Getting Warmer

According to Romney surrogate Rick Santorum, all Catholic business owners in America that employ more than 50 workers and comply with the Affordable Care Act must go to confession in order to remain in a state of Grace with the Lord.  Without atoning for the sin of government compliance by receiving the sacrament of reconciliation, these Catholic job creators are risking all eternity in the flames of Hell.

Yeah, he really did.  Ultimately, the message is clear and unambiguous.  A vote for Obama is a vote for sin.  The fires of Hell could be worse than the “chains” of financial ruin.

Last week the former presidential hopeful (first runner up) and sweater vest aficionado said that President Barack Obama is "directly assaulting" religious freedom and that his administration has implemented policies that force Catholics to abandon their faith.  It is believed that he was referring to a controversial government mandate requiring religious-affiliated institutions and all private secular employers to include contraception in their health care coverage.  Santorum was not talking about Obama’s attempts to implement Sharia law across America.  At least we’re pretty sure that’s not what he meant. 

To quote the Pennsylvania preacher:  "We have a president who, for the first time in American history, is directly assaulting the First Amendment and freedom of religion.  He is going to tell you what to do in the practice of your faith.  He is forcing business people right now to do things that are against their conscience, that they will have to – if you're a Catholic – you'll have to go to confession … to confess that you are complying with a government program that is a sin in the Catholic Church."

With all due respect, I have not heard the Vatican pronounce that all Catholic owners of businesses that employ more than 50 employees and provide health insurance coverage for their employees are outside of God’s graces until they confess their wickedness. 

    

I have heard the church hierarchy condemn the bearing of false witness (Rule #6), so Rick might want to ask Romney to tone down his false accusations about Obama’s welfare work requirements.  More than Catholic job creators who skip confession, Romney might have trouble getting through the Pearly Gates because of his false witness-bearing proclivities, since as Santorum knows all too well, “it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of Heaven”.  If that particular rich man is sentenced to Hell – and I do not have the hubris like Santorum to pretend that I know - I sure hope he has insurance (and a fan).

Contrary to the opinion of the Romney campaign, there is nothing more divisive and fear-inducing in an election year than Rick Santorum taking on the job of separating the sheep from the goats on Judgment Day.  When the fear of having your flesh ripped from your bones throughout the eons of time is used to sway votes, I’d call that almighty fear mongering.  Have mercy!

   

Under Santorum’s logic, we are all sinners by allowing Toddlers and Tiaras to air on the TLC network.  In Santorum’s view, even paying for a cable package that includes such a morally offensive program demands a trip to the sin bin for some absolution (Note: cable is not government mandated, but without cable, you can’t get ESPN, so it’s practically a mandate).  Our tax dollars have supported family planning in other parts of the globe.  I would be curious to know if this also rates a trip to the confessional for all Catholics who are mandated to pay taxes.

Contraception coverage has been mandated across the country for years.  There had not been an outcry about this issue while 28 states instituted the same measure within their borders prior to Obamacare.  The reason for the outrage now?  Rally a segment of the voting population that can be defined as single issue voters against a President that the Right has spent 3 years defining as “different” from you.  

In those 28 states that already have this in place, I am certain that deceased Catholic business owners did not know that they were not in a state of grace at the time of their death, and therefore ineligible for eternal rest in the kingdom of Heaven.  The fires of Hell must be teeming with unrepentant Catholic job creators from the great state of New York, for example, where this rule was already in place before the ACA mandate.

The Obama administration did provide some cover for the sinners among us.  His version of a compromise was to force insurance companies to absorb the cost, and not pass that cost onto the policy holders.  In this way, the Catholic job creators would not be directly funding contraception in their plans.  Salvation!

This compromise was rejected by the church and its all-male hierarchy because as we know, money is fungible.  Sure the insurance company will absorb the cost of contraceptive coverage, but they’ll just add the cost elsewhere.  As long as contraceptive coverage is free and your business pays premiums, you’ll burn for sure without a last minute blessing from your local padre.  Even then, we can’t be sure. 

Santorum added last week that a President Romney would work hard to defend religious liberty (unless you are a Muslim interested in building a place of worship in his backyard).  It’s funny how the phrase “protecting religious freedoms” has come to mean one thing – repealing the Affordable Care Act in its entirety and sending the faithful out into the competitive health insurance market where the healthy pay a little, the sick get dropped and the poor clog the emergency rooms, ironically preventing job creators and their families from getting in when they might need care the most.  It’s a sin really.

The solution, of course, is simple.  Move away from the employer based health insurance model, institute single payer nationally, and help shorten those lines at your neighborhood confessionals.  Unless Santorum would want to argue that living in the United States at that point would be a sin. 

