whose residents are emigrating to the United States. Particularly after the rise of Protestantism, those who founded the United States saw a National Church demanding universal allegiance as not only undesirable, but as potentially threatening to one’s eternal salvation. No mere government should have the right to dictate religious beliefs to its citizens, a idea that is a given today but which was revolutionary at the time. But this freedom was not simply “of” religion, it was freedom “from” religion and specifically from the Church, and freedom of religion to carry on without entanglements with government. Our founders had firsthand experience with Church of England abuses, which simply carried on the abuses of the Catholic bishops they succeeded. The Church forcibly extracted untold wealth from the low and high alike, not only in England, but across Europe. The Church competed with Kings for sovereignty, and at local levels, bishops and archbishops had just as much sway over local governance as mayors and lords. That this seems unimaginable in America today is both a testament to the First Amendment's wisdom, and to those who have protected it. I remind my fellow Christians who might long for religious/governmental connections that Jesus said "My kingdom is not of this world." Can you imagine Victoria Osteen running things? That free-riding lazy stewardess she insulted never had it so good. Or Jimmy Swaggart? Or that crazy racist whack job preacher at Barack Obama’s Chicago church? Shudder.

Freedom of achievement was the other thing. Most everywhere else, your lot in life depends on your parents’ lot in life. Their “station in life.” The rules keep things that way. Wealth is allocated not by merit or achievement, but by accident of birth and in many places, particularly late 18th century Great Britain, one’s fortunes in life were largely set the day one was born. Those countries’ laws discourage social and economic mobility. Work your fingers to the bone, and all you get are bony fingers. The people who founded this country rebelled against that notion. Eat what you kill would be the order of the day. They believed economic wealth should be distributed based on merit and achievement, not to some polo-playing landed idiocracy. That kind of economic order, however, requires laws that preserve equality of opportunity. So, lurking in the background of our most basic laws is this notion that “all men are created equal” (chicks too), and therefore should have equal opportunities in life. Have we succeeded? Of course not entirely. Nothing ever succeeds entirely. How many crappy movies has Steven Spielberg made, for example? There’ve been hideous abuses in this country, sanctioned by law. But I submit that even the most wretchedly poor and downtrodden in this country still have a better life here than they would in many if not most other countries. Air conditioning and three meals a day is living high off the hog in most places. No one here has to worry about the secret police garroting you in the middle of the night, or angry mullahs having you stoned on the town square, nor do women face mutilation for going to school or driving a car. All things considered, even in our social failure, America is still Shangri-la. Or as Chris Rock once put it, no one in Rwanda has lactose intolerance.

Notice, bleeding heart tax and spend liberal Democrat, I did not say all are entitled to “equality.” Nothing guarantees that I’ll have an SUV, beach house, and no wait at Golden Corral. Indeed, this notion of “equality” is inimical to our founding ideals of rewarding hard work, creativity, and industry; sitting on your ass and watching the Price is Right while you collect benefit checks taken out of everyone else’s hard work would not count as one of Jefferson’s “inalienable rights.”

Somehow I got off topic.

My hope for today is that we all reflect on our incredible blessings, that we truly recognize how fortunate we are to be Americans, that we always keep a little bit of that revolutionary spirit, and that no one gets their eyebrows singed off by fireworks.


Next-Mike, King of Freaks

Friday, July 3, 2009

Goodbye Farrah


Farrah got about three hours’ run on her passing before the King of Freaks pushed her off stage and out of the news. Which is completely a shame because Farrah was one of the Great Texas Women, and her passing deserved more attention.

Born in Corpus Christi, she went out to Hollywood in 1968 after attending the University of Texas for a couple of years. As a Tri-Delt pledge, she was the star of campus, which is particularly difficult to do at Texas, given its size. An attorney I once tried a case with attended UT the same year as Farrah (and was in the Texas Cowboys service group), and knew her and her friends very well. This guy told me she was absolutely radiant in person, and men would do anything just to meet her. He said most women also hated her pretty intensely, and would make up accusations trying to get her in trouble (universities had much more restrictive rules for freshman than today). Another prominent lawyer once told me a completely hilarious story about Farrah's father, which I can't (or won't) repeat here. Just ask me and I'll tell it to you though.

After leaving for Hollywood, she became an instant smash, almost 10 years later in Charlie’s Angels. Before then she became known in commercials and TV show guest appearances. I was only nine, but I remember very clearly seeing her in the Joe Namath-Noxzema commercials, thinking “who is this and how can I see more of her?” That’s the same way I thought of my first grade teacher Mrs. Stubbs. Which is weird that of all the things I’d remember from 1973, that was it. That and moving to Kingwood, of course.

She didn’t really hit until 1976, with first the poster, then Logan’s Run, then Charlie’s Angels What’s interesting about that show is that if you watch it today, it looks like its just cheese. Hot girls in shorts. Hot girls running through fields. Hot girls at the pool. Hot girls on a chain gang. But at the time, seeing women solve crimes and arrest bad guys, without much of any help from a man, was still kind of groundbreaking. It took quality acting to give that kind of show some degree of believability. The other interesting thing about Farrah on that show was that she was only on it for one season. We immediately associate Farrah with Charlie’s Angels, but she made that image in only one season (maybe 16 shows).

It would have been incredibly easy to keep cashing those fat Aaron Spelling checks, but she left the show to find more challenging parts. While she may not have had the same sort of commercial success, she did manage to display considerable acting ability. She starred in The Burning Bed, winning an Emmy for playing an abused spouse. Later she starred in Extremities, playing an assault victim looking for revenge. Farrah had initially played the role in the off-Broadway production. She won critical acclaim playing a minister’s wife in The Apostle. Co-star Robert Duvall gushed about her acting ability.

Her personal life had lots of difficulties, which she fought to overcome. Partner Ryan O’Neal’s long-time alcoholism, and his son’s drug use, were the sorts of challenges Farrah dealt with. The David Letterman interview was a low moment, albeit extremely funny. I did like that while interviewing whack-job Joaquin Phoenix recently, Dave said “we owe an apology to Farrah Fawcett.” People forget she was on Letterman to promote her appearance in Playboy, which, I may say, was stunning. At 50, she had a better body than 90% of most 25 year olds. And by that, I mean the articles were great in that edition. It was Playboy’s biggest selling issue of the 1990s. Towards the end of her life, she had a reality show that was very open about her cancer and her treatment. The show no doubt raised awareness about cancer treatment and the struggles cancer causes for victims and their families.

In short, she was one of the great Texas women. Strong, resilient, beautiful, loyal, smart, funny, fun, magnetic, radiant, gracious. She sought challenges in life. She lived with integrity. She died with class.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Warning: Alligator in Lake


My family is from Kingwood, a huge master planned community on the north side of Houston, which was originally developed as an enclave for Exxon executives who were relocating from the company‘s previous New Jersey headquarters. For a long time, it was a place for decent families to get away from the riff-raff (but close enough to the tracks to get good maid service and orthodontic care of course). Somehow, even though we pretty much qualified as riff-raff ourselves, we managed to sneak in unnoticed. As I recall that fateful day in 1973 when the Reeder station wagon limped into Kingwood, it was very late at night and in the middle of a massive thunderstorm. We were noticed later, but by then Mom had won over anyone who may have been inclined to initiate legal proceedings.

Although Kingwood generally has provided a good life, things have been getting dicey around here lately. As Houston has grown northward and actually annexed Kingwood, Houston problems like crime, traffic, and poor shopping options have followed.

Now as if these indignities weren’t enough, I’ve just encountered signs on the Kingwood Lakes greenbelt while running there this weekend saying “Warning alligator in lake.” This of course is the ironically named "greenbelt," a network of asphalt trails running through some wooded areas near houses.

Why is there an alligator in between a subdivision and a golf course? Why not get the thing out of there? What the hell else is coming from Houston--illegal trucks spewing rocks all over the road?

Apparently, the Kingwood alligator is a well known thing. The local community association even tells you what to do if you run into one. They recommend stopping, and letting it retreat. I recommend blasting it with a shotgun. I like how their website says “no one has ever been harmed by an alligator in Kingwood that KSA knows of.” Oh, ok. That’s comforting. I don’t think gators leave their victims enough capacity to fill out complicated reports after the fact. I also like that the site says there’s several alligators. The signs only talk about an “alligator.”

Can’t anyone see the problem with this? I mean, this thing is near old people who make up about 90% of Kingwood Lakes. When they go out on their nightly walk, they’re liable to think its that sweater that their daughter Paula gave them last Christmas (which really was their great-granddaughter Paulette). And while they often walk with a dog that could theoretically divert the alligator’s attention while said AARP-er got away, lots of these dogs are just an amouse bouche for an alligator, so that’s not going to leave a whole lot of get away time.

Also, these people are often with their grandkids, and there’s always lots of other little kids out on that greenbelt. To an alligator, a baby is just a tasty orange snack on a stick.

We also need to worry about teenage daters trying to find some alone space to spin the bottle. That would be a hell of a story to have to tell your date’s dad when you didn’t bring his daughter back from your furtive teenage attempt to make out at the Kingwood Lakes pier. The upsale method of presenting bad news, where you lead off with something worse then scale it back to what actually happened won’t work. “Hey Mr. Smith, your daughter was crushed by a meteor tonight. Nah, just kidding, she just got taken apart by an alligator.” The other bad news delivery method, focusing first on the bright side, wouldn’t do either. “Mr. Smith, just wanted to let you know your daughter’s virtue is still intact. Unfortunately, your daughter is not.” I don‘t see that placating Dad.

I’m not really sure whether you can outrun one of these things. They have Terrell Owens arms for sure, but they seem to scoot pretty fast in the movies. I could well imagine them picking off some 400 pound walker, or an obnoxious punk teenager stopped on his bicycle for a hit of cough syrup.

This is also near the water hazards on Kingwood Country Club golf course. That’s a water hazard? What else? Why not make it a really challenging course? Uncontrollable robots from the future programmed to kill golfers landing in the roughs? Pygmy warriors with curare-tipped blowdarts lurking in the sand traps? Unrefrigerated mayonnaise in the club sandwiches at the snack bar on the turn? Now that would make your next company tournament a real challenge.

How did it get there anyway? Kingwood Lakes are man-made. I didn’t think they connected to the San Jacinto River or Lake Houston (or that there were gators in there either). Is it a female alligator that was texting or putting on makeup and not watching where she was going? Or a male alligator that refused to stop for directions? Unlike other places, that’s our lake. We were here first. We humans get to say what goes there. If we want to let the pretty pelicans or duckies or swans in, but not the gators, or the garfish or leeches or piranhas, that’s our call.

Have to add this to the other hazards on the greenbelt that collectively turn it into Kingwood’s version of the Fire Swamp in Princess Bride:
1. Wasps
2. Coral snakes and water moccasins
3. Weight watchers support groups walking off their recent holiday weight gain.
4. 150 year old couples doddering along while taking up the entire width of the trail.
5. Weekend warrior bicycle guy, who can’t find a real mountain bike trail and has to squeeze in his ride before he and his wife head over to Bed, Bath and Beyond.
6. Winged ants.
7. Ill-tempered ducks (no, really, a duck once angrily ran after me on the greenbelt, squawking in an intimidating way and pecking at my ankles, when I got too close to the nest. I can well imagine some smarmy teenager know-it-all fitting these ducks with laser beams, a la Austin Powers, and creating a real public health nuisance).
8. Older kids, ready to criticize and belittle younger kids riding mechanically inferior bikes, insulting their human dignity with sarcasm, laughter and insidiously clever taunts.
9. Suicidal squirrels.
10. St. Louis encephalitis-carrying mosquitoes.

We really need to get rid of the alligators and have fun doing it. I propose a three-stage plan. First, alert PETA that we plan to kill the alligators. That will prompt them both to protest and to stage a rescue attempt. While we'll have great fun watching the alligators pick off a few of these nimrods, sadly it won’t get us out of harm’s way. The PETAns are too wizened and sickly from not eating meat to make much of a meal themselves. The gators will need to eat something else. Step two is let the local Boy Scout troops have a go at it. Make them read Lord of the Flies, arm them with spears and harpoons and send them out there, Pequod style. Tally ho! I suppose we’d have to make them sign releases though. Whatever. Step three, if the Boy Scouts failed, would be to get some Cajuns from LaPorte or Jefferson County and have them get after it. We’d have alligator with sauce piquant by nightfall.

That reminds me, Happy Father’s Day y’all!

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Still Here...sort of


Sorry for being so absent from the blog. Lots of stuff going on. Dead trees. Work. Work travel. Family stuff. Visitors. So many social obligations, so little time.

All of this keeps me from writing the fluff social commentary I'd prefer to dole out on the blog. I promise to write lots of socially relevant posts as soon as I can. Like on why I don't get the whole American Idol phenomenon, or why Grease didn't stop Travolta's career dead in its tracks. Like it should have. In the meantime, hope you're enjoying your summer. Stay out of trouble.