The News Conference

255 The News Conference

It’s about time the Washington press corps started asking some of the hard questions of our leaders.

The President gets up at that podium and invites questions, and gets mush-balls.

“Mister President, when will American Troops be leaving Iraq?”

“Mister President, are we planning to attack Iran?”

“…is inflation really a threat?”

“…how can we reduce our dependence on foreign oil, and what are you doing to bring down fuel prices?”

“…are you going to fire Gonzales? Rove?”

Total nonsense. Mush-balls designed to be countered by Presidential smokescreens. Wimpy.

One day, one of you bright lights, seeking to shine some of your own wattage on the true character and being-ness of this president.

“Mister President, how many States are there and what is each called?”

Think you’ll get a complete answer?

“Mr. President, what is the capital of Utah?”

“Mr. President, how big is Texas and is it the biggest state?”

“Mr. President, who was President the year you were born?”

“Mr. President, where is Tijuana?”

“A followup question if I may, Mr. President, on which coast of Venezuela is Tijuana?”

“Mr. President, have you switched to a single-malt scotch?”

“Mr. President, who fakes it better, Laura or Condi?”

Let’s see what’s really going on with this guy. We know he doesn’t know squat about Iraq or Iran or the War on Terra Firma or the economy – especially the economy – so let’s find out if he knows about his own staff, geography, history or the content of the beverages he claims no longer to drink.

After all, it’s Legacy Time. The term is winding down, and what’s he going to leave behind?

Verizon and AT&T have banded together to find a couple of old fashioned phone booths in which the Presidential Library will be located. Actually, there was some warring about that, too. The President wanted a used Good Humor Ice Cream truck. That would make it the first “books-on-wheels” Presidential Library. Plus if no one wanted to look at the Presidential stuff, they could at least get one of those Walnut Flake Good Humor bars.

Thing would roll through the streets, the little bells ringing, and kids would come out of the houses and look for ice cream, and the driver would say “sorry, kid, this is the George W. Bush Books-on-Wheels Presidential Library. Did you want to see the material on nucular destruction?”

Most Vice Presidents don’t get their own library. Cheney will. But it always will be closed. Too many secrets. And its location will be undisclosed. He’s good at “undisclosed.”

“Mr. President, how much does white bread cost?”

“A followup question, if I may, what is the price of a postage stamp?”

“Mr. President, may I see your license, registration and insurance card, please?”

“Mr. President, what was it like BEFORE the lobotomy? … No, no, not yours, sir. Ours.”

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR

Coal Miners' Daughters

254 Coal Miners’ Daughters

Here it is, ladies and gentlemen, the single most idiotic Supreme Court decision in the lifetime of anyone reading or hearing this.

The Supremes rule that home care workers aren’t allowed to make overtime. Astounding.

The hardest working people in medicine, and the lowest paid, most of them immigrants, most of them impoverished, all of them trained and licensed. These are today’s coal miners.

Many work two and three shifts or partial shifts in a day. Sometimes they get carfare out of it in addition to their six or seven bucks an hour. If they do, it’s taxable income. Well, probably not really taxable because most of these women make so little money they don’t need to pay taxes.

So, now the Supremes rule that the normal time-and-a-half laws don’t apply. And who’s going to fight that? Who can?

This is a tough job. Coal mine tough. They’re dealing with aged, infirm people unable to care for themselves. That means people with no sanitary habits to speak of. These women are the first line of medical defense. But many of them are more housekeeper than nurse. And housekeepers get better money – and better hours.

How would you like to work from, say 7 in the morning until 10, then have to go home and come back at 3 or four and work another three hours?

How would you like to spend your days wiping the rear ends of a bunch of people either so out of it that they can’t do it for themselves or so nasty that they treat you like an intruder?

And the industry says “oh, we can’t pay overtime. It would bankrupt us.” And Medicare says the same. And Medicaid.

Awhile back, Congress (a Republican Congress) expanded the Fair Labor Standards act and the power of the Department of Labor to enforce it. At least that’s what the act was said to say. What it really did was gut the act and exempted one million people (yes, there are one million home health care workers) from its reach.

When the Act was first Acted, it covered this category. Now, no.

To be fair, not every home health aid and home attendant is denied overtime. Some are unionized (including those who work for the City of New York.) And those contracts usually specify things like time and a half for OT and short turnaround (that’s extra money if you return to work without more than a 12 hour break.) But that’s for relatively few. The overwhelming majority get straight time, no holidays, no vacations, no lunch breaks, no nuthin’.

The Labor Department sniffs that the decision is well within its discretion.

Compassionate conservatism in action.

The Supremes’ decision was unanimous. But Ruth Bader Ginsburg is quoted as saying “Isn’t it odd…” that the goal was to expand not contract coverage and that’s what they’re doing?

Yes, Ruthie. It IS odd. So why did you vote to go along?

Ever been in a coal mine?

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR

A Fine Romance

253A Fine Romance

What did they call those notes the young girls wrote to the soldiers in World War II, saying a tearful goodbye? “A Dear John Letter?” This is one of those. But the recipient won’t take it hard as the receiving soldier must have, because this romance has been largely one sided for more than 60 years.

New York won’t notice it got the letter. But here it is.

It’s been forming for a long time. Maybe Christmas Eve on 34^th Street put it over the top.

It was Rabat, or Delhi or St. Petersburg or Cairo that day. And Tijuana, Taipei, Tokyo and Seoul. And Port Au Prince, and the Seychelles.

The basic city hadn’t changed. The walls and buildings and streets were the same. But She put on new makeup and new costumes and the Old Boyfriend was out of place. Bull in a china shop? Fifth wheel on a Land Rover? Pine needles on an oak tree?

Such English as there was came with Boston and Montgomery and Des Moines and Lake Charles overtones.

Where were the “dees, dems and doze?” Where is Sadie from Orchard Street? Where is Gianni from Mulberry Street? Where is Mayor Van Wyck, and how come no one can say his name right anymore?

How can you walk on 125^th Street and hardly see a black face?

How did the pushcarts get from the Lower East Side to Midtown?

New York’s importing Her mascara from Lahore, not Paris.

Does it make a difference? Not to Her, and in the long run, not to the Old Boyfriend, either.

Move on. It’s not the same place. It’s not the same time, it’s not the same city. Maybe a movie set of New York? Get over it.

I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.™

©wjr 2005, 2007

Low Tech

252 Low Tech

You’ve heard it before. You’ll probably hear it again. But low tech has fallen by the wayside, and that’s a problem. It’s a problem because you need it to make high tech works.

High tech we get. Low tech we don’t.

You know about the “big” examples: They send up a spaceship with all these modern engines and electronic tracking and navigating devices and then, the thing crashes to earth and kills people because of a bad “o ring” or bad glue on the high tech ceramic tiles that are supposed to keep the thing from burning up on re-entry.

The “Challenger” and the “Columbia” became flying death wagons because of faulty materials that have been successfully used elsewhere (and for next to no money) for a century. Glue and rubber.

Our 1971 Pontiac Grandville had a huge, powerful and (for its time) modern engine that functioned perfectly. It had an air conditioner and heater that was 30 or 40 years ahead of its time.

But the power seat failed in the first week, because a 59 cent rubber gizmo that held the pieces of the seat motor in place failed. You had to remove the seat (welding, nuts, bolts, tracks, upholstery, headrests) to get at the 59 cent rubber gizmo. It stayed broken for the next 100,000 miles.

Now, in the computer age, things are the same.

The electronic stuff works like a wonder. Sometimes a slow wonder, but a wonder, nevertheless. You can write. You can send and receive e-mail. You have access to most of the world’s accumulated knowledge on your desk and at your fingertips.

The operating systems have gotten to the point where the average guy or gal can fix them when the get stuck.

But not the power switch. It’s a low tech piece of junk, and when it gives way it can’t be fixed. And when it can’t be fixed, you can’t turn the machine on. And when you can’t turn the machine on, you might as well not have it.

A power switch. Under a quarter’s worth of low tech hardware. Similar “devices” have been in use since – when? – maybe the late 1920s. Basically unchanged since its invention.

A simple little thing with some metal contacts and a spring. A push button.

We took the computer to Big Buy’s Nerd Squad, which can fix anything to do with computers, or so they say.

Guess what? 25 cent power switches are not “…to do with computers.” It’s not that the kid didn’t try. He actually DID make it work, after a fashion. Of course, now instead of pushing a button, you have to stick your hand through a hole in the cabinet to turn the thing on or off.

Maybe we should be looking for a pull chain, like they have on bare bulb light fixtures.

They’ve been making THOSE for 90 years. Right there in a big cinderblock factory aside the tracks in the Sunnyside Rail Yard.

They never broke when they were accessible. Why would they break now?

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR

Representative Nein

251 Representative Nein.

He didn’t start life that way. His name when he was born was Benny Kerickov. But Benny soon got the nickname “Nein.” And it stuck.

As a kid, he was against everything. You were an A student, he was an F (a perfect score for his future career.) You were an F student, he was a C+ (never could get more than a B, and that was in art.)

“Benny, you want cereal for breakfast?” his mother would ask. “No,” he’d reply.

“Benny, your pal Arnie is here. Why don’t you two go play outside?”

“No. Inside.”

“Benny, it’s raining, get in the house.”

“No.”

Later, his interest in politics started developing. You were a Republican, he was a Democrat. You were a Democrat, he was a Republican.

This changed more or less permanently when the Democrats asked him to run for City Council. “No. I’m a Republican.”

The Republicans didn’t invite him to join, so he stayed a Republican. But it didn’t matter. Councilman Nein never voted a strict party line. He just voted “Nein!”

Whatever was proposed, Nein opposed.

This brought notice from the state Republican Chairman who was wise and clever. One day he went to Benny and said “Nein, please don’t run for higher office.” And of course, Nein said “nein” and that started him on a career in the Statehouse.

The Chairman knew he had a winner. And Nein didn’t disappoint. He recently was invited to step down rather than running for an eleventh term. And, naturally, he declined the request, ran, won again and continues to this day to oppose everything.

Now, they’re thinking about running him for Congress, which – if they do it – they will do by telling him he cannot run for Congress. And Nein will say “nein” and run, and probably win.

There’s something to be said for this kind of consistency.

Nein really favors the war in Iraq and would have been in a terrible quandary if he were forced to oppose it with his vote. But that’s all passed, and he’s free, now, to oppose a war budget (“it’s a guaranteed tax increase.”) He’s free to vote against any expansion of social programs (cost too much.) Even can vote against establishment of National Bassett Hound Day (minority dog breeds should be afforded the same honors as majority breeds, like Labrador Retrievers, and they don’t have a special “day” named for them!)

He can oppose Republican nominees to the Supreme Court (too liberal.) He can oppose Democratic nominees (WAY too liberal.)

He can oppose pay raises for himself. (He knows the bill will pass, so he can vote “no” and look good to the constituents.)

But he’s never sponsored a bill (hasn’t figured out how to sponsor and oppose at the same time,) but once came close.

It was a measure that would have kept the voting records of State Representatives secret. “We can’t go to fast in letting the public know what we’re doing behind its back, now can we? We must be cautious,” said Nein.

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR

Sewerpipe And The Suits

#250 Sewerpipe And The Suits

One night a little after closing time, Sewerpipe walked out of The Store carrying about a dozen men’s suits. There were a couple of grey flannels in 42Regular, a 38Short in a nice striped tan, a few 40Longs in Charcoal and a couple of nice pinstripes in various regular and short sizes.

This wouldn’t be too terribly unusual, except that Sewerpipe didn’t exactly pay for the stuff, wears a size 50, himself, and doesn’t need suits because The Store pays for his, which is navy blue, with shoulder patches that say “Securit,” and have captain’s bars on the epaulettes.

Embarrassingly, Egan, who wears a 40Regular and is Sewerpipe’s boss, head of security, happened also to be in the parking lot, along with two squad cars of Nausia County police officers with guns drawn.

Do you see a nice pinstripe or orange jumpsuit in this guys future? He debated for a brief moment (not to be confused with a long moment,) and thought better of trying to make a run for it.

Sewerpipe, whom everyone called CAPTAIN Sewerpipe got his name because he was able to swear at the top of his gravel-toned basso for at least 20 minutes, without ever repeating a word.

But this did him no good in the parking lot that night, though he tried it.

This was in 1965 or 1966 when the dollar value of the suits was around $300 or $400. In 2007, the value was about two grand, maybe 2500.

In his house, they also found a half dozen pairs of shoes, size 12, which was Sewerpipe’s size. And they found a bunch of dresses and nightgowns which they later determined belonged to Mrs. Balloona, who was The Store’s Chief Telephone Operator, and who regularly visited Sewerpipes, apparently unknown to Mr. Balloona.

Plus a couple of air conditioners that were not counted in last month’s inventory report.

Poor Sewerpipe. He did a few months in the Nausia County Correctional Facility and when he got out, he had trouble finding work as a Captain of Security.

But Sewer is nothing if not resourceful.

He took an inventory of his skills (20 minutes of un-repetitive swearing, size 12 feet, some nice, but ill-fitting suits,) and decided his next stop should be the stock market.

Problem: you can’t make it big on Wall Street with suits from The Store. They fit like cheap suits. Especially if you’re a 50, wearing a 38Short.

So he’d have to actually BUY something. Maybe he could swap some of those air conditioners and Mrs. Balloona’s intimate underthings for enough to get something worth wearing to a job interview.

Or maybe he could be a professor of “Modern Culture” at a prestigious university. That’s somewhere those swearing skills can be put to good use. And no one will blink if a size 50 guy is wearing a size 38 suit. As long as it’s rumpled enough.

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR

Rude!

#249 Rude!

The Moote Pointe Chamber of Commerce is trying to solve this problem: People are getting ruder all the time. And, says the leader, Harold “Yep” Kornfeld, this has to stop.

So, here’s Yep and he wants to stop the onslaught of rudeness. Bad for business. Can’t figure out how that all happened.

Actually, it didn’t happen. It’s all a figure of Yep’s imagination. But there’s nothing like an imaginary enemy to mobilize the forces.

Sounds like Iraq, no? Well, Yep’s going to stay the course on this one.

He’s having a tough time selling it to his buddies, but they’ll come around.

But if what he’s saying is true – even a little bit, why?

Maybe it’s Reagan.

Sounds strange, right? Mister Courtesy himself to blame for an outbreak of rudeness?

“Well,” as The Gipper would say, let’s see if we can get to the bottom of this.

The conservative template says that each of us is an island, a land unto itself. It’s our job to take responsibility for our actions, and for our incomes and for our outcomes. Once accepted, the corollary is “if I can do this you can and SHOULD, too.”

Follow so far?

Nothing too wrong yet, right?

“You SHOULD TOO” turns into “You’re not as good as I.” Which turns into “you’re not worth being nice to, listening to or taking seriously.”

The Gipper would be horrified and mystified.

Yep is just dumbfounded.

But it isn’t surprising that the rugged individualists we’re supposedly encouraging get so rugged and so individualistic that they don’t have diplomatic relations with any other island.

So, where will this go from here if it continues along the same path?

Probably, it will mean that “no diplomatic relations” with other “islands” turns into hostilities with other “islands.”

This is not likely to generate the wave of civility that Yep thinks is lacking but that his cohorts seem not to see.

Does this make Yep ahead of his time, or behind it?

In order for there to be an epidemic of courtesy (REAL courtesy, not the kind of phony stuff you get from people who are trying to sell you something) we’re going to start have to seeing value in others for their own sake and not for what they can do for us.

This is not a concept that sits well with today’s rugged individualists.

I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.

(c) 2007 WJR