Crash Davis-like rant

"Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."

For fans of baseball movies, that memorable declaration was made by the character Crash Davis, played by Kevin Costner in the movie Bull Durham, only the best baseball movie ever (The Natural and Field of Dreams are good, too, but Bull Durham reigns supreme in this blog).  I've often thought about what I'd say if I were in a position like Crash Davis was, so today I'm going to give it a try.  Fortunately, I'm not limited by time constraints like Kevin Costner was. 

Therefore...I believe in reading hardback books and not Nooks or Kindles.  I believe in a United Irish Republic, the freedom to work in any state of the Union regardless of professional licensing and that the designated hitter, Astroturf and organized dance routines by professional athletes should be outlawed.  I believe that Isabel Allende will someday win the Nobel Prize for literature, that stuffing in the bird is better and not at all harmful and that gift cards are lazy presents.  I believe that casinos are bad and strip clubs pointless.  I believe that Democrats are hypocritical and Republicans are arrogant.  I believe that homeowners' associations are un-American and voting is a civic duty.  I believe that rhythmic gymnastics and synchronized swimming are not sports but neither is chess.  I believe that the mainstream media has a liberal bias and is not serving the country.  I believe that redheads are not only fiery but also sexy and playful.  I believe that Ford Frick was wrong to use the asterisk and should have recused himself from the debate (that one's for my girl).  I believe bar exams are a waste of time and continuing legal education is a joke.  I believe that Farrah Fawcett and Christie Brinkely were grossly overrated and that blondes as a rule receive more attention than they should.  I believe that my alma mater will one day win a national title in basketball and that the Cubs will win the World Series, both in my lifetime.  I believe that Sam Adams is the best beer in this country, Mahou is the best beer outside this country and Guinness is the only stout even worth discussing.  I believe much of modern art is self-indulgent, over-rated crap and funding such expression should not come from faceless taxpayers who can't afford it.  I believe bulldogs aren't aesthetically pleasing but are about the most affectionate pets to own, although I also believe owning three is more than enough.  I believe in buying domestic but also that domestic manufacturers cannot take their customers for granted.  I believe that both Rafael Palmeiro and Ryan Braun were clean and never took PEDs, but that Sammy Sosa spoke English fine enough to testify before Congress.  I believe that the internet gives people the virtual courage to say things they'd never say in person.  I believe that a person is entitled to feel more hurt when family or friends do things to them that, if a stranger did the same things, would warrant a harsh response.  I believe that chocolate chip ice cream is the best flavor and is only ruined by the addition of mint.  I believe a left-hander can't play the left side of the infield but that a right-hander is as good as a left-hander at first base.  I believe in instant replay for baseball.  I believe that FIBA rigs the sport to give other countries a chance to compete with the US.  I believe that La Alhambra is the most amazing place I've ever visited and Spain is the foreign country I'd live in given the opportunity.  I believe in the First Amendment but also in time, place and manner restrictions.  Furthermore, I believe English should be the language for all official business in the United States but that people should be free to express themselves in whatever language they like beyond that.  I believe French is given too much favorable attention and Spanish too little favorable treatment in this country.  I believe pizza isn't truly pizza without pepperoni and sausage or with anchovies and pineapple;   I believe the British have employed the longest and most effective public relations campaign in history and have duped more people than can even be counted.  I believe Celine Dion is goofier than most but can sing like few other.  I believe bullying doesn't end when children become adults.  I believe there are good cops but also that many are the kids who used to get taunted and teased in high school who now have authority and a weapon.  I believe green is the best color, autumn the best season and tea the best non-alcholic drink.  Finally, I believe I am the luckiest man in the world because I've met the woman who is perfect for me, a woman with infinite patience, sly wit and unbounded kindness.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Dream dinner guest list

Every once in awhile the topic of dinner guests arises, as in, if you could invite anyone over to share dinner with you and Karen, whom would you invite?  It's an intriguing question.

The people whom I'd invite wouldn't be invited for their celebrity, or their wealth, or their accomplishments, but for the interest they could provide with their knowledge and conversation.  With any luck -- since I don't know any of these people personally -- they'd also be nice people.  There's always the risk that one guest offends another guest, so I would have to say that I'd invite these people with all things being equal.  The menu doesn't matter, as that's another variable that shouldn't have any impact on the choices.  No spouses should be included, simply because I don't have a table big enough for twenty-six people.  And since twelve is my lucky number, twelve will the number of my invitees.

One last caveat:  All my invitees have to be alive, so no dead historical figures.

Without a doubt, the first person whom I'd invite would be George Will.  He's what I regard as the thinking man's raconteur.  That is, he's so brilliant he can talk about any subject with insight and a perceptive perspective that few others can offer.  That he's a Cubs' fan and his father taught at my alma mater are added bonuses.

Bill Russell is perhaps the most accomplished basketball player of all time.  He's also a bridge between the old NBA and the new NBA.  Furthermore, he's an intelligent and forthright man who speaks his mind tactfully.  Last but not least, he has a great laugh.

Isabel Allende is one of my favorite authors.  I've read most of her works already and have some of her later works ready to read when I have time.  She lived in a Chile that the CIA ruined with the overthrow of her cousin, Salvador Allende, yet she chose to make the USA her home.  Her books were great treats, except for Paula, which details the death of her own daughter to a rare blood disease.  I read that book while our Mother was dying.

Mario Batali is a celebrity chef, but I appreciate his approach to cooking.  He embraces Italian simplicity.  He also lived in Spain during his childhood, so I'd be interested in sharing stories about our times in Spain.

Maureen O'Hara is my biggest crush of all time and our Mother's favorite actress.  She's also a feisty redhead, so I'd love to pair her with Karen, sit back and watch them tease me together.  I'd also love to try to get out of her what she whispered to John Wayne at the end of The Quiet Man, even though I know that won't happen.

Condoleeza Rice is an exceedingly gifted and therefore interesting woman.  With all her accomplishments, I'd love to discuss with her NFL football, since she wants to be the commissioner.  I'd also like to discuss with her her recent membership in Augusta.

Carlos Ruíz Zafón wrote one of the most memorable books I've ever read, La sombra del viento.  Even if the book hadn't been any good, the title alone -- The Shadow of the Wind -- sends chills down my spine.  I can't remember a book that captivated me so much from the opening pages.  And since I've been to Barcelona a few times, I'd like to discuss his hometown with him.

Tom Colicchio is another chef whose notoriety derives more from being the head judge on one of my two favorite reality shows, Top Chef.  Besides being a great chef, he just seems like a great guy.

