Author: In Write Field

Turn On. Tune In. Hit Play.

On By In Write FieldIn Page and Screen, Random Stuff7 Comments

I am not a slave to television.  I do not plan my life based on the TV schedule… but having a DVR may have something to do with that.  With it I can extend my multitasking even to television watching, and thereby avoid tough trade offs like which baseball game to watch on a given day.  Line ‘em up; I’ll watch them all!

A friend and I recently compared notes on TV shows that horrify us – but that we surreptitiously watch anyway.  We cannot look away.  Of course, I would never, ever record any of these shows because that would be sad and wrong.  But if I were channel surfing and happened to come across one of these…

Hoarding: Buried Alive.  For a neatnik like me, this show is scarier than any death drop roller coaster out there.  The unfortunate hoarders profiled tend to be lonely and isolated, and many just seem bat-shit crazy.   The presence of cameras is usually precipitated by some catastrophic event, like a child has developed asthma due to conditions in the home, and the authorities are now threatening removal and/or to condemn the property.

It’s always amazing to me that hoarders are so deathly attached to their stuff.  (Queue sound of hand-slapping-forehead here.)  I know I know, hoarders gonna hoard.  But it’s like someone with emphysema, who needs an oxygen tank to breath, but still refuses to give up smoking.  So… your kitchen sink is clogged and filled with filthy stagnant water.  Your fridge is crawling with cockroaches.  And you sleep on a funked-up mattress next to a mountain of QVC Christmas ornaments that will smother you in your sleep if they fall on you.  Yet, you insist that nothing is wrong?

Will Mary Jo let the biohazard team clean out her house, or will she lose her marbles and lock herself in her basement with her collection of newspapers dating back to the Eisenhower administration?  Those are the scenes that really get my adrenaline pumping!

What Not To Wear.  OK, I lied.  I have been known to record this one, because really… what’s not to love, starting with Clinton Kelly?  (Or as his makeovers from New Jersey often refer to him, “Cli-hun”.)  I highly recommend his book Freakin’ Fabulous: How to Dress, Speak, Behave, Eat, Drink, Entertain, Decorate, and Generally Be Better Than Everyone Else.

The show can be inspiring when a hard-working single mom finally sees herself as beautiful.  But the real guilty pleasure part of WNTW is the clothing choices that got these women nominated for the show in the first place.  “You wore THAT to your husband’s boss’s wedding?  Afterwards he was FIRED, right?”

No matter what fashion faux pas is committed, you’ll find a plus-sized woman shopping in the junior’s department at its core.

The make-up segment is almost always benign.  When there’s a professional make-up artist at work, there’s nothing but upside.  But the hairstyle segment?  Yikes, hang on to your extensions people!   A 55 year-old woman with a middle part and no bangs, two-inch roots and only five hairs on her entire head that aren’t split will plop down in the stylist’s chair and say, “You can do whatever you want, but I want to keep it long.”  The stylist will explain that her cut is a bit “dated” and it ages her, so he wants to cut off FOUR INCHES.  This will leave her with hair only down to (gasp!) her shoulders.  The hair segment usually ends in tears, and a mediation team must be called in.

At the end of the show, the makeover unveils her new look at a cocktail party for family and friends.  Her boss announces that she can use the front door when entering the office from now on.  Her husband is speechless and gives her a big, sloppy smooch.  Her kids cry, and say they have never seen her look so pretty.  (That’s the part that always gets to me.)

Decision 2012.  This is the guilty TV pleasure that cracked up my friend Jenni, once I assured her that I wasn’t being sarcastic.  I am a registered Democrat who watches the Republic primary debates (sometimes twice!) and takes notes in case something happens worth blogging about.  I also watched the Super Tuesday results come in with my guy Chuck Todd.  He is adorable and objective, and he doesn’t yell or interrupt. (That’s right, I’m looking at YOU Chris Matthews!)  And he can do math really fast.  IN HIS HEAD!

I do not consider Who Do You Think You Are? a guilty pleasure.  There’s nothing to feel guilty about – it’s educational, damn it!  My devotion to it stems from my love of history, genealogy and Ancestry.com… and my determination to prove that I am related to a really good U.S. President.  Not a Warren G. Harding or William Henry Harrison.   I want a founding father, Honest Abe or some sort of Roosevelt (even Eleanor!).

