Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Making one's point clearly

What would you say about an organization that gets the same complaint over and over again from its clients, but does nothing about the issue that is generating the complaint?

If this same organization was told in clear, detailed, polite terms that it made an error in one of its invoices, and also received a precise explanation of what was required to correct the problem, but utterly misunderstood either the definition of the problem or the prescription for correction, and botched the account further, what would that lead a reasonable client to do? And if this latest comedy of catastrophe appeared not to be the exception, but rather just the latest instalment of carelessness and incompetence, what exactly would be the right move for the client?

The organization in question is the municipality in which I live, which has its own electrical utility. In the interest of maintaining my online anonymity and not revealing my location, the reasons for which are annoying but nevertheless must remain classified, I shall refer to the municipality as the Town of Biscuitville. And Biscuitville has an electrical department which has an annoying habit of making wildly inaccurate estimates, at unpredictable times of the year, resulting in invoices for electrical service and usage that are highly inaccurate. And take a wild guess as to whether the bills are too high, or too low. You'll never guess which one it is.

Oh, you did guess right. Yes, they're much too high.

This is not a problem for me when the Town of Biscuitville does this at my home. You see, they base their estimates on the electrical use at the same location during the same month of the previous year, plus some percentage "just to be safe", the exact amount of which appears to be random. But the estimates on my home bill are usually not so bad, and then they correct the month following anyway, when Biscuitville's crack corps of electrical meter readers hits the road and one of them actually deigns to enter my yard and take an actual reading from the counter. And I pay the Town of Biscuitville the exact same amount on my electrical account every month anyway, and I usually have the account overpaid in the vicinity of $100 to $150, depending on the time of year.

But it's a huge problem at work, where I manage rental properties. And the clients to whom we rent are the ones who pay the electrical bills, so when Biscuitville estimates a reading, the lessees experience more or less the same thing as I do at my home. But when the homes go vacant for a month or two, or longer if they have been destroyed by the previous occupants and require extensive cleaning and renovations, then the practice of the Town to estimate electrical usage based on the consumption of the previous occupant, who may have been an electricity glutton, is problematic.

Like last winter, when I received a bill for $1,350 for one month of use at an empty home. Oooops. The actual bill should have been about $45.

And like this past summer, when there were no snowbanks impeding the path of the meter readers to actually approach the homes and take an actual reading of the counter (the Town's favourite excuse in winter), and I received a bill for an empty house estimating usage at 760 kilowatt hours. The actual use was about 100 kWh. And two months later, when the new client moved in and took over the electricity service, our final bill showed the meter reading when we were "read out" and revealed that our total usage over the three months of vacancy was about 325 kWh, and the bill made no correction for the bad estimate. When I contacted the Town of Biscuitville to inform them as to what the amount should have been, they cheerfully sent out a correction deducting the amount I gave them over the telephone, instead of voiding the whole thing and billing us for the amount I gave them on the telephone. And now you see what I was referring to in the second paragraph of this windy post.

Which brings me to the point where I feel my point has not been made, even though I have made it a half dozen times. Therefore it is time to ramp up the communication, so to speak. I composed the following letter (I've changed some information, like street names, as will be obvious), which I did not send on the advice of my wife, whom I asked for feedback:

Monday, November 9, 2009

Town of Biscuitville
Department of Financial Services
1563 Walrus Street
Biscuitville

Dear sir / madam:

I am writing regarding your letter to [my employer] dated November 4th, 2009, referring to account number 1234567, and a cited overdue balance of $133.71. The service address of this account is 3095 Pizza Drive.

The reason this account is overdue is not due to a significant underpayment for electricity actually consumed. It is due to the inexplicable habit of the Town of Biscuitville to estimate a reading on the electrical meter of this property, a habit it exercises at other properties as well, that does not reflect a use of reason. Instead of an estimate that would reflect approximate use, or would at least put the reading in the vicinity of Earth, the estimate is compiled based on use by the previous occupants at a similar time of year, which sounds fine in theory but results in estimates not in the vicinity of Earth, but in the vicinity of the three radioactive moons of the planet Xoabor. And Xoabor doesn’t even exist.