George Herbert Walker Bush is a man who served his country in many different capacities.  Despite this, there doesn't seem to be a trace of conceit in him.  I think he'd be a hoot with anecdotes from his past.

Julia Roberts gets the label Pretty Woman from the movie in which she starred.  No matter, she just seems like a fun person, a person with whom I'd have a beer.  And she's another person with a great laugh.

Gary Sinise is a gifted actor and a talented musician, but more than anything, he's a philanthropist who gives without seeking the limelight.  He may be somewhat quiet, but I think he'd be an interesting dinner guest.

Sandra Day O'Connor would be highly interesting.  Apart from being the first female Supreme Court Justice, she's led an interesting life outside the law.  I think discussing anything with her would be memorable.

I'm sure there are other people I'm forgetting, so later I'll have another dinner and invite different guests.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Sports overkill

My girl thinks that I'm a sports freak and that I live for sports.  That's not true.  Although I'm undeniably interested in sports and indebted to them for what they've done for me, I'm awfully critical of many aspects of sports.  I'm not talking about whether this uniform is horrible or that stadium is wretched.  I'm talking about the impact sports have on society and the role they play therein.

For example, the glorification of the individual because of sports achievements is atrocious.  We refer to sportsmen as heroes or warriors.  The only heroes or warriors of which I'm familiar are on the battlefield or in graves as a result of battles.

I'm not wild about the overweening importance placed on sporting events.  I've already taken pro football to task elsewhere.  But the amount of media coverage that certain sporting events claim is ridiculous.  Sure, sports play a part in civic pride, but do upcoming playoff games have to be the lead story on local newscasts?  Does the quarterback's thumb injury have to be dissected as if it were Lincoln's condition after visiting Ford Theater?  Should every single football game be analyzed as if it were another version of the Zapruder film?

The relatively recent arrival of  respect in sports is disturbing on so many levels. Since when did sports become a measuring stick for manhood?  This idea that not only winning a game but winning it in a way sufficient to impose one's will on the opponent and thereby garner his respect is specious at best?  Whatever happened to simple competition?  I gave up playing pick-up basketball not only because my ankles gave out but because I was disgusted by the rise of the respect element in the game, even at that level.

One huge turnoff in sports, especially at the pro level, is the self-promotion or self-aggrandizement of the individual over the team.  When it comes to endorsement deals off the field, that's one thing.  Joe Namath comes to mind.  But the constant preening, prancing, ritualized dances that accompany actions on the field are puerile and troubling.  Why does someone have to dance after they get into the end zone?  Why must there be a dance routine during pregame introductions?  The usual argument offered is that sportsmen are entertainers.  Isn't it enough that each person on the starting lineup is introduced individually, sometimes with accompanying music that the player himself picked out?

Recently the NBA issued a rule that player introductions for starting lineups can last no more than a minute and a half due in no small part to the fact that the players were creating mini-plays that were lasting three and four minutes long.  Given that already there are fireworks, video displays, dancing girls, dancing guys and team mascots together with music played at eardrum-busting levels, why would the players think that their little routines were going to add entertainment value?  The NBA's new rule is a step in the right direction.

I can understand that players who grew up in difficult circumstances may need emotional support all along the way, but by the time the person has reached the professional level and all the benefits that entails, something should click in the person that it's time to grow up.  If the person is still too immature to handle it, they organization needs to address the issue with the player.

There will be those who say that I am merely an old fuddy-duddy out of step with the times, and perhaps there's some truth to that.  But I recall the great Walter Payton and the equally great Barry Sanders, both of whom provided more than enough entertainment for me, simply giving the ball to the referee after scoring touchdowns.  No silly dance routines.  No behavior to call even more attention to themselves after having scored.  They acted, as was often said, as if they'd done it all before.

And that, boys and girls, is cooler than any silly dance routine will ever be.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Reality TV shows

The other day Karen and I were watching the final episode of the reality show Breaking Amish, a show that, if you've been watching it, may or may not be a hoax.  We'd gotten interested in the show because we'd caught some episodes of another, clearly legitimate, show about ex-Amish and their struggles outside the Amish communities.  This one was lame at best and deceptive at worst.\

After swearing during a commercial that were Breaking Amish renewed for a second season that we wouldn't watch it, our jaws thudded hard against the hardwood floor as we watched promos for a new show on the same channel entitled Amish Mafia.  Allegedly, five young men in Amish garb and brandishing weapons are the focus of a new series which, if the title and promo are to be believed, are hard-assed Amish men who break knees first and ask questions about the Bible second.  Coming on the heels of the ridiculously greenlighted Abraham Lincoln:  Vampire Slayer, I thought to myself that there had to be some concepts that haven't occurred to the Left Coast yet that could grace our small and large screens soon and provide more jobs for unemployed actors and reality wannabes.  To that end, I offer some shows and the inspiration behind them:

Applying With the Stars (inspiration:  Dancing With the Stars):  Eleven B-level actors and actresses are put through tasks that high school seniors tackle every year:  Studying for and taking standardized tests, writing essays, researching papers, giving speeches in debate class, participating in extracurricular activities, trying out for the baseball, basketball or football teams.  The stars would be assisted in this by an unrecognizable yet well-credentialed college admissions dean who would prep them on their tasks each week and they would be graded by Joe Clark, Gabe Kaplan and Dennis Haskins.  The remaining portion of their weekly scores comes from the actual grades they get on tests and homework and audience voting.

Name That Music (Name That Tune, among others):  Contestants listen to songs and are challenged to name not only the title of the song and the group that recorded it, but must also sing one stanza of the song besides the refrain.  Bonus points are awarded for those who can sing on key.

Directionally Challenged (The Amazing Race):  Eleven pairs of directionally-challenged teams are dropped into an unfamiliar city and are tasked with getting from point A to point B without use of any aids other than a map.  They are given no money and cannot ask for help from the citizens of the place in which they are left.  Use of a GPS or handheld device is strictly prohibited.

Fantasy v. Real Life (Beat The Schwam):  Contestants are presented with challenged wherein they must choose between being involved in or keeping track of their fantasy sports leagues or living their real lives and keeping their families intact.

The Feminine Side (Switched):  Eleven married or engaged men compete to see who can handle ordinary tasks women face each day, including such things as wearing high heels and bras, cooking meals and doing laundry.  Contestants will be judged on the time it takes to complete each task and the accuracy of the job by the contestant.  Divorced women who are unrelated to the contestants will serve as judges.