Once I uncover my link to the White House… consider it blogged!

What are your guilty TV pleasures?

Breaking the Silence

On By In Write FieldIn Books, Random Stuff2 Comments

I recently began reading the book Quiet, The Power of Introverts In a World That Can’t Stop Talking by Susan Cain.  At last, a book devoted to My People!  With any luck, I can connect with other introverts just by reading it — without ever leaving peace and quiet of my apartment!

It’s true.  I am an introvert – based on Carl Jung’s classic definition of the word.  We introverts can be quite misunderstood, and people who know me often express surprise when I say I am one because I’m not shy, I don’t have a fear of public speaking, and I function reasonably well at social events with people I don’t know.  Yet while I am not the Unabomber, I have indeed tested positive for introversion.

When I first took the Myers-Briggs personality test a few years ago, I was surprised to fall into the introvert category because I am, you might say, slightly outspoken.  When I read the definition, however, it was like so many puzzle pieces falling into place.

Most telling for me was the Jungian/Myers-Briggs belief that when extroverts want to recharge their depleted batteries they go to a bar or throw a party.  They are energized by people and activities, whereas introverts like me prefer to recharge in quiet and solitude.

As Susan Cain describes it, “Introverts may have strong social skills and enjoy parties and business meetings, but after a while they wish they were home in their pajamas.  They prefer to devote their social energies to close friends, colleagues and family… and often feel as if they express themselves better in writing than in conversation.  Many have a horror of small talk, but enjoy deep discussions.”  In other words, Susan Cain just gets me.

A related theory about introverts is that they prefer to socialize one-on-one, or in very small groups.  This also resonates with me.  I have often wondered how I came to establish so many friendships throughout my life… yet my friends generally do not know each other well.   In fact, a number of my longtime friends have never even met.   (I sometimes worry that each friend secretly believes the others are imaginary.)  The last time I had a default “crowd” that I socialized with… I was in college.

Full disclosure:  I have not yet finished the book, and have found myself skimming its more fanciful sections.  (For example, at one point the author suggests that Americans might be more introverted than Europeans through genetics, as immigrants are likely to have been more extroverted and action-oriented than those who stayed put.  Seriously?)  I have, however, enjoyed Susan Cain’s analysis of introversion overall.

That said, my real focus here is on her study of corporate America, and the dominance of extroverts in today’s workplace.  The hair on the back of my neck is standing on end as Cain describes companies where the most assertive and domineering in the room do most of the talking (and very little listening), and are therefore very good at getting their way… even if it’s not the RIGHT way.

All this by Chapter Three — which might as well be titled “Monday”. Welcome to my world.

More on this in my next blog…

Life’s Not All Beer and Skittles

On By In Write FieldIn BaseballLeave a comment

Last week Bobby Valentine, the new manager of the Boston Red Sox, banned beer from the team’s clubhouse.  Much was made of this.

His predecessor Terry Francona suggests it was a P.R. move, meant to placate disgruntled fans after last season’s tales of six packs and buckets o’ fried chicken allegedly consumed in the clubhouse – during games – on pitchers’ off days.

While I don’t often drink beer, I definitely like it.  My favorites are Sam Adams (especially Octoberfest) and Great Lakes Christmas Ale.  This means a disproportionate amount of my beer consumption happens at year end.  (If you own stock in a brewing company, you might have noticed an uptick in its value in 4Q each year.  This is not investment advice*, I’m just saying…)

I have also been known to enjoy a brew or two at the ballpark.  There is nothing – NOTHING – like sitting in the sunshine, watching a game while nibbling on a Bratwurst and fries (no garlic, please), and sipping a $10 brew from a plastic cup.  In other words, nobody appreciates a baseball beer more than I do.  But I still don’t understand all the fuss about Valentine’s decision.

Some argue that ballplayers need to blow off steam.  They work hard, it’s a stressful job where they sweat a lot and get thirsty, and so on.  So they deserve a beer after “work”.