All of this is meant to express my dismay at the following:
• The Town of Biscuitville's wildly inaccurate estimates of usage of electricity.
• The Town of Biscuitville's use of estimates at times of the year – namely, spring, summer and fall – when the electrical meter is accessible by anyone ambulant.
• The Town's inaccurate billing which results from the use of estimates (cf. my detailed voice message of approximately one month ago regarding an inaccurate bill at another address).
• The Town's apparently automatically-generated warnings of impending cessation of electrical service if I do not comply with its wildly inaccurate bills.

The use of estimates is especially problematic because these empty housing units become occupied before the electrical meter has reached the wildly inaccurate estimated reading, discussed earlier. In that case, as we have seen at our unit at 1027 Hamburger Avenue, the billing errors compound and would not be corrected unless I point out the error and remain vigilant in following for its correction.

Please, therefore, cancel any and all bills at all locations that have been generated by estimates, and send new bills based on actual readings of the meters. Then and only then will I pay the exact amount required by the invoice. Pending this type of correction by your billing system, I shall continue sending estimated amounts owing.

Hoping for continued friendship, I remain,

Your humble servant,

Lord Ignatius F. Pig, Esq.

My wife felt the letter was too heavy on the sarcasm, particularly the part about the three radioactive moons of the planet Xoabar. I think a reference to Xoabar is appropriate, given the continued foolishness. I try not to get sarcastic when dealing with others on a professional level, but my point needs to be made clearly.

So... what do you folks out there in Readerland think?

Monday, November 09, 2009

The Fall of the Berlin Wall

Twenty years ago today:
The folks in this photo lived to tell about it. Millions of others did not.

I will let Solzhenitsyn tell a little about what a person might expect when arrested by the communists, who arrested citizens for no other reason than to terrorize the people:

Starvation has already been mentioned in combination with other methods. Nor was it an unusual method: to starve the prisoner into confession. Actually, the starvation technique, like interrogation at night, was an integral element in the entire system of coercion. The miserly prison bread ration, amounting to ten and a half ounces in the peacetime year of 1933, and to one pound in 1945 in the Lubyanka, and permitting or prohibiting food parcels from one's family and access to the commissary, were universally applied to everyone. But there was also the technique of intensified hunger: for example, Chulpenyev was kept for a month on three and a half ounces of bread, after which - when he had just been brought in from the pit - the interrogator Sokol placed in front of him a pot of thick borscht, and half a loaf of white bread sliced diagonally. (What does it matter, one might ask, how it was sliced? But Chulpenyev even today will insist that it was really sliced very attractively.) However, he was not given a thing to eat. How ancient it all is, how medieval, how primitive! The only thing new about it was that it was applied in a socialist society! Others, too, tell about such tricks. They were often tried. But we are going to cite another case involving Chebotaryev because it combined so many methods. They put him in the interrogator's office for seventy-two hours, and the only thing he was allowed was to be taken to the toilet. For the rest, they allowed him neither food nor drink even though there was water in a carafe right next to him. Nor was he permitted to sleep. Throughout there were three interrogators in the office, working in shifts. One kept writing something-silently, without disturbing the prisoner. The second slept on the sofa, and the third walked around the room, and as soon as Chebotaryev fell asleep, beat him instantly. Then they switched roles. (Maybe they themselves were being punished for failure to deliver.) And then, all of a sudden, they brought Chebotaryev a meal: fat Ukrainian borscht, a chop, fried potatoes, and red wine in a crystal carafe. But because Chebotaryev had had an aversion to alcohol all his life, he refused to drink the wine, and the interrogator couldn't go too far in forcing him to, because that would have spoiled the whole game. After he had eaten, they said to him: "Now here's what you have testified to in the presence of two witnesses. Sign here." In other words, he was to sign what had been silently composed by one interrogator in the presence of another, who had been asleep, and a third, who had been actively working. On the very first page Chebotaryev learned he had been on intimate terms with all the leading Japanese generals and that he had received espionage assignments from all of them. He began to cross out whole pages. They beat him up and threw him out. Blaginin, another Chinese Eastern Railroad man, arrested with him, was put through the same thing; but he drank the wine and, in a state of pleasant intoxication, signed the confession - and was shot. (Even one tiny glass can have an enormous effect on a famished man - and that was a whole carafe.)