Worst Handyman In America (Worst Cook In America):  Twelve mechanically-challenged homeowners compete to see who can be the best of the worst and win the $25,000 first prize.  Teams are chosen by the captains, Bob Vila and Lou Manfredini, who must instruct their charges on such things as how to use socket wrenches, what cross-threading is and how to repair and replace toilets.  Grief counselors and EMTs are on stand-by each episode.  Contestants are judged based on time and adequacy of repairs.  Each contestant must have both homeowners and health insurance.

Reality TV Pitchmen (The Dick Van Dyke Show):  Twelve contestants compete to see who can come up with the most out-there idea for a reality show.  Previous work in reality TV disqualifies applicants.

Deinking Masters (Ink Master):  Contestants compete to have their tattoos removed.  They are graded on the amount of ink removed from their bodies, the time it takes for the total removal of particular tattoos and the lack of crying during the process.

The Next NASCAR Star (The Next Food Network Star):  Twelve contestants are put through the process of turning them into NASCAR stars.  The winner will receive sponsorships to allow him or her to race either circuit the next season.  Competitions will include learning to turn left continuously while not falling asleep, slamming cars into competitors' cars to wreck them but keeping their own cars intact, learning how to chug milk, beer, soda and other beverages and learning how to fight.  Contestants who win challenges must signify their wins by shouting Shake and Bake, Babee! into the camera.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles












 

Karen's birthday

Tomorrow's Thanksgiving, one of my favorite holidays.  This year the schedule is schizophrenic, so we'll be putting in a toilet and hanging Christmas decorations so we can get to bed early in order to be able to leave town Friday morning at four, which means the traditional dinner won't be in the offing for us.  Despite and because of that, I want to offer thanks for things in my life that have enriched it.

I'm thankful for my Mother.  She taught me things and gave me the map for my life.  Although she died far too young, she was my best friend.  She protected me, encouraged me, cheered me and disciplined me the way a parent should.  I miss her terribly.

I thank God I met Karen.  Ours wasn't a conventional meeting, but it was the greatest thing in my life when I heard her voice for the first time.  She is the love of my life, the darling of my heart.  Life wouldn't be life without her in it.  More on her anon.

Our country's screwed up, but we live in the greatest society man has ever arranged.  Every American should give thanks for his birthright but remain aware that with that birhright goes civic obligations.

Likewise, I give thanks for the sacrifices countless men and women have made to defend this country.  Collectively, we owe the greatest debt to these people who founded and defended this country throughout our history.

Living in Spain was the experience of a lifetime.  Looking back, I should have stayed there, even though that would have meant I'd never meet Karen.  There is very little about Spain I don't like.  If it weren't for its economic turmoil, I'd move there today.

I'm grateful to Gutenberg.  His invention has provided me with endless hours of learning and enjoyment.

Sports have always played an integral part in my life.  I can no longer play them physically, but they provide me with plenty of enjoyment as a spectator.

There are many people with woeful maladies.  I'm thankful that I'm relatively healthy so that I can experience God's great gifts each and every day.  To that end, I'm thankful for the comparatively slight aches and pains that remind me how lucky I am to have the health I do.

But more than anything, I'm glad that some years ago, two people from Kentucky met, fell in love and bore a daughter whom they raised to be the beautiful woman she is today celebrating her birthday.  Were it not for those two people, the love of my life would not exist. 

Happy birthday sweetheart.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Home repairs

Today's screed is a convoluted defense of a liberal arts education.  Perhaps remarkably it begins with the repair of a toilet.

I've done a toilet repair once before.  It's never pleasant.  Besides being faced with tight, cramped spaces, one is unavoidably putting one's face near where the backside typically resides during business hours.  Some might argue that for me, that's one and the same thing, but I digress.

For someone my size -- 6'2", nevermind the weight -- fitting my frame into the aforementioned tight and cramped spaces is tough enough.  Even after having successfully fitted myself into these spaces, I then have to find a way to not only manipulate tools and nuts, washers and bolts, but also be able to see while doing it.  Sometimes this involves recreating Twister games played in younger days.  With my advancing years, Twister is a game best left to the memory bank.  Unfortunately, toilet repair does not respect age.

Seeing that there was an annoying leak, I purchased at the local Home Depot a toilet repair kit, assured by the salesman that it would do the trick.  Relying on mechanically gifted people is one of my Achilless heels since the other Achilles heel is that I'm as bereft of mechanical skill and experience as I am cyberchallenged with computers.  Had mankind been relying on me for advancements, we'd still be waiting for the wheel.

I took the thing home and almost painlessly replaced the fill valve.  Imagine then my consternation when I heard the siphoning of water in an invisible yet still ascertainable location around the toilet.  Given my tenuous grasp of the obvious, since I saw no water on the bathroom floor (Karen should be smiling with that one...) I deduced that there was still a problem with the toilet. 

Looking for help on the internet was fruitless because I haven't discerned the logic to asking for the right videos.  For me, it's as arcane a science as looking for something in the yellow pages (need an attorney?  Look up lawyer.)  Somehow, I found out that food coloring would do the trick to trace the source of the leak.  To my chagrin, it showed that the leak was somewhere in the fill tube area.

This is what leads us to a liberal arts education.  The leading toilet repair kit -- as recommended to us by  Robert, patron saint of all incompetent wannabe home repair persons and one who taught Job patience -- was by luck the one I had bought.  Apparently Fluidmaster believes in osmotic transmission of instructions, because the only graphics included in the package were these:

INSTALL WITH CONFIDENCE

1.  Set Height

     Defina la altura

2.  Install

     Instale

3.  Connect

     Conecte

4.  Adjust

     Regule

Along with these incisive instructions are pictures that show a still shot of one second of the process described by the instruction.  If nothing else, making sure to include NAFTA-friendly instructions in correct Spanish (a pet peeve of mind) was nice but equally unhelpful.

The rest of the page includes the usual legalize and self-promotion one might expect to find on packaging.  But there isn't one other scrap of instruction in the frigging paperwork to help never-will-be-Bob-Vilas like me how to overcome problems that might occur.

And this, boys and girls, is the fault of our education system.  By focusing so much attention on the math and science portion side of our children's brains, we've created a society that couldn't communicate if it's life -- or toilet repair -- depended on it.

Faced with this, I repaired to the local Home Depot for some assistance, since I found that I couldn't get the plastic nut holding the existing fill tube in the toilet tank.  The otherwise helpful Home Depot associate suggested to me that in lieu of an oil filter wrench (who knew there was such a thing?), a strap wrench would do the trick.  None the wiser, I purchased the relatively inexpensive tool and trundled home confident that I would be able to get the thing off.