And then there’s…me.  I work in an office — in a cubicle to be precise.  It’s roomy, and I have a window that looks out into an airshaft, which sadly means I can count myself among the most fortunate of cube dwellers.  I even have one of those fancy ergonomic desk chairs that cost more than the monthly rent on my first New York City apartment.

I work in a company with approximately 250,000 employees, and about twice that many rules and internal processes to follow.  My industry is highly regulated, which is a lot of fun too.

Oh, and I get to ride San Francisco Muni to work.  Occasionally I’ll think I see a ballplayer drive by on his way to AT&T Park in his Mercedes or Porsche or Audi.  I’ll bang on the dirty window and mouth “HELP ME”… but they never stop, or even slow down to save me from my quiet desperation.

Until recently my division provided subsidized soda in our vending machines — $0.25 per can – but that has been eliminated for reasons of austerity.

Given all this, I’d say my colleagues and I are pretty deserving of free beer at work.   Yet if I want to drink, I have to wait until after 5 p.m. and travel to a bar, restaurant or grocery store (on nights when I want to drink at home alone, and weep) then buy the beer myself.

On KNBR today, someone suggested that it would be better for players to drink in the clubhouse (i.e. “at home”) than at a club or bar, because they might drive home drunk from a bar.  What are they, 16 year olds?   Does the clubhouse manager bake cookies in the clubhouse, then discretely deliver them to the guys while assuring them he’s “not trying to spy on anybody”?

But what about the players who struggle with their weight or fitness, or even their sobriety?  Isn’t it a bit self-sabotaging to provide beer in the clubhouse, as a temptation?

Kidding aside, I generally don’t care if teams serve beer in their clubhouses — especially if they are winning.   Despite occasional evidence to the contrary, baseball players are adults and as such we should expect them to make responsible choices, such as not drinking and driving.  It shouldn’t matter if they are driving home from a nightclub, or from the ballpark.

But, enough with the hand wringing about “tradition”, and all the fun players will miss out on if they can’t drink beer in the clubhouse.   These guys are young, wealthy professional athletes, and most of them are pretty easy on the eyes.  I am quite sure they’ll still have more fun this season than my team of cube dwellers.

* Past performance is no guarantee of future results.

Rick Santorum’s Trade School Of Thought

On By In Write FieldIn Politics1 Comment

I had planned to blog about all the pretty dresses and hairstyles at the Academy Awards tonight, but first I feel compelled to unload a bit about what I saw on NBC’s Meet The Press this morning:  Rick Santorum, being a fool.

It’s becoming a Sunday morning tradition.  Of all people, shouldn’t he have more respect for the Sabbath?

Santorum actually made his most jaw-dropping statement, which was then discussed on Meet The Press, at a Tea Party rally in Michigan on Saturday.

Apparently, Santorum believes that attending college, and recommending it to others, makes you snob.  Such was his response to President Obama’s recent statement that he would like all American young people to attend a four-year university.

Yes, this is the same Rick Santorum who earned an undergraduate degree from Pennsylvania State University, an M.B.A from the University of Pittsburg, and a law degree from Penn State’s Dickinson School of Law.

I am fairly confident that President Obama was not really suggesting that all American students — regardless of intellect, skill set or interest — be forced to attend a four-year university.   That would make no sense, and would be completely impractical.  Rather, I suspect he would like to see all American students with the desire and aptitude for college have an opportunity to attend a four-year university, regardless of their means.  The nerve!

Politicians on both sides of the aisle are fond of waxing poetic about The American Dream, and predicting that it will slip out of reach if the other side wins the White House.  The American Dream has a few key components, including the promise of a better life for our children.  What parents who want success and prosperity for their child would object to him/her attending a four-year university?   And if a university like Harvard accepted that child, would his/her parents be anything but proud and supportive?

Are we seriously expected to believe that Rick Santorum would not support one of his seven children attending Harvard because he/she might be “taught by some liberal college professor [who tries] to indoctrinate them”?