That, folks, is communism. That is what the people of East Germany were escaping from. The fact that the Berlin Wall stood for nearly three decades is an affront to humanity. Thank God it stands no more.

Monday, November 02, 2009

The Awesome Toronto Maple Leafs

What do the Leafs and the Titanic have in common?
They both look good until they hit the ice.

What's the difference between the Toronto Maple Leafs and a cigarette vending machine?
The vending machine has Players.

What do the Toronto Maple Leafs and whales have in common?
They both get totally confused when surrounded by ice.

Why are the Toronto Maple Leafs like Canada Post?
They both wear uniforms and don't deliver.

Why doesn't Hamilton have an NHL team?
Because then Toronto would want one too.

What do the Toronto Maple Leafs, Toronto Argonauts and the Toronto Blue Jays all have in common besides being based in Toronto?
None of them can play hockey.

What do you call 30 millionaires around a TV watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs?
The Toronto Maple Leafs.

How do you keep the Toronto Maple Leafs out of your yard?
Put up a goal net.

What do you call a Toronto Maple Leaf with a Stanley Cup ring?
A thief.

What do the Toronto Maple Leafs and possums have in common?
Both play dead at home and get killed on the road.

How many Toronto Maple Leafs does it take to win a Stanley Cup?
Nobody knows.

--------------------------

This guy says to the bartender, “Can my dog and I watch the Toronto Maple Leafs hockey game here? My cable is out, and my dog and I always watch the game together.”

The bartender replies, “Normally, dogs wouldn't be allowed in my bar, but it’s not very busy right now, so you and the dog can have a seat at the end of the bar. But, if there’s any trouble with you or the dog, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

The guy agrees, and he and his dog start watching the game. Pretty soon, the Leafs manage to score a goal and the excited dog jumps up on the bar, barks loudly, does a back flip and runs over to the bartender and gives him a high-five.

The bartender says, “Wow, that’s pretty cool! What does he do when they win a game?”

The guys answers, “I have no idea.”

--------------------------

(Ig talking): My friends in Toronto, if this didn't rankle enough, stop and think about this little added bit to the story:

The Leafs suck and the Leafs' owners like it that way. It's intentional.

Have a great season!

Thursday, October 29, 2009

My friend, a great man

From my seat about halfway between the main doors and the altar, I wondered why the pastor was not presiding today. He is, after all, a gifted and inspiring speaker. One would think this would be the day we'd need him. But he was nowhere to be seen, and a priest from a neighbouring parish was here today.

The elderly deacon ambled away from the lectern after proclaiming the gospel. As he did so, the presiding priest confidently approached to deliver his homily.

"On November twenty-ninth, nineteen eighty-four," he opened, "we were all devastated when we heard the news of John's accident." Ah! That's what he's doing here today. He knows John. He was there. "...and I know that in the days and weeks that followed, we prayed, we all prayed so hard, for a miracle for John." I didn't know John back then, but I have no doubt that the prayers were flying. "And thanks be to God, every single one of those prayers was answered!"

What? Answered? John lived twenty-five years as a quadriplegic, Father. What does you mean, answered?

A voice inside my head calmly interjected. Shut up and listen. You know what he means. I took a deep breath. Did you know John over the last seven years, or did you not?