Forty-five frustrating minutes later, I called Home Depot up and asked for a better suggestion, since this wasn't cutting it.  Coincidentally, they suggested using a hacksaw and a pliers.  Not being able to find the hacksaw, I tried several other cutting implements without success.  Fit to be tied and with the cover of night to hide my shame, I loaded the toilet tank in the car, threw in the worthless strap wrench and returned to Home Depot for my third visit of the day. 

The associates I found were as perplexed as I was that a strap wrench had been suggested.  They took pity on me and without asking took out a hacksaw, cut off the obstinate plastic hex nut and removed the assembly from my doleful toilet tank.  They then told me that to install the replacement fill tube, I'd need a channellock wrench. 

Really?

That was funny, because nowhere on the repair kit does it tell me that when I confidentally installed the kit, I'd need a frigging channellock wrench!  Unhelpfully, it showed me the fill valve, the fill tube, the flapper, six rubber washers, six metal washers and six nuts but mysteriously left out the three bolts they included in the package.  It was as if I'd been sold a corporate team-building kit purposely without the instructions so my new coworkers and I could break the ice and not each other's noggins as we tried to figure out how to use this thing.

It is perhaps an unfair surmise that if the people at Fluidmaster had had a liberal arts education, they might have known that they had to direct their instructions at the least common denominator, or those of us who are devoid of any mechanical know-how whatsoever.  They might have known from writing term papers to double-check things like spelling, punctuation, grammar and what not to make sure that little details weren't left out.  Above all, they might have learned to communicate, an art form that is slowly but surely going the way of the eight track tape, the rotary telephone and common courtesy.

I could write a pithy letter of complaint to Fluidmaster, but it would be for naught.  In the first place, it wouldn't help me get the toilet repaired.  And since already I've wasted more hours than I'd like to admit on this simple project, I don't want to take up any more time lecturing people who would only turn a blind eye to my complaint.

Moreover, and more importantly, I'm not sure there'd be anyone there who would be able to understand what I wrote.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Travels

I enjoy traveling.  I haven't done nearly as much of it as I'd have liked, but what traveling I've done has always been fulfilling. 

When we were younger, our journeys consisted of going to a neighboring state -- almost always the same neighboring state -- because there were seven of us and money was tight.  Compared with other families, our travels weren't very extensive.  I enjoyed what I saw, but I can't say I treasure the memories.  I don't recall seeing or doing anything of great interest. 

After I graduated college, my horizons expanded.  I went to Ireland with my aunt the lawyer and her brother, my uncle, the priest.  I joked that I had my bases covered in the event of a tragic accident, since I could get the last rights and have a holographic will done on the spot.  Since I had been conned by my uncle into driving when he asked if I'd ever driven a stick shift, which I had, I was driving in Ireland on the wrong side of the road in the other side of the car, manuevering the stick with my left hand.  Now that was an experience to remember.

The next year, after my first year in graduate school, I moved to Spain.  The requirements for my master's degree included defending, in Spanish, a reading list that included all the great works of Spanish literature.  Since I'd never been to a Spanish-speaking country, my spoken Spanish was about what you'd expect.  Knowing that in two years I'd have to defend my written exams and the reading list before four professors, I got the information I needed and boarded a plane to Madrid, where I lived for nearly a year.  During my stay, I spent a weekend in Portugal and crossed the border into France for a few hours to get my visa updated -- my, how things have changed...-- and visited virtually every part of Spain.  I not only learned to speak Spanish but I fell in love with the country. 

While I was in Spain, someone told me that a fundamental difference between our two countries was that in the States, we lived to work, whereas in Spain, they worked to live.  That hit me like a thunderbolt.  Having been imbued with the Protestant work ethic despite my Catholic upbringing, I never considered this perspective. 

Since then, I've returned to Spain once and spent a rather unfulfilling fortnight in Italy.  Even so, the experiences broadened my knowledge of the world and allowed me to see things again and for the first time.  Part of the reason I enjoy The Amazing Race (a show Karen contends has jumped the shark) is that it affords me the opportunity to see places I will never visit.

Since my last international trip, I've been to parts of this country that were hitherto unknown to me.  I've visited Kentucky, Tennessee and Florida.  I've driven farther than I've ever driven in a year, putting to rest the rumors that I was the inspiration for Jessica Tandy's Miss Daisy character.  Although I've been to Dublin, Madrid and Rome, I still haven't been to Washington, D.C., something I hope to rectify with Karen soon.

Florida was nice, but not exactly my favorite.  I appreciate the turn of the seasons, different temperatures.  I don't know that I could get used to one or two climes every year.

Kentucky, though, impressed me beyond belief.  It's simplicity of life, it's natural beauty and the utter kindness of its people harkens back to an earlier, more pure time.  I could live there quite happily with my sassy country girl.  Perhaps we'll end up there in our later years.  For now, at least three times a year, it provides my heart with hope and tidings of good times.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Frugality

When it comes to myself, I'm incredibly frugal.  Some would call me cheap, but I see no point in wasting good money for things when I can spend infinitely less and get the same quality.

There was a bookseller that specialized in a particular genre of books that offered four brand new books for $1 each plus shipping and handling with no obligation to make any further purchases.  I took the company up on its offer, paid what amounted to about $16 and then cancelled my account within a month thereafter.  To much shock and amazement, a couple of months later I received a solicitation to join the same book club at exactly the same tersm.  I thought for sure this was a mistake but decided the worst the club could say would be no, so I ordered four more books.  A month later, to my happy amazement, a box arrived with an invoice for another $16.  I paid the invoice and a month later, cancelled the account once again.  What happened next strains credulity.

For the next two years, the same book club renewed the same offer an unbelievable ten times.  I think I got roughly $1,000 of books for approximately $120.  There must have been a regime change at the book club because after I cancelled the account for the last time, I didn't get another solicitation for about eight months.  When I did receive another offer, the terms had changed:  I could buy four books for $1 plus shipping and handling, but I would be obligated to buy one book at club prices within the next two years.  I declined the offer.

Incredibly, another book club dealing with another subject had the same offer which I used about five times. 

I buy in bulk, I have rewards cards at every conceivable restaurant, I use coupons.  I just don't see the point in paying top dollar when I can get the same thing with the same quality for much less.

Not too long ago, there were several offers for free food at three different fast food joints.  Admittedly, the offers were for samples, which effectively made the sizes kid sized, but it was all free.  Even better, all three restaurants were located within a block of each other in a place I had to work on Saturdays.  So after work, I went to the first store and got their new onion rings, the next store and got their fried mushrooms and the third store for their newer popcorn chicken nuggets.  I ate lunch in the car for free that day.