Just a few weeks ago, Republicans criticized President Obama for highlighting the widening gulf between the haves and have-nots in the U.S., and suggesting that it is wrong for Warren Buffet to pay less in taxes than his secretary.  Mitt Romney complained that this was not appropriate public discourse, because it was akin to inciting class warfare.  Yet it’s OK for Rick Santorum to call the President a snob for supporting a liberal arts education, since “there are good, decent men and women who work hard every day and put their skills to the test”, who never got one?

The facts are in:  Americans with a college education earn more, and are less likely to be unemployed, than Americans without one.  But Rick Santorum reassures us; he’s on the case.  If elected, he’ll resuscitate manufacturing in the United States so that graduates from trade schools have opportunities comparable to those of their liberal-arts counterparts – thus reversing a decades-long shift towards a service economy.

So… if your son or daughter is accepted at Princeton in the spring, and you are fortunate enough to have the means to pay the tuition, what will you do?

Uh huh, that’s what I thought.

Great Balls of Fire!

On By In Write FieldIn Politics1 Comment

It’s been a busy week for the Republicans, culminating in tonight’s Arizona debate – another performance that no doubt had President Obama switching over to the Knicks game in time to catch the fourth quarter of Linsanity(!).

The day started with Rick Santorum referencing “what’s on fire down here” at one of his tent-revival-style campaign stops.  The media played it over and over again, but I still don’t know what he meant by “down here”.  He seems pretty fixated on the Prince of Darkness, so maybe he was referring to Hell, where it’s far too hot for comely sweater vests. Otherwise, I just don’t want to think about it…

Not surprisingly, attention in the debate quickly turned to contraception.  References were made to a recent New York Times story about the scourge of unwed motherhood in the United States.  I read that article, and the candidates grossly distorted the facts in it.  To hear them talk, this is a growing problem among poor urban teens – when in fact, the article highlights that the growth in single motherhood is a decidedly middle-class phenomenon.  Teen pregnancies in the U.S. are, in fact, declining.

While it’s true that educated upper-middle-class and upper-class women are not part of the single motherhood trend, the fear mongering claims of abject poverty and abuse in the homes of single mothers was a mischaracterization, intended to create the all-too-familiar sense of danger so critical (it would seem) to convincing Americans to vote for you.

The candidates flailed around for a while, trying to hammer home that even though they are avidly pro life, pro church and anti contraception, they aren’t anti women.   Each argued that he did more than the others to banish the morning-after pill for rape victims.  I think I started to drift off for a moment, then… BOOM.  Ron Paul blinded them all with science.

He explained that it’s all contraception; the active ingredient in birth control pills and the morning-after pill is the same — hormones.   The candidates stared at him blankly, then moved on to a new question.  Behold, the product of a non-scientific, creationist education!  Proceed with caution, America!

Ron Paul, as usual, seemed upbeat and just a tiny bit crazy.  I wouldn’t vote for him in a Presidential election, but you have to hand it to him – he is candid, witty and consistent.  He pointed out that abstinence is not mentioned in the Constitution, so while he is against government involvement in matters of contraception he doesn’t think we should be funding or legislating abstinence education either.  (Cue more blank stares from guys who think we all honestly believe that they are defending the Constitution and religious freedom, rather than evangelicalism.)

Mitt Romney looked nervous.  Rick Santorum emphasized that he’s a team player – a character flaw only in politics – and came across like a policy-wonk insider who rolls his eyes a lot when he’s defensive.

Newt Gingrich stayed out of the scrum, saving most of his criticism for President Obama.  He tried giving the audience a history lesson on the Founding Fathers, claiming they would have had strong views on balanced budgets and unemployment.  I don’t think the colonials suffered many layoffs down at the blacksmith’s shop, but I guess I should defer to the guy who made a fortune as an “historical consultant” to Freddie Mac.

Throughout, the crowd behaved like fans of the WWF — or Senators at the State of the Union Address — loudly cheering for their guy and jeering his opponents.

Late in the debate, the candidates were inanely asked to describe themselves in one word – a question no doubt put forth by a retired college recruiter.  Lucky Ron Paul got to go first, and snagged “consistent”.   Tough break for Romney – I’ll bet he really, really wanted to be consistent!   He went with “Resolute”.  Not terribly convincing but at least his voice didn’t go up at the end, like he was posing a question.  (i.e. resolute???)