 

When Catholic business owners across the country are condemned to eternal damnation by a Romney surrogate for complying with the law, that’s the real sin.

Is it getting hot in here or is it just me?

 

Don't Roof Rack Me, Bro!

I live a somewhat transparent life.  Beyond what I reveal here, those who know me best know that I enjoy talking about all matter of personal trivia, from my hatred of Roger Clemens for throwing a broken bat at Mike Piazza in the 2000 Worlds Series, to my indifference to animals, to my love of sleeping past 10:30 AM.  I make no secret about what I like and do not like.  

Two personal topics that I have shared on these pages without reservation are my mistrust of Mitt Romney under the direction of a Republican Congress and my passion for all things Devo.  There’s nothing like an afternoon reading incendiary political blogs about Mitt’s habit of inventing facts while jamming to a full block of Devo classics.  Skim Talking Points Memo while blasting Swelling Itching Brain (S.I.B.) from your favorite device and you’ll know what I mean.  So imagine my pleasant surprise when I read that my two interests were intertwined on this day like a chocolate bar being dropped into a vat of peanut butter, creating one irresistible flavor sensation.  Whip it good!

Rolling Stone magazine reports that Devo is releasing a song later this month about Mitt Romney's roof surfing dog, Seamus.  The title leaves no doubt about the song’s subject:  "Don't Roof Rack Me, Bro! (Remember Seamus)."  No doubt set to a classic staccato Devo techno beat, this one is sure to be an underground blogger’s one hit wonder, if not an FM AOR station chart buster.

This is all I know about the tune at this point, but based on the title it is obviously inspired by Romney's notorious road trip from Massachusetts to Ontario, during which he transported the family dog, Seamus, in a kennel strapped to the roof of his station wagon.  The canine vomit and the doggie diarrhea notwithstanding, Romney insists that Seamus enjoyed the rooftop adventure.  No doubt he looked into Seamus’ soul the way Bush saw into Vlad Putin with such clarity.

Devo's founder and commercial director, Gerald V. Casale, is promoting the track as part of his kick off of his Remember Seamus campaign, which is supposed to help "make 2012 the year where animals like Seamus are valued and honesty is praised."  If there is a connection between Seamus and honesty, I don’t see it, but then again, the lyrics to Devo’s classic Smart Patrol/Mr. DNA have me befuddled to this day.  Great tune, though, and perhaps that is all that matters.  With dogs, isn’t it obedience and not honesty that gets praised?

  

Ah, I miss the heady days of my young being indoctrinated by politically motivated new wave tunes, and this Seamus release could mark the return of that heart-thumping genre.  I long for the days when I could bang my head and mosh to XTC’s Melt the Guns, or Midnight Oil’s U.S. Forces, or Heaven 17’s We Don’t Need That Fascist Groove Thing.  If our youth are to become aware of the issues of the day, we’ve got to reach them where they live.  They live with iPod buds in their ears. 

 

Devo is also helping to back Dogs Against Romney, with Casale designing a special edition shirt for the group.  With voter ID laws being implemented across the nation, the drive to suppress the canine vote may render this campaign to encourage dogs to vote against Romney moot.  If you think minorities and the elderly will have a hard time getting a valid photo ID in Pennsylvania, let’s see if your cocker spaniel has any luck.  My guess is that only pets with the proper papers will be welcomed on Election Day, and I don’t mean the kind of papers you train them on.  What kind of a country are we living in where only pure breds can vote? 

 

Casale is also involved in an upcoming smartphone game called The Crate Escape: Seamus Unleashed, which is scheduled for release on National Dog Day.  I do not own a smartphone, but my daughter does.  What are the odds I talk her into downloading this game?  Don’t bet against it.  I’ll don my vintage Freedom of Choice energy dome, my Devo yellow radiation jumpsuit and curl up next to my turntable for some Crate Escape and Duty Now For the Future, side one.

The entry of The Spudboys and their message of devolution into the political narrative for 2012 should spice up the final weeks for me.  I know it is Morning in America when 51% of the voting public in this country is humming a Devo on the way to the polling station.  Crack that whip!

It’s a beautiful world we live in

A sweet romantic place

Beautiful people everywhere

The way they comb their hair

Makes me want to say

It’s a beautiful world.

Me and Davey Johnson

In October of 1969, the New York Mets were transfigured into the Miracle Mets by winning the World Series against the vaunted Baltimore Orioles of Frank and Brooks Robinson (no relation), Boog Powell, and Jim Palmer.  The series ended after only 5 games when Orioles 2^nd baseman Davey Johnson lofted a lazy fly ball into the mitt of Cleon Jones standing just in front of the left field 371 ft. mark.  Cleon caught Johnson’s ball and went to one knee, partly in relief and partly in a prayer of thanksgiving.