I don't recall how this happened, but somehow I got on an online survey for a newspaper in another part of the country.  I may have read the newspaper twice in my life.  Every week, I'm sent a survey to complete about the contents of that weekend's newspapers that I dutifully fill out as if read the paper.  For completing the survey, I get so many points which, when I total a certain amount, I can redeem for a gift certificate at an online store.  Works for me.

Karen is a bargain hunter as well.  She thinks I'm a little nuts as to how I go about it.  Perhaps I am, but since I didn't inherit millions or win a national lottery, I do what I can to get through life as cheaply as possible.

Tomorrow, I'm going to buy $15 another bookshelf I found on craigslist.com.  On it I'll put my $1 books.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Liberal hypocrisy

The mainstream media (the "MSM") in this country is doing a disservice to its viewing public.  No matter that President Obama was reelected, the way the MSM selected what news to air and how to comment on news was an abomination.

Let's start with the neverending joking about Mitt Romney.  Sure, he was wooden, stiff, somewhat out-of-touch.  But what about the President's gaffes?  The MSM was horrified by his horrible showing in the first debate and almost led cheers to get him back on his game in the subsequent debates.  That he did so isn't too surprising, but what is surprising is how the MSM tried to misrepresent how badly the President acted by claiming that both candidates were rude.  If anyone reviews the tape of the second debate, the President's conduct is deplorable.  That he was never called on it led to him being positively condescending in the final debate, treating Romney like an impertinent teenager. 

The president himself even dodged the wrath of the MSM.  When the Des Moines Regsiter sat down with Obama, he said to the editor of the Register:

I want your endorsement. You'll feel better when you give it.
The White House issued a transcript after the paper publicly complained about the administration's insistence the talk be off the record, but the MSM never picked it up.  This has all the earmarks of a Mafia don seeking protection money from a businessman, yet the MSM let it alone.  Ask yourself whether it would have done so had a Republican uttered those words.

Then there are the lunatic ravings from the Hollyweird set.  Chris Rock joking about how the one perfect white candidate for whom whites could vote was the President himself disrespects whites miserably.  Why was there any need to slam whites like that?  Whites voted in droves for Obama in 2008.  Could it be that whites were dissatisfied with the President's performance over the last four years and wanted an alternative?  No, that couldn't be it.  The answer had to be the old fallback, racism.  And the MSM not only aired Rock's racist joke, it played it up, smiling the whole time. 

The MSM showed every appearance by Bruce Springsteen, Jay-Z, Katy Perry and every other half-wit celebrity who thought him- or herself so thoughtful that they could lecture us on how to vote.  Meanwhile, Romney's celebrities are made to look feeble and old.  The MSM smiled adoringly at the Hollyweird types the President had and commented by not commenting on Romney's.

Then there are the vile comments made by Valerie Jarrett.  Jarrett is a senior advisor to and longtime friend of Obama.  Imagine, if you will, the outcry there'd have been had one of Bush's senior advisors had said this:

After we win this election, it's our turn. Payback time. Everyone not with us is against us and they better be ready because we don't forget. The ones who helped us will be rewarded, the ones who opposed us will get what they deserve.  There is going to be hell to pay. Congress won't be a problem for us this time. No election to worry about after this is over and we have two judges ready to go."

This barely rated a mention in the MSM.  No one called for her firing.  No one said bupkes.

Then there's the whole Benghazi mess.  The important thing is why it lied about it being a result of a spontaneous demonstration for so long.  The MSM barely reported on it.  Instead, the lone voice in the wilderness was Fox News which, for many people, has zero credibility.  Well, even José Canseco, detestable though he may be, was right about PED's.  Yet the MSM turned a blind eye to the Benghazi affair.  Sure, it will report on it if Congress ever gets in high dudgeon about it, but that may take months.  In the meantime, the election's over.  Would the MSM have done the same thing if the incumbent had been a Republican?  I doubt it.

Now, after the election, we learn -- not from MSM sources, of course -- that some fifty-nine precincts in Philadelphia and nine in Cleveland cast not a single vote for Romney.  How is that even statistically possible?  Assuming, arguendo, that it is, where is the outrage?  Were so many precincts to have been devoid of a single vote for Obama, congressional commissions would be investigating voter fraud, Chris Rock would be accusing whites of racism and the story would be in the news for a month at least while the voting booths were subjected to testing.  Yet this manages only a blip on the national news.

The MSM screams about its rights under the First Amendment and cloaks its mission as being one to serve the public.  How on earth does it serve the public when it so obviously takes sides in a presidential election, especially one as close as this one was, and have such a slanted perspective on its reporting? 

Today come reports of twenty-two seccesionist movements across the country.  Is it any wonder when constitutional values are so easily corrupted to further political goals that some people are fed up?

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Birthdays

When it comes to birthdays, I'm pretty ambivalent.  I absolutely enjoy celebrating a friend's or a dear loved one's birthdays.  I get positively geeked about getting them presents -- and I'm not referring to the indolent giftgiver's stand-by, the gift card --and surprising them with something that they really want and like.  I will scour websites and stores for the perfect gift.  Sure, I miss sometimes but I always try my darnedest to find the thing that they want, not what I think they'll like.

For me, though, I'm not comfortable with celebrating my birthday.  I'm not ashamed of my age.  I wasn't born on Hitler's birthday.  I've just gotten used to not celebrating it through a confluence of yearly events that always leaves my birthday in the dust.

Then too, aside from Karen, most people get me things that make me wonder.  I remember one year my sister -- admittedly a little young but not so young to use it as an excuse -- got me a Groucho Marx comedy album.  To be clear, I wasn't even born yet when he hosted You Bet Your Life.  I've never had any aspirations to be a stand-up comic.  I can't tell a joke to save my life.  This gift shall remain an impenetrable mystery to me.  I'd rather that people saved their money than wasted it on things I will neither enjoy or use.

Karen tells me that I need to learn to be graceful about such things, and she's right, of course.  But I see no reason someone should buy me something out of sheer obligation and without any possible enjoyment in it for them.  Karen's the lone exception to this:  That girl knows how to give gifts...even if some of them are more for her benefit than for mine.

I prefer the way Spaniards handle it.  When it's your birthday, you don't get gifts but instead you take your friends out.  That convention suits me better.