In (merciful) conclusion, the candidates were asked to clarify the biggest misconception about them.  Ron Paul answered the question.  Newt meandered a bit, but eventually answered it too.  Then Mitt Romney tried to just go with his talking points, à la Sarah Palin.  When reminded that the question was about a misconception, he curtly replied “You ask the questions you want to, and I’ll answer the questions I want to.”

We all watched the 2008 Vice Presidential debate, so we know what comes next – even if Romney’s debate coach doesn’t.

LIVE FROM NEW YORK, IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT!

Calling Ameriza!

On By In Write FieldIn Baseball, Random Stuff, Sports1 Comment

Last spring I did something I’d always vowed I wouldn’t; I got a DVR, and signed up for the overpriced Major League Baseball sports package on cable.  A bit extravagant, but it was worth it to watch my childhood team the Cleveland Indians play five times per week, in addition to my adopted home team the San Francisco Giants.

It’s a hard-knock life when your toughest decision of the day is which baseball game you will watch live, and which you will record.

Unfortunately, my first foray into sports packages was not all sunshine and home runs.  Comcast, er…um… I mean Xfinity, messed up my order — so for the first few weeks I was merely enjoying a free trial without knowing it.  Ah, those were heady, innocent days.  Then, one desperate night in April, I came home to discover… BAM!  NO MLB PACKAGE!

Don’t panic, Xfinity assured me.  We’ll fix it, although it’s too late to give you the early bird discount.  “The System” won’t allow it.

Um, I don’t think so.  I did my best imitation of a wheel in need of serious greasing, and eventually was awarded a credit on my next bill.  Play Ball!

I am puzzled by the billing options with sports packages.  Xfinity, theoretically, allows subscribers to either pay for a sports package in one lump sum, or break it up into monthly payments.   Why on earth would someone choose to pay for the whole thing up front?  Aren’t most folks familiar with the concept of the time value of money?

Of course I say “theoretically”, because when I have requested to pay in installments… things have gone terribly wrong.  In December, when the NBA lockout was resolved, it was time to support my Cleveland Cavaliers by signing up for the NBA sports package.  I asked to pay in monthly installments, but was charged the large lump sum on my first bill.

So it seems that someone at Xfinity, at least, is familiar with the time value of money after all.

It took a frustrating combination of phone calls, online chats and threats through clenched teeth to rectify the situation.  (They threatened to shut off my cable completely.  I vowed to call the The Better Business Bureau, which seemed to tip the scales of customer service in my favor.)

Both my after-hours phone calls, and my online chats, were handled by offshore reps with names like Ameriza or Amerigo.  Hmmm.

I can guess the subliminal message these noms de phone are meant to send. (If you love America, you won’t yell at me?)  And I suspect I will soon have a chance to test out my theory; it’s nearly time to commit to the 2012 MLB sports package.  I will again request to pay in installments,  Xfinity will probably get it wrong… and my complaint call will be taken by someone with a name that makes me want to stand up and salute.

Baseball is, after all, America’s pastime.

Here’s One For All Time

On By In Write FieldIn Politics, Random StuffLeave a comment

Next week will mark the 67th anniversary of the taking of one of history’s most famous – and certainly one of its most reproduced — photographs.  Shot by American Associated Press photographer Joe Rosenthal on February 23, 1945, it captured the remarkable image of six Marines from East Company raising the American flag on Mt. Suribachi, Iwo Jima.

The first AP editor to see the photo in a darkroom in Guam reportedly exclaimed, “Here’s one for all time.”

My friends and family know I love history.  And I am a sucker for a good history story… especially if there are pictures to go with it!  So on Monday I attended a lecture at Stanford University by Hal Buell, former head of the Associated Press Photo Service, and Author of Uncommon Valor, Common Virtue, the story of the Iwo Jima flag raising.   Mr. Buell retraced the impact of the famed Iwo Jima photograph on Mr. Rosenthal, and America.