My friend John died suddenly in the early morning hours of Thursday, August 27th, around the time I was tossing and turning sleeplessly at my cottage in Quebec, thinking about our imminent departure and agonizing over the ten hours of driving time it would take to get home.

John had lived with near total paralysis following a bad collision during a hockey game when he was sixteen years old. He had very limited use of his right arm and hand only. His left hand and arm were strapped to his chair, and his immobile legs were set out straight to minimize circulatory problems. John’s respiratory capacity was reduced, as he was able to use only the upper portion of his lungs. With the help of technology, John was able to drive and control an electric-powered wheelchair. He lived in a half-duplex rented to him by my employer, and his near full-time caregiver – who recently became his fiancée – lived in the other half of the duplex. Every morning, one or two nurses visited John’s home to get him out of bed, clean him, dress him and help set him up in his chair.

John was subject to the usual health problems, and more, that plague every quadriplegic. He suffered from pressure sores, despite the advanced and expensive wheelchair and bed he used. A couple of years ago, he became diabetic, even though the disease appears not to run in his family. Chest colds usually developed into pneumonia. One onset of pneumonia, in the late winter of 2008, was particularly acute and nearly killed him. He spent six weeks in hospital and slowly recovered.

But the priest was right. Every single one of those prayers was answered.

The people praying for John in the weeks after his accident got only half of what they were praying for, in literal terms. They were praying for John to survive. They also prayed for a miracle for John, and by times during the last few years, I did too. The requested miracle was that John, through divine intervention or a breathtaking medical breakthrough, would regain the use of his arms and his legs.

But instead of that, John’s entire life became the miracle.

In the seven years I knew John, I never once heard him complain about anything. I have spoken about this with people that knew John, and have raised this topic both before and after his death. Many of them were acquainted with John since the time of his accident. And every single one of them reported the same thing. John never once complained about his situation.

“Two weeks after John’s accident,” the priest informed us from the pulpit, “I traveled to the hospital on the mainland where John was being treated. I expected to meet a despondent, depressed young man, his spirit crushed by his severed spinal cord, and his dreams shattered. Instead, I walked into the room and was met by a cheerful, smiling young man, lying on a hospital bed with wires and tubes all over him.”

It was almost as if John relished the challenges that lay before him. That was certainly the John I knew, but I thought he had to work hard at projecting this attitude. And maybe he did, but right from the beginning, he made it seem the most natural thing in the world.

John traveled all over town in his wheelchair when the weather permitted it. He would not always stop to talk, but would shout, as much as his weak lungs would allow, a greeting across the street to me (or anyone else) as he drove by. John did everything physically possible with the small physical ability he had left. He had a device that fitted under his upper palate with a rod attached to it, which he used to help drive his chair, or type at his computer, or punch the buttons on his cordless telephone. John’s good hand was sufficient to move and click a computer mouse, and with the use of his mouth rod, he transformed himself into a computer whiz. This led to some darker abilities, like those that led to the occasional appearance of a newly released movie in John’s house, playing on a homemade DVD on his computer. I used to joke that if there were a way to view bandwith use from space, there would be a huge vortex appearing on the map over John’s block.

Sharing what he had was important to John. He gave advice and tutorials on computer issues to anyone who asked. He counseled young people who had gone through life-changing events. He and his fiancée took in troubled teens whose parents needed a break from them, and provided a heavy dose of reality to many young people at critical stages in their lives. John loved to joke and laugh, and could be counted upon to provide a lift to the spirits of everyone he met. It was infectious, too. If I heard a good joke, I’d often try to remember to share it with John the next time I met him. My wit never came close to matching his, though.

John’s trademark was gratitude for what he had, and for the people in his life. He was polite and gracious to a fault to medical staff during his hospital stays. During a visit to John’s hospital room in the late summer of 2008, when he was in to treat a relapse of his pneumonia, he told me quietly that he had spoken a little impatiently to a hospital staff member who had come into his room in the middle of the night with a nurse to turn him in his bed. He said he would make a point to find the young lady again and offer an apology. Imagine that!

Many doctors and nurses found themselves in John’s company saying things they might not say to anyone else. In April 2008, I was visiting John in the hospital as he fought back from pneumonia when his respirologist came to check him over and clean his tracheotomy (which was made when he was rushed into the hospital). When the doctor was done, John recounted to him an exchange he had had with a nurse earlier in the day. The nurse wanted John to take an undissolved tablet of some kind, and John informed her he could not because of a problem in his throat, complicated by the tracheotomy. “Sorry,” he told the nurse, “I’m not able to swallow.”

“Don’t worry, John,” the nurse deadpanned. “I’ve never been able to swallow, either.”

There was a pause of about half a second, and then everyone in the room – the respirologist included – fell about the room, howling with laughter. I laughed so hard I cried. John just grinned proudly at having retold the story so well.

That was the way it was with John. You never knew what he was going to tell you, and more often than not you’d laugh yourself to tears.

After being rushed into the hospital the month previous, John hovered near death for a couple of days. When he was able to speak again, he informed his family and the medical staff that he had seen the other side. “What? What did you see, John?”

Only half conscious, John replied, “I saw God.”

“What? You saw God? What did He say?”

No reply. John was drifting in and out of sleep.

“What did He look like, John?”

No reply.

“Was He as good-looking as you, John?” asked one of the visitors who knew John’s sense of humour.

John’s eyes stayed closed, but he smiled. “No,” he giggled.

Over the last eighteen months, John faced challenge after challenge with his health. It should have been obvious to me that he was in a decline, but I suppose I was blind to it. I last saw him early in August before leaving for Quebec. He was outdoors, driving around in his chair, socializing on the street on a nice day. When I talked to him, he was in good humour but he was not happy with the anti-seizure drugs he was taking. They were making him drowsy and slurring his speech. Like every other problem I saw John face, I figured he would find a way to overcome it. I figured he should overcome it. Many assumed the same thing.

Not everyone saw it this way, though. A few months ago, as John was going through a series of surgeries to treat a deep infection caused by a bad pressure sore, his elderly father was overheard having a conversation with a local business owner. He said that by times he wondered if it wouldn’t have been better if John had died following his accident. The hardware store owner reacted with surprise, but John’s dad explained what he meant. “John has suffered terribly over the years. And he is suffering terribly now.”

The evening before his funeral on September first, hundreds and hundreds of people turned out to pay their respects at his wake. It seems everyone in town knew John. And everyone had the same story: they had learned so much about life from John. Do your best. Be generous. Do not dwell on your limitations. Be aware of your talents, and use them. And don’t complain about petty things. John had a lot to complain about, but he never did. So why on earth should I complain about a ten hour drive home from my cottage, for goodness sake? I have a home. I have a great family. I have a cottage. I can drive a car and walk on my own two feet. I’m an idiot to complain about anything.

Every prayer answered indeed, Father.

It’s funny how the great men in our midst teach us the most basic things. John only had 41 years on this earth, but he affected everyone he knew, and to an immensely greater and more positive degree than most who live twice as long. It was a privilege to know him, and it was likewise a privilege to wait two hours to get through the lineup at the funeral home to get the opportunity to say goodbye. I told John’s brother Gerry that at the moment he died, “John got everything back.” Gerry agreed.

I hope there is hockey in Heaven, and that he’s had a chance to lace on a pair of skates again.

Thank you, great friend.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Counting My Blessings

Thought this might make a good motivational poster, too. This photo was taken on August 21st, on our way north from Rivière-à-Pierre.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Chalet Numéro Trois

Actually, this is our numéro deux. But never mind the numbering - long story. Here's where I spent some time this past summer, in the company of my lovely wife and many a few bottles of beer.

Where on earth...?

Had some fun with AutoMotivator making this. And who can disagree with such a wise message?

Friday, October 09, 2009

BREAKING: President Obama wins 2009 Nobel Peace Prize

Everyone knows I am on record as disagreeing with President Obama on a lot of issues. Almost all of them, actually. But I honestly ask this question, with no disrespect intended, in response to the news that he has won the 2009 Nobel Prize for Peace:

Um.... for doing what, exactly?

I know the Nobel Peace Prize is never going to be awarded to anyone but a committed liberal, because that is the slant of the Nobel committee's worldview. But if Obama deserves it after just nine months in office, why not former President Clinton? Goodness knows the political capital he spent trying to get the Israelis and Palestinians together, and were it not for the career terrorist Yassir Arafat, the Wye River Accords may actually have produced a peace treaty. Given the concessions Clinton forced Ehud Barak to offer, how is that not "reaching out to the Muslim world"? Given his hesitancy to use military power to strike at terrorist regimes, even after terrorist attacks on American property and interests, why would the Nobel Peace Prize committee overlook President Clinton?

Speaking of Yassir Arafat, didn't he manage to hook a Nobel Peace Prize? Checking... uh, let's see. Why, yes! And if you were wondering, he won the prize in 1994, which was after his first intifadeh but before his second.

Message to the Nobel committee: your raison d'être ought to be something more than "Let's Poke George W. Bush in the Eye". Making a few speeches with soaring rhetorical flourishes should not be a basis for winning this prize.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009

Memorandum

To: Jim Leyland
      Field Manager, Detroit Tigers
      2100 Woodward Avenue
      Detroit, Mich.
From: Ignatius Pig, Esq.
      Armchair Quarterback and General Smartass
      1600 Pennsylvania Ave. N.W.
      Washington, D.C.
Date: October 7th, 2009
Re: Yesterday's Game vs. the Minnesota Twins
----------------------------------------------------------
Let me get a couple of things straight.

The entire season is on the line, and you bring in to pitch the ninth, tenth and subsequent innings... Fernando Rodney?? This clown never met a leadoff batter he didn't want to walk. Yes, I know, I know, he can throw in the high 90s, but his control is worse than Bill Clinton's. I have no idea how he converted 37 of 38 save opportunities this year, but I'd put that in the category of "the sun even shines on a dog's ass from time to time." He gave up 70 hits in 75 innings this year, along with 41 walks and 8 home runs. His lifetime winning percentage is .333 and his ERA, this year and over his career, is over 4.25.

This is the dude to whom you give the ball? And when he walks the first guy he sees in the ninth, and somehow gets away with it, you put him back in to pitch the 10th, when you have a lead? He walked the winning run on base in the tenth, allowed the tying run to score by giving up a single to a .232 hitter on an 0-2 count, and would have barfed up the game immediately afterward if it weren't for Ryan Raburn throwing the winning run out at the plate to end the inning. But Jim, you left him in for more, ensuring he would eventually barf up the game in the twelfth inning, when he gave up a leadoff single to a .229 hitter and then the winning hit to a .202 hitter.

What the hell does this guy have to do to get the gate?

Anyway, that's one thing. The other business is Gerald Laird, .220-something hitter, going 0 for 6 and leaving ten runners on base, including three in the top of the twelfth when he whiffed with the bases loaded. Choke, choke, choke, choke. I'm assuming, for purposes of affording you the credibility you deserve, that you didn't haul his useless ass out of the game earlier because he's blackmailing you. Failing that, there is no reason for Gerald Laird to be in the major leagues, let alone hitting with the season on the line. This is Bill Virdon territory. You can do better.

I just hope the "sun shining on a dog's ass" syndrome doesn't now apply to the Twins, although I fear it does, given their ridiculous New-York-Mets-'86-like good luck the last few days. So [cough], go [cough, cough] Twins [cough]; best of luck versus the New York Toad Excrements Yankees.

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

Go Tigers!

As regular readers of this blog know, I am a fan of a certain Boston baseball team. Today, though, I am a fan of the Detroit Tigers, who are playing a tiebreaker against the Minnesota Two Ply Kleenex Box Wavers Twins later this afternoon.

I have no particular grudge against the Twins (anymore), nor do I have a strong affinity for the Tigers. But today I am in their corner, hoping they win and advance to the playoffs, where they would be further encouraged to stomp all over the New York Yankees. But not even my animosity toward the Yankees is behind this.

It's something more than just baseball. I want the Tigers in the playoffs because I have a strange sympathy for the city of Detroit.

I have only been to Detroit twice in my life, more than 20 years ago, and I can only count those as visits if one is allowed to count "driving through the place" as a visit. So it's not like I know the place well, despite the fact that Jimmy Hoffa and I had unusual and uninvestigated ties to one another. No one I know even lives there, although I do have a few relatives in other areas of Michigan.

Detroit, like many other American cities, is in a horrible decline. A once-great, bustling, productive city has been reduced to a shadow of its former self. The American automobile industry, the backbone of the city's economy, is in tatters. The housing market collapse has hit Detroit extremely hard: in December 2008, the city's median home sale price was $7,500. That's seven thousand five hundred. The Detroit Board of Realtors reported that the average home price in January 2009 (one month later) was only $13,638.

In August 2009, the US unemployment rate was 9.7%. Michigan's rate was 15.2%. Detroit's was 17.3%. (So says the Michigan state government.) And those are seasonally adjusted rates - the raw unemployment rate in Detroit was closer to 28% during the summer.

In 2006,

  • Detroit's overall crime rate was more than twice the national average.

  • Detroit's violent crime rate was more than four times the national average.

  • Detroit's murder rate was more than six times the national average, and was higher than the murder rates in Washington, D.C., Chicago, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Baltimore, Buffalo, Cleveland and Boston.

  • Burglaries in Detroit occurred at a rate more than three times the national average.

  • The rate of motor vehicle thefts in Detroit was more than five times the national average.

The good news is that the homicide rate has shown some decline, dropping in 2008 to the lowest level in many years. But due to a continued exodus from the city, even this good news prompted mayoral candidate Stanley Christmas to say, "I don’t mean to be sarcastic, but there just isn’t anyone left to kill."

Speaking of mayoral candidates, Detroit has recently had a little trouble with its mayor, a Mr. Kilpatrick, who appears to have got carried away with the trappings of his office.

So overall, one might describe Detroit as a place to avoid. While I don't plan to travel there any time soon myself, I have a soft spot for the place. This once-wonderful and exciting city is in the dumper, with few prospects for or reasonable expectations of improvement. It makes no good sense that cities should be in such bad shape, but they are, and Detroit is among the worst.

That's why I'm rooting for the Tigers today. Not just because the hanky-waving Twins fans are a bunch of wienies, and because the Metrodome sucks. The people of Detroit need something to cheer for, even if it's only for a few more days. So go get 'em, Rick Porcello and teammates. Chew these guys up in Minnesota, and then crush and humiliate the Yankees.

Do it for the great city of Detroit.

Friday, October 02, 2009

BREAKING: Chicago's Olympic bid in the water

Chicago has lost its bid to host the 2016 Summer Olympics. The radio and the blogosphere are abuzz with this story, and the politics of it all, and how it involves and affects President Obama, etc.

Whatever. I'll leave that to others. I just have something to say to the disappointed people of Chicago: get down on your knees and give thanks to God, or your lucky stars, or to the deity of your choice. You cannot begin to understand your good luck. If you disagree with me, ask your buds in London how things are going over there as they prepare for the games in 2012.

And if that does not convince, I have one word for you: Montreal.

UPDATE (October 2, 2009 3:02 p.m.): Brush up on your Portuguese: the games are heading to Rio de Janeiro. Pray for these poor folks.

Thursday, October 01, 2009

My Award

Well, thank you, ladies and gentleman of the Academy, I'm honoured... and hey, what the-- ???

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Good Wife's Guide

For those ladies out there who have misplaced their Housekeeping Monthly issue from May 1955, I thought I would remind you of the most important part of the issue (click on image to enlarge):


And yes, I am aware that there is a rumour floating around that no one has been able to corroborate the appearance of this page in the May 1955 issue of Housekeeping Monthly, and that the whole think may be a hoax. But does that matter? What difference does it make, when we're dealing with advice as good as this?

Monday, September 28, 2009

How do you say "chicken-hearted, lily-livered, screeching coward" in Arabic?

Muammar Gaddafi has cancelled his planned visit to St. John's. Clearly he turned tail and ran when his people read of a plan in the works by my people in Newfoundland to drown entertain the despot with alcohol.

Happy trails, you daft yellow bastard.

UPDATE (September 28, 2009 11:15 a.m.): There was some chatter earlier that the reason for Gaddafi's visit to St. John's was to allow his plane to refuel. This is bunk. Airplanes today have no trouble flying across the Atlantic, and distances much greater than that, without refuelling. However, if Muammar insists on a full tank, I suggest he tell his pilot that there's a really good place to refuel at these coordinates: 47° 36' N, 52° W. It's just outside the city of St. John's. Don't worry about the lack of radio signals, air traffic control messages, lights, etc. from the landing site. Just set the plane down at this point as hard as possible.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Newfoundland, Muammar?

Hi, my name is Muammar, and I'd like to talk to you today about what the Hair Club For Men has done for my self-esteem.In more ways than one, Libyan dictator Muammar al-Gaddafi is not content with his allotted fifteen minutes on stage. But Wednesday's breathless, rambling speech at the United Nations is not the reason I post this today.

After a trip to New York, Muammar is just not content. I am sure he is disappointed that his attempts to camp in New York and New Jersey were scuttled, which may explain the news this morning that he's planning another one-day trip on his way back to the Socialist People's Libyan Arab Jamahiriya. And it appears Muammar has listened to me: I have long held the belief that you haven't been anywhere until you've been to Newfoundland.

Yes, Muammar is planning a one-day trip to St. John's, Newfoundland. And while the National Post says it's for the purpose of receiving a voluntary bitch-slap from the Canadian government for celebrating the return of the Lockerbie terrorist/bomber (foolishly released by the British government) to Libya, I know that's not the real reason for his visit.

Anyone who has thought this over for more than a minute understands that Muammar wants to go gravel pit camping. I mean, what better way to uphold the Bedouin tradition of greeting visitors from a tent than by pitching one - apparently a really honking big one - in a gravel pit in Newfoundland? Now, if the gravel pits are full, perhaps he could set up in a real campground. Or - better still - if he doesn't want to leave the city of St. John's, Muammar could pitch his tent in Pippy Park. If he'd like to be closer to downtown, I would suggest Bannerman Park, which is across the street from where we used to live. And if the quivering, verbose despot has a few connections, perhaps the Lieutenant Governor would permit him to camp on his sprawling estate nearby. (This same sprawling estate was the site of an unfortunate incident involving, um, regurgitation back in the fall of 1995, and then another unfortunate incident involving unlawful entry early in 1996, but those are tales for another time.)

Late September is the best time of the year in Newfoundland. Unlike July and August, and particularly unlike May and June, one is apt to hit really nice weather. And Newfoundlanders are famous for their hospitality... what's to lose? He might be crazier than a coot, but Muammar knows a good time. And with the strange accent and crazy hair, he'll fit right in among the campers in Newfoundland.

So, Newfoundlanders: don't pass up this opportunity. Help the lunatic dictator set up his fine tent. Enjoy his hospitality, and offer yours. Ask Muammar what he thinks about cola drinks.*

And then pass around the beer, make sure Muammar gets roaring drunk, take him out for a ride on your boat, getting to the point where the bay meets the open ocean, and throw the bastard overboard.

* "Whenever