I've also argued that I did nothing to receive accolades for being propelled down the birth canal.  Mom did all the hard work.  If nothing else, she should be the recipient on my birthday for all her hard work.  If we're going to celebrate graduates for completing their education, mothers should receive presents on their children's birthdays.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Fun with numbers

As I've stated, I'm a hot mess when it comes to most things mathematical.  That being said, it's not that I don't like anything related to numbers.  I love geometry, for example.  If I'd had better teachers who didn't speak subcontinental English, I might actually have pursued accounting. 

One thing that intrigues me is numbers.  I find codes and ciphers exciting.  I actually study them, much to Karen's everlasting wonderment and chagrin.  Part of this is because codes and ciphers usually have pattens in them that allow them to be decoded or deciphered.  Thankfully, although there's some algebra involved, it's not absolutely necessary.

Today marks the fifty-first post in this blog.  I'm fifty-one.  No big pattern there, just a mere coincidence.

But the number twelve has always been my go-to number, my lucky number, my favorite number.  I think as a kid I read somewhere that quarterbacks favored the number, and since quarterbacks are the leaders of the team, and I wanted to be a leader, I chose twelve.  From such childish notions are lifelong childish behaviors born.

Then one day I noticed a weird thing.  Ernie Banks, Mr. Cub, hit his 500th home run on May 12th.  Again, not a big deal  But he ended up hitting 512 career home runs.  This is the kind of thing that fascinates me.  Sure, as Karen would quickly point out, it's a coincidence.  But it still fascinates me.

I looked up all the people born on the same date irrespective of month; for example, all people born on the fourth of every month.  My list has some impressive people on it.  I've looked up athletes born the year of my birth, 1961.  The results were eye-opening.

I look to see how many months, days, hours and seconds I've been alive.  I keep track of dates and see how they correspond to other dates with meaning in my life.  I see how mirrored numbers, like twenty-four and forty-two, interconnect in a given situation.

The mental gymnastics I do are just for fun.  I'm not like Jim Carrey who has such an obsession with the number twenty-three that he made a film about it. 

But just as a warning, my next post will be my fifty-second post.  My uniform number for our championship basketball team was fifty-two. 

Just sayin'.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

More can't do's

This morning Karen and I were attempting to fold laundry.  I say attempting because apparently the way I was taught was incorrect.  The way Karen was taught appears to me to have Zen-like mystic qualities that I am constitutionally incapable of mastering. Karen says it's a man-trick.  That I repeatedly try to fold the laundry the way she prefers and fail matters not.  I am, according to my love, trying to get out of it.

That led me to wonder what other things I'm incapable of doing.  Not things I can't do or won't do, but things that I would have no truck trying but find myself after repeated attempts unable to do.  I'm sure the list is longer than this, but here's a start:

Fold laundry:   No matter how my redheaded goddess claims it's a man-excuse, I fail to follow all the byzantine methods of folding laundry.  I don't fold it for presentation; I fold it so it fits in a drawer with no wrinkles.  But apparently there are as many ways to fold laundry as there are ways to call things on a boat by nautical terms unfamiliar to landlubbers.  Why towels and washclothes, for example, have to be folded in a particular way mystifies me.  Who knew there was more than one way to fold socks?  And the worst of all has to be watching me fold T-shirts.

Cook eggs:  I've given some thought to taking cooking classes and what not, not that I'd be any good as a chef, but the smell of eggs immediately disqualifies me.  Add to that the unofficial allergy I ironically have to scallops (both times I've eaten them things came out of different parts of my body at the same time) and I wouldn't make it past the first episode of Top Chef.

Play cards:  Part of this is my fault.  I find cards to be somewhat boring, so I don't play them that often.  But were I to try, I can't figure out how to strategize when luck has so much to do with setting the play.  Unlike chess, where the only luck involved is who moves first, the cards dealt are purely by chance, unless there's a stacked deck.  I'm not good with advanced math, so trying to figure out the probability that such and such card will be available on my next draw is beyond my abilities.  That, in turn, renders me incapable of knowing whether to go for three of a kind instead of a straight.

Read music:  I love music.  I can hold a note.  I can't for the life of me read music.  At best I know when the melody is going up or going down.  Sometimes I can even get the rhythm.  It amazes me how people are not only able to read this stuff but create it in the first place.  I sit in awe of such talent.  I'll never join their club.

Golf:  I'm marginally athletic, or used to be.  I mastered throwing a baseball, making it move in different directions, throwing it to specific spots.  I learned how to hit a round baseball with a round bat when the former was thrown at me from sixty feet, six inches at roughly eighty miles an hour.  I learned how to dribble a basketball with my left hand, in fact becoming more proficient with my left hand than my stronger right hand when dribbling.  But I cannot hit a golf ball sitting on the ground in front of me correctly.  I get lucky from time to time, but that's it.

Socialize:  One would think this would come naturally to a human, but that might be part of the problem.  Countless people have criticized my sociability quotient.  I'm awkward, insufferably boring, always ready to say the wrong thing at the absolutely worst time.  My sense of humor is so abstruse, or so I'm told, that I come off as aloof or condescending.  Suffice it to say I'm no threat to win a Man of the Year award.  Sheldon Cooper has more social skills than I do, and he's horrible.  He even uses the word coitus in polite conversation.

Ice skate:  Considering the tendons and ligaments in my ankles have the consistency of shredded wheat thanks to years of spraining them, any thought of skating is a non-starter.  As with music this is a shame, because I love to watch hockey. But unlike music, where I can at least hold a note, I can't even stand up on skates without the assistance of a walker.

Visual artwork:  I have to split hairs here.  I'm not too bad as a photographer, although I'm a complete duffer when it comes to manipulating F-stops and what have you.  I'm referring here to anything involving a pen, pencil or a brush.  Unless someone sees my inner Jackson Pollock, I'm a bust even when it comes to drawing stick figures.

Selling:  Unless I believe in a particular product, I can't sell anything.  I couldn't sell ice to an Arab.  I just don't have the persuasive power to get someone to buy something he or she doesn't want.

Acting:  Again, the art of persuasion here is lost on me.  I'd crack up if a scene called for me to act melodramatically.  The irony is that I have absolutely no problem standing up in front of a crowd and speaking.  But ask me to perform anything?  Not a chance.

Repair mechanical devices:  You'd waste less breath asking me to part the Red Sea.  Just trust me on this one.  Or ask Karen.

Diplomacy:  I had to look up how to spell that word.  I see too much black and white and not enough grey.  Heck, I even argue that the proper spelling of grey is not gray, but grey.