The war in Europe was easy for Americans to understand and relate to.  They could visualize – and had perhaps even visited — London, Paris or Berlin.   The war in the Pacific, however, was waged on tiny islands most Americans had never heard of like Mindoro and Sulu Archipelago – with casualties that were inconceivably massive.  Joe Rosenthal’s photograph helped provide context, understanding, and a desperately needed morale boost back in the U.S.  It won the 1945 Pulitzer Prize, and Joe Rosenthal was awarded $1,000 (the only real money he every made from the photo).

In April 1945, on President Roosevelt’s direction, the photograph was the central image of the 7th (and final) bond drive of WWII, which was hugely succesful.  The photo was ubiquitous; it could be found on murals in bank lobbies, train stations and schools, on war posters and even on postage stamps — a coup, as postal service policy prohibited the use of images of living people on stamps.   (Of the six Marines who raised the flag only three survived until April.   Those three remaining flag raisers reluctantly agreed to participate in the bond drive.)

While Americans everywhere recognize Joe Rosenthal’s iconic photograph, many are unaware of the controversy that has surrounded it.  It was not, in fact, a shot of the first flag raised on Iwo Jima.  That original flag was photographed by military photographer Staff Sergeant Louis R. Lowery, but was lowered a few minutes later on the orders of the Secretary of the Navy who wanted it as a souvenir.  Joe Rosenthal captured the raising of a second, larger flag.   He happened to be in the right place at the right time, well after Lowery headed back down the mountain.

Joe Rosenthal did not, as was often claimed, stage his photograph, nor did he try to cover up that there was a prior flag raising.  Yet skeptics accused him of everything from planting the flagpole himself to stealing the film from the camera of a fallen Marine.

Rumors were further fueled by a remark Mr. Rosenthal made before he’d learned that his flag-raising photograph had become a sensation in the U.S.  When asked about the impact of the image, he assumed the question referred to his photo of Marines cheering alongside the already-raised flag (right), which he described as “posed”.

Film footage of the flag raising from Sergeant Bill Genaust, a Marine motion picture photographer, bore out the photo’s authenticity, yet Life Magazine jumped on the story by accusing Rosenthal of staging on its radio show.   Life later broadcast a retraction, but the damage had been done.

Hollywood helped perpetuate other myths about the raising of the flag on Iwo Jima, often showing fierce Japanese sniper fire during the event – which never happened — and choosing macho actors like Lee Marvin to portray the humble real-life flag raisers.

The Marine Corps War Memorial at Arlington National Cemetery was modeled after Joe Rosenthal’s photograph.  When it was dedicated by President Dwight D. Eisenhower in 1954, participants from the first flag raising were in attendance and again expressed bitterness at the lack of recognition they had received.  No reference was made to Mr. Rosenthal on the statue until 1978, when a plaque with his name was added to the monument.

Given the frustration and humiliation his famous photograph sometimes brought him, Joe Rosenthal was often asked if he ever regretted taking it. Or, did he ever wish someone else had taken it?

No, he replied.  He did his job, and he was proud of the picture.  Besides, it didn’t matter that he took the photograph – what mattered was, the Americans took Iwo Jima.    Well put, Joe.

Ode To Pat Burrell

On By In Write FieldIn Baseball, Sports Photography1 Comment

There was an outfielder named Pat

Some ladies did call him “the Bat”

That’s not a misnomer

The guy could hit homers

And he wasn’t too shabby to look at.

Stuck In Newtral

On By In Write FieldIn Politics1 Comment

This is my first political blog post, and I’m leading with a pun on Newt Gringrich’s name.  Too easy you say?  Well I’m still fairly new to this blogging business, and the former Speaker just provides too much rich material to pass up.  “Everything Old Is Newt Again”?  “Romney Gets Newtered” or even “Mitt Gets Newtralized”?

In fact, so much can be done with Newt that I’ll just have to save my Mitt witticisms, or I should say my “Mitticisms”, for another day.  (See what I did there?  A little something to look forward to.)

Against my better judgment, perhaps, I watched a 2012 Republican primary debate start-to-finish for the first time this week. Under no circumstances would I vote for any of these guys, but I am just so puzzled by this primary I was looking for a basic understanding.  And if I had to sit through more than one hour of Wolf Blitzer to get it, well then so be it.

First… Did America learn nothing from the 2000 election?  Enough of the he’s-someone-you-could-see-yourself-having-a-beer-with nonsense!  I do not want to have a beer with the President of the United States.  I want him to be really, really good at governing – not playing quarters.  Did Americans want to have a beer with Abraham Lincoln?  Could they see themselves shooting pool with FDR or clearing brush with Harry Truman?

Likewise, it was disorienting to watch these very wealthy white men call one another out for being too wealthy and successful.  In particular, how ridiculous were the attacks on Romney’s business success… from a man with a $500,000 credit line at Tiffany & Co.?  I am astounded that Gingrich wasn’t booed – or laughed – off the stage when he played that card.

Why would we want someone who is only marginally successful sitting in the Oval Office?  Again let me be very clear on this point: I don’t want to have a beer with a President who is just like me.  I want a President who is sober, and much smarter and more successful than I am.  I want to ride his coattails.  I want to hitch my wagon to his (or her!) star.

I have other observations: Newt Gingrich won’t look anyone in the eye during debates, aside from the moderator.  He launched one nasty zinger after another, always looking at his notes or the floor.  If you believe in what you say, Newt, hold your head up when you say it.  Is he really who we want negotiating with foreign heads of state?

Some of the audience questions at the debate floored me – and reinforced why an average American has no business in the White House, except as part of a tour, safely behind the velvet ropes.  Who would make the best First Lady?  Seriously?  Insipid… or perhaps brilliant if submitted by one of Newt’s opponents.  Every candidate on stage could wax poetic about his devoted life partner, except Gingrich.

The question (and answers) about divine guidance elicited gagging and eye rolling from me.  But since Romney flubbed the worst, I’ll save that for my next political blog… tentatively titled “If life is a bowl of cherries, then what are we doing with Mitt?”

Happy Burns Night!

On By In Write FieldIn Random Stuff3 Comments
Robert Burns

Sláinte Mhath!  Or in other words “Happy Burns Night”!  Aye, it’s January 25th, the day when Scots — and Scot-ophiles — everywhere celebrate the birth of famed Scottish poet Robert Burns (1759 – 1796).

A fascinating tidbit from Wikipedia:  While Burns Night generally coincides with the poet’s birthday, the celebrations may “in principle” be held any night of the year.  Nice to know that if you ever decide to hold a Burns Supper in July, you won’t face fines or jail time.  You will, however, run the risk of a hangover beyond anything you might experience after even the rowdiest July 4th barbecue.  Burns Night tends to be held once a year, because most of us wouldn’t survive if it happened more often.

In some ways, Burns Night resembles Thanksgiving in the United States. There is no retail component, so no gift giving is required.  And there’s an emphasis on food and drink.  But at its core, Burns Night is all about gratitude — Scots’ gratitude because they get to be Scottish.

I’ve attended a few Burns Night celebrations over the years, and they are a blast.  Men wear tartan kilts and “Address The Haggis”.  The poem is a long one, so I won’t repeat it all here. But it starts with:

“Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,

Great chieftain o’ the puddin-race!

Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,

Painch, tripe, or thairm:

Weel are ye wordy o’ a grace

As lang’s my arm.”

The basic meaning?  Haggis is the most Scottish of Scottish main courses, and it deserves a grace that’s eight stanzas long (i.e. as long as my arm).

Not a fan of stuffed sheep’s innards?  Go for extra helpings of neeps and tatties (turnips and potatoes) washed down with single malt Scotch. Eventually that haggis will look and taste like Niman Ranch tri-tip. Trust me.

Alas, this year Burns Night fell on Wednesday.  Hump Day.  Whole Foods was fresh out of haggis.  And without haggis, neeps and tatties are nothing more than… vegetables.   So I made due.  I ate whole-wheat pasta with leftover pesto and parmesan, then took a wee peek at my Penguin Classic “Selected Poems of Robert Burns”.  I listened to “Sunshine On Leith”, an ode to Scotland by The Proclaimers.  And I marked my calendar for January 25, 2014… when Burns Night falls mercifully on a Saturday!