A Cleon Jones-signed black and white photo of him catching that Davey Johnson pop up hangs on my man cave wall.  It signifies that miracles can come true in this world.

In 1986, the same Davey Johnson was then manager of Mets, no longer a surprise team, but one expected to win.  Davey had young talent (Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry) and productive veteran leadership (Keith Hernandez and Gary Carter), and he molded these elements into a baseball juggernaut, winning 116 games that season (including the playoffs).  The 1986 season and that Davey Johnson team is best remembered for a slow roller up along first that went “BEHIND THE BAG!” as Bill Buckner stood in shock and awe at his error.  Game 6.

A Buckner-Mookie Wilson signed color photo of that ground ball scooting down the first base fair line hangs on my man cave wall.  It signifies that John McNamara should have made a defensive replacement in the bottom of the 10^th inning, but also that miracles can come true in this world (and nothing in life is guaranteed, especially for Red Sox fans).

The 1969 Mets World Championship defined my youth, and the 1986 Mets defined my young adulthood.  Both moments shared Davey Johnson as a common thread.

Today in 2012, Davey Johnson is again at the center of my sports universe.  His team, the Washington Nationals, is my adopted team.  They have the best record in baseball this season; they have the best pitching staff in the game; they have young talent and productive veteran leadership.  Most of all, they have Davey Johnson, and when Davey Johnson enters my realm, miracles happen.

Should this baseball season conclude with Washington on the top of the major league mountain, it will again be an unforgettable sports moment for me with Davey at its center.  I’m starting to trust that guy. 

If Davey had coached the 1994 New York Rangers to the Stanley Cup instead of egomaniac Mike Keenan, this story of mine would have an even more perfect ending, but how much can you hope for in one sports lifetime?

I’ll settle for the first baseball championship in Washington, DC since 1924.  Any miracles left, Davey?  I have room left on my man cave wall for one more autographed championship photo.

The High Ground

Politics can be so cruel sometimes.  Small situations can be blown out of proportion.  I, however, will not fall prey to the base instincts of some partisan political commentators who invent faux outrage to advance their candidate.  I can rise above that.  

For example, I do not think it should be highlighted that Mitt Romney held a campaign event Monday evening at a Miami juice shop owned by a convicted cocaine trafficker.  That would imply guilt by association, and that should be beneath our dignity in a civil society.  If Mitt Romney chooses to appear at El Palacio de los Jugos, which is owned by Reinaldo Bermudez, a man who pleaded guilty to one count of conspiracy to distribute cocaine in 1999 and served three years in federal prison, that is his right.  It is not even worth reporting so I will refrain.

Some could try to smear Mitt Romney and Sen. Marco Rubio (he was there, too) by insinuating without saying directly that there must be an illicit connection between the candidate and a known drug pusher.  This would be completely unfair and I will not join in the cynical mob mentality.  Romney was filming a campaign ad at the juice shop, aides said, so how mysterious could this clear connection to the convicted Miami drug lord be?

The Romney campaign didn't immediately respond to a request for comment. Phone calls placed by The Associated Press to the juice shop weren't answered, and there is no reason these questions should be answered.  No one should be asking them in the first place.  So let me be the first to say that no one should ask about Romney’s benefactor and close confidante or the massive shipments of cocaine that he smuggled onto our shores for kids to snort.  That kind of stuff is off limits in my book.

Bermudez told the Miami New Times that "Here in Miami there are a lot people with money who have had problems with the law.  Thankfully, we all have the opportunity in this country to re-enter society when we've done something wrong**."  That’s the message that we should focus on – people with money and drug convictions should be allowed to support the candidate of their choice, and even run for the Presidency regardless of past drug use and distribution.  That’s a message of inclusion.  Frankly, any attempt to tie Bermudez’ conviction to Romney and his ‘alleged’ tax evasion and ‘alleged’ tax fraud is just plain wrong.  I denounce it!

In media reports in November 1997, Bermudez was identified as one of 12 people accused in a Colombian drug smuggling operation. The arrests followed a seven-month investigation led by the FBI and U.S. Customs and Border Protection.  Agents seized about 2,850 pounds of cocaine at three South Florida ports over several months.

Agents first seized 430 pounds of cocaine at the Port of Palm Beach in July 1997 and then 117 pounds in late September at the Port of Miami. Those shipments were concealed in containers filled with fish imported from Trinidad, an island in the south Caribbean. The largest and final seizure came in late October at Port Everglades, where officials found 2,304 pounds of cocaine in a container of soap imported from Venezuela.

These are the kind of sordid details that have nothing to do with Romney’s plan to fundamentally reshape America.  The implication that Romney relies on a seedy criminal element to fund his campaign should be ignored.  If anything, he is unequivocally on record against redistribution, and I assume that includes grams of white powder.

I will do my part in cleaning up the political discourse.  I will not take advantage of Romney’s choice in associates.  Let the man run on his own merits, and not be judged by the criminals that surround him.  It’s the least I can do. 

  

** - As a convicted felon, Bermudez wouldn't be eligible to vote in Florida unless the governor and the Cabinet restore his rights, but I have a feeling Republican Governor Rick Scott will be filled with compassion and the spirit of leniency in this case.

Independents Shrugged

Ayn Rand, the L. Ron Hubbard of the conservative movement, wrote Paul Ryan’s favorite book, Atlas Shrugged, in 1957.  Atlas Shrugged turns the concept of class warfare on its’ head by telling the sad story of the abuse and victimization of the creative and entrepreneurial class at the hands of the lazy moochers in the working class.  In her fictional tale, business owners and entrepreneurs go on strike to demonstrate that they are sick and tired of supporting everybody else in society through their efforts.  It is a manifesto that preaches vigilance against the jackbooted thuggery of a top Federal income tax rate of 39.6%, like we had during the economic depression of the Clinton years.  

 

Just as L. Ron Hubbard gave birth to a zealous religious following with his novel Battlefield: Earth, Rand has mothered a cult of believers who hold that her romance story is a cautionary tale about a government overrun by Democrats and Obamalytes.   Her religion would argue that feudal lords were oppressed by the serfs who demanded land for planting, plantation owners were oppressed by the slaves who demanded freedom of movement, and industry titans were oppressed by a government that demanded laborers have a safe working environment.  In her world, we owe homage to these providers and should be thankful for whatever pittance we are granted, lest these leaders take their economic ball and go home.  Any attempt to limit the damage that one group can inflict on another distorts the perfect marketplace where all is purified as Darwin predicted, although I am told that Darwin’s writings are theories only.

Newly minted Vice-Presidential candidate Paul Ryan believes so strongly in the book’s message of a coming reverse class warfare that each intern for the congressman receives a copy of the book for Christmas.  He insists that his acolytes indoctrinate themselves in the message that workers and like rabble with demands are “moochers”, and government regulations punish and discourage wealth creation.  The poor have it too easy in Ryan World, and his interns need to learn that lesson early and often. 

Reality has never supported this extreme Ayn Rand/Paul Ryan fantasy world, but it does make for an entertaining read.  America was not relegated onto the ash heap of history after the passage of the Fair Labor Standards Act in 1937.  Business creation did not end with the passage of the Americans With Disabilities Act during the Bush 41 administration.  Unemployment insurance has had less impact on the public work ethic than the proliferation of shows like Jersey Shore. 

  

The problem with cults is there is little room for middle ground or nuances opinions.  In Paul Ryan’s Atlas Shrugged inspired world view, you are either part of his solution or part of the problem.  The rich are victims.  Ignorance is strength.  War is peace.  And now, he would aspire to be a heartbeat away from the Presidency.  Paul Ryan’s Atlas Shrugged religious values bother me more than Obama’s imaginary Muslim beliefs, and we should consider Ryan’s allegiance to this book’s teachings when entering the polling station in the fall. 

    

Make no mistake.  Paul Ryan is an effective politician (if not a legislator – in 13 years in office, he has proposed and passed two bills, one of which was renaming a post office), savvy in interviews, well-spoken in public debates.  Democrats would do well not to underestimate his skills.  He is not Michelle Bachmann.  While he has less executive experience than the last GOP VP nominee Sarah Palin, and less real world working experience than the last Democratic presidential nominee, Barack Obama, he is inexplicably considered presidential timber.  Perception in politics is reality, so Romney did not blow it with his choice.  There were far worse options for Romney, and the list is long with pretenders and wackos who think they deserved consideration.  Paul’s greatest qualification is that most of the public has never heard of him, and with only 10 weeks until Election Day, that’s a plus. 

   

Romney’s choice of Ryan, besides pleasing fans of Presidential ticket naming alliteration, was a clear nod to the Far Right base of his party, a skeptical base that required reassurance that Mitt is as “severe” a conservative as he said he was a few months ago (he does tend to change his positions).  Unfortunately, in bending over for the party’s base, independent voters may shrug, and may decide not to hold him up on their shoulders come November 6^th.  Time will tell.

As I have said before, Romney never really scared me all by himself.  Romney with a Republican Congress scares me, and now he has chosen to marry himself to the ideological extreme of the least popular Congress in history.  That to me is scarier than Atlas taking the world off of his shoulders for a few minutes of rest, regardless of what Ayn Rand thinks.   

Love and Politics

After a long and exhaustive vetting process, the choice of running mate has finally been made.  Now it is up to the public to decide if the right choice has been made.

There were many suitors along the way for the job.  Each had qualities that would have enhanced the popularity of the top of the ticket.  Each would bring valuable assets to the arrangement.  To earn the nod, you had to be your own person, with your own accomplishments, but yet not overshadow the real star of the show.  Now that the announcement has been made, it is clear that this selection was not about money, religious compatibility, or looks alone (although it helps to look good in official photos).  Personal chemistry trumped all other considerations.

Now it is the public’s turn to vet the selection, and we can expect the media to dig up as much dirt as possible.  We can expect months of unflattering stories, embarrassing pictures, and former friends to appear on the Today Show, Entertainment Tonight, and maybe even 60 Minutes.  The quest for information and disinformation will seem endless, but that’s how our democracy functions.  We can only hope that it will be a healthy debate and that everyone’s personal privacy will be respected. 

 

Jennifer Aniston has selected Justin Theroux as her life running mate.  While Jennifer’s unfavorable have come down slightly since the announcement, we’ll see how long the bounce lasts.  Already there are reports that the other campaign of Pitt-Jolie is planning a quick wedding to temper any enthusiasm in the Aniston-Theroux camp.   We’re in for a long fall season.

Politics and romance are dirty businesses.  I like to watch.

Off the Grid

It has been 11 days since my last MSRP post, so it should come as no surprise that I took an unpublicized vacation.  The family and I enjoyed a few sun-soaked days at the beach in North Carolina where even a few bouts of rain were not enough to dampen the joy of not working.  As you Fin Fans are surely aware, “Weather is here, wish you were beautiful.”  I was mentally off the grid, and it was good.

Every day meant beach time, and every evening meant watching the XXX Games (the clean XXX Games, not the other kind featured after 11 PM nightly on Cinemax, check your local listings you pervert).  Sitting unplugged in front of the world class competition was freeing.  The half-naked athletes did all the work while I sat half naked drinking cold beer and room temperature aloe vera.  That required very little work from me, as it should be on vacation.  Carmelita Jeter had one heck of a six-pack, but my six-pack was pretty tasty in its own right.

My companions in the living room however were not content to sit idly in front of the Olympics and become part of the furniture.  They needed some juice.  They needed some spice, the kind of flavor you can only get with a reliable wi-fi connection.  They all sat in silence with their faces buried in their personal electronic devices while Phelps swam, Giffords danced, and Bolt bolted.  My daughter had her iPhone humming.  My son had his iTouch buzzing.  My wife had her iPad burning.  My brother and sister-in-law had their dueling pads crackling. 

    

In their defense, they were interacting with one another – silently, through words games that held no interest for me.  They were actually interacting with unseen others, too.  The multiple computer games were being fought in cyberspace with absent family members who were also not giving their full attention to the Olympics.  In effect, everyone else in the room was more interactive and social than I was staring at the one-directional TV screen.  My daughter could quietly text my brother-in-law that his word choice was pathetic, weak and only worth 12 points.  I could not let Bob Costas know in real time that his striped tie selection with his plaid shirt was offensive.  They were engaged in participatory behavior.  I was apparently lonely but didn’t know it.

This knowledge did not stop me from raising my nose in tipsy superiority at my family’s technological addictions on this particular vacation. 

I am certain that my parents would have condemned my insistence on staring at the TV during an evening of vacation when instead I could have been outside “doing something”.  Now the tables have turned, and I am condemning my family for “doing something” when they could instead be sitting with me staring at the TV “doing nothing”.  Am I the only one who understands what vacation is really all about?

Next year for the first time ever, the term “Internet Use Disorder” will appear in the index of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.  Based on my recent vacation, I will not be pictured in this medical volume above the caption “IUD Sufferer in his Natural Habitat”.  I cannot say the same for my poor family.

For their sake, I think they need to stop being slaves to these electronic devices and watch some TV with me, at least until Television Use Disorder becomes an official diagnosis.  That should happen right around the invention of Smell-a-vision.  

When Smell-a-vision is finally commercially available, that’s when I’ll skip the Summer Olympics on TV and get myself a smartphone.  Who wants to watch Olympic dressage on a Smell-a-vision?  If that’s a choice, I’ll happily challenge anyone to a friendly game of Words With Friends.