Pen-twirling:  I'm not sure what you call this, but I can't do it.  In school, kids that were either exceptionally gifted in math or science or went to very exclusive boarding schools all seemed to be able to take a pen or pencil, balance it briefly on the sides of their thumbs and forefingers and then twirl it around on top of those two digits without it flying off.  I've tried this.  I can't do it.

Spinning a basketball on my finger:  Somewhere Abe Saperstein is laughing at me.  No matter how good I may have been at basketball, I couldn't do this.

Algebra:  I'm not sure whether those who are good at this do algebra or whether there's a proper verb for what they do, but whatever it is, I don't do it.  I remember always being confused why x had to be such-and-such and constantly asking why, only to be told to just accept it.  Well, that didn't wash with me.  As a result, I never got algebra.  Someday I'll go into the whole Early-Eardley concidence, which is only sure to make Karen's eyes roll out of her head.

Whistle between my fingers:  I'm a very good whistler, in fact, but I cannot whistle by putting any fingers in my mouth.  Or a blade of grass.

There will be regular updates on this once my memory returns or more things are added to the list.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Voting

Karen and I got up at the buttcrack of dawn to vote today.  Somewhat surprisingly, there were around fifty people voting at that hour, with more people coming in as we left. 

I've always viewed voting to be a civic duty.  Given the freedoms we cherish and for which so many people have died protecting, it's an abrogation of a basic freedom to not vote.  Admittedly, I don't vote in every little municipal election, but I do vote in the quadrennial presidential elections and the mid-term elections.

I don't believe there's such a thing as throwing away one's vote unless no vote is cast.  That it's recognized beforehand that one's candidate doesn't stand a chance of winning the election is of no consequence. 

When one's lived abroad and seen what other cultures are like, it heightens the sense of freedom we enjoy in this country.  When scenes such as those from the Middle East are televised back here, with women finally getting to vote and almost gleefully holding up their fingers stained with ink to show that they've voted, it drives home both the sanctity and the obligation that is voting.

There are plenty of funny things that happen at election time.  Coming from a region where joking about voting early and voting often is met with a yawn, I'm well aware that irregularities can skew the system.  Seeing a Black Panther outside a polling place harkens back to poll taxes and literacy exams.  Votes should be cast without coercion or incentive.

That being said, I have no problem with attempts to verify the identity of voters.  I'm not sure that having a driver's license is the answer, because getting a driver's license doesn't require the same standard as getting a passport does, for example.  At the same time, many people either have no interest in getting a passport or can't afford one.  A national identification card is simply too un-American for me.  Biometric devices are probably cost-prohibitive as well.

Voting is as much a right as it is an obligation.  I also view it as a privilege in this society.  Too many men and women have died to safeguard this right for me to waste it by not voting.  So getting to the polling place at dawn is little hardship.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Spanish literature

Yesterday's blog prompted a thought that I've been mulling around for a few years.  The English-speaking world, while justifiably proud of its literary heritage, is unjustly disdainful of Spanish literature. It is so wrongly scornful of Spanish literature that it's even unfairly claimed credit for several things that rightly belong to the Spanish legacy.

First of all William Shakespeare, perhaps the greatest known author in English, is widely regarded as one of the most prolific writers of all time.  Yet Lope de Vega, whose major work is Fuenteovejuna, wrote over 1,800 plays, of which eighty are considered masterpieces. 

Charles Dickens is credited with many fine works, including Oliver Twist, a picaresque novel of the first order.  Yet it was an anonymous Spanish work, Lazarillo de Tormes, that created the genre.  Because Twist was later made into a major Hollywood movie, many people are unaware of the Spanish work.

The knight-errant novel is known mostly for the tales of King Artur and the Knights of the Round Table.  Yet Amadis de Gaula, a Spanish-Portuguese collaborative novel, predates the Malory work by nearly two hundred years.

Epistolary novels also originated in the 1500's in Spain.  The foremost work in this genre is the magisterial Pepita Jiménez, by Juan Valera.  The

There may be several reasons that explain the ascendancy of the English works over the Spanish works.  The British Empire overtook the Spanish Empire and had a much wider influence over a greater part of the world.  The British Empire also was a more prosperous and stronger empire for a longer period of time.  When the United States, one of its former colonies, grew so exceptionally, the fact that its major language was, ironically, English and not Spanish contributed to the popularity of the English works. 

Even after the reduction of the British empire it never bottomed out like Spain did in the wake of its imperial period.  After the Siglo de Oro, the Spanish Golden Age, Spain entered into a period of over two hundred years of tremendous and precipitous fall, only recently out of which did it begin to recover.  The United Kingdom, despite facing two World Wars, never fell as far as did Spain.

Since the inception of the Nobel Prizes, twelve Latins (either Spanish- or Portuguese-language) have been awarded the Nobel for literature.  Some twenty-two English-speaking authors have won the award.  The countries in which English is the main language consist of much more literate populations than those in which Spanish is spoken.  Nevertheless, since 1970, there have been seven Spanish- and Portuguese-speaking writers; in the same time frame, roughly ten English speakers have been awarded the prize.  Spanish more than holds its own with English when it comes to literature.

Spanish also has a rich history of being more cutting-edge.  Magical realism has brought to the fore such authors as Gabriel García Márquez, Isabel Allende and Julio Cortázar.  Greats like Octavio Paz, Camilo José Cela (who else would dare to publish a book called El diccionario secreto, a book dedicated to compiling the curse words of a language?), Miguel Delibes, Marío Vargas Llosa, Carlos Ruíz Záfon, Carlos Fuentes and so many others.

It's high time Spanish literature was given the credit it's due.

Pulitizer Prizes?

As I've noted, I read a lot.  To say that I have a problem that requires a twelve-step program would be insulting to some but wholly accurate when it comes to my voracious reading habit.

For that reason, I think I can say with some level of experience beyond that of a beginner that I've read a few books that have won awards.  From a conceptual standpoint, I don't understand how one can grade and reward art.  As the saying goes, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.  I think the natural extension of that aphorism isn't much of a stretch -- if the pun can be pardoned.  It's the same reason that I reject such putative sports as figure skating and gymnastics.  Neither activity is something I could ever do, each requires great dedication, training and skill and each is a physical endeavor.  But how can one person's performance be judged or graded accurately over another's? 

That being said, I've had occasion to read some books that have won Pulitzer prizes.  The prize itself didn't draw me to the books.  In one case, the provocative title and backstory did.  In another case, it was the subject matter itself that drew me in.  But once I read the books, I was left wondering how it was determined that these books were deemed to be the efforts most worthy of acknowledgement.

The one book that was awarded the Pulitzer that completely confounds me is A Confederacy of Dunces.  The title grabbed me from the minute I heard it, because I've often thought of situations in which I was surrounded by such confederacies.  But when I heard the fact that the author, John Kennedy Toole, had died some years before the award, my curiosity was piqued.  So I picked up the book and plodded through it, trying to figure out what the point of the story was.

Imagine my surprise when after reading it, I found out that it was characterized as a picaresque novel.  Having read the book that started the genre, Lazarillo de Tormes (no, it wasn't Oliver Twist; the English-speaking world has virtually no regard for Spanish-language books, but that's a diatribe for another day), I found there to be little similarity between Dunces and Lazarillo.  In fact, I found Dunces to be an overly-indulgent waste of time.  There was no point to the story.  A far more compelling story was the bringing to life of the book itself, with Toole's unfortunate suicide and later redemption with winning the Pulitzer for his formerly rejected work.  But the book itself?  A monumental waste of time, in my humble opinion.

And that last statement brings me back to the original point about trying to grade or judge art.  I may be totally wrong, a minority of one, about Toole's book.  It might be the greatest thing since the Bible, but it just didn't impress me. 

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Mitt

Another presidential election is nearly upon us and it is bringing out the worst in our electorate.  Perhaps Plato was right when he suggested that democracy was the child of oligarchy and would only work if every elector were a philosopher.  Given that some people are voting for the President because he gave them free cellphones, I think it's safe to assume that not every elector in this election is a philosopher.

Watching and listening to debate is both entertaining and frightening.  The one casualty of the discourse appears to be reason, as most discussions deteriorate into namecalling, shouting, talking over the top of one another and crazy analogies that have little or no relation to the topic at hand.  And I'm not even referring to the presidential debates.

Go on XM Radio and find a politically-slanted station.  On the Left, the discussion -- if it can be called that -- is downright stupid.  When you have the likes of Al Sharpton leading the charge, that's bound to happen.  But he's not alone, almost proving Plato's point.  The Right, although somewhat better in tone, has its Sharpton's, denigrating callers and hanging up on them.  It's shameful and hardly paints us as leaders of democracy.

But radio isn't alone.  Television is enlightening more for the omissions than the commissions.  The major networks -- ABC, NBC and CBS -- glaringly omit any mention of the attack in Benghazi that, if you watch Fox at all, has all the makings of a Watergate-like scandal.  Fox, meanwhile, is virtually apoplectic about the lack of attention the story's being given and demanding answers from the White House.  But supporters of Obama are indifferent to this media hypocrisy and their opponents' anger, to the point that Jay Leno joked about an inexpensive Halloween costume being to wear a Re-Elect Obama button and call oneself a journalist.

Social media is another eye-opener.  Again, given the virtual courage the ethernet provides, some will go out and thump their chests until either facts or numbers get in their ways.  One savant tried to defend the White House's handling of the Benghazi attack by holding up the mother of one of the murdered SEALs who criticized Romney for politicizing the issue.  When confronted with the interview the father of the other murdered SEAL gave to Fox, he disregarded it because it holds no truth.  When asked what exactly held no truth (The attack? The AQ connection? The deaths of the SEALs? The father's grief? Or the fact that Fox is reporting this story?), he engaged in a favorite tactic, tergiversation.  He never answered the question.  But he remains steadfast in his opinion that nothing untoward can be ascribed to the White House's handling of the Benghazi attack, and he's probably unpersuaded to vote for the President.

What's troubling about this is that political debates or discussions are little about sharing information or persuading the other side and a lot about shouting loudly and belittling one's opponents.

In 2000, I wasn't impressed with either George W. Bush or Al Gore.  I thought Bush was stupid and Gore knew anything.  What resolved the issue for me was that Bush knew he wasn't the brightest person around while Gore never gave me the feeling that he didn't think he wasn't always the brightest person in the room, and I loathe know-it-alls.  I hoped Bush would surround himself with smart people and he largely did that, although there were some notable failures and Dick Cheney turned out to be a far different Dick Cheney than the one who had advised Bush Sr. 

That being said, I am voting for Mitt Romney.  I'm not wild about him, but the other ticket scares me for a variety of reasons.  To get one issue out of the way quickly, Joe Biden is positively moronic.  If Osama Bin Laden said that they should take out Obama because that would leave us with Biden as POTUS, that automatically made him smarter than more than half the American electorate.

President Obama's big mistake, I feel, was in putting healthcare first.  The most pressing need facing the country when he was voted into office was economic.  That he chose healthcare over jobs shows me his judgment is flawed.  Perhaps he was trying to affect his legacy.  Perhaps he was playing politics.  Whatever his motivation, it was the wrong choice.

The President also chose wrong in putting so many resources into renewable sources of energy.  I agree completely with the notions of solar and wind energy.  But $90M???  And then to have several of those companies go belly up?  Again, his judgment flawed to some degree.

The little-noted meeting at the nuclear summit, the President told Russian President Medvedev to wait until after the election, when he would have more flexibility.  That is astounding to me.

Whereas former President Bush was rightly mocked for his speaking gaffes, President Obama is given a pass.  Not here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_AAMa_X2dM&feature=related

The Benghazi snafu is still unfolding.  It's too soon to know for sure what happened.  But what bothers me as a citizen is that the President and his minions are dragging their heels, obfuscating all the way, about what really  happened and what they knew prior to the attack.  That they didn't know everything all at once is forgivable, but what is unforgivable is to attempt to deceive the electorate by flaunting a story that they knew had no basis in reality.

In watching the debates, I was stunned by the lack of presidential bearing that Obama brought.  In the first debate, he was sorely unprepared.  I don't know if he was bored or simply underestimated Romney -- whom he had stated was known to be a good debater -- but if he's unprepared for a debate that could be instrumental in his reelection, what does that say again about his judgment?  How is he going to judge enemies of this country?  How will he estimate Iran when it has nuclear capabilities?  That's worrisome.

But what shocked me was the absolute rudeness with which the President treated Romney in subsequent debates.  I understand the notion of being more aggressive after the dismal showing in the first debate, but to interrupt repeatedly, misrepresent and condescend...I expect better from my President.  The President should be held to a higher standard.  He's an elected official.  He shouldn't behave as if he's on social media.

Romney may turn out to be no better than either Obama or Bush.  But at this point, he's a change.  This country needs a new direction.  I don't believe the president possesses the requisite judgment for the job.  I don't believe he's surrounded himself with quality advisors.  And he's made too many mistakes to ignore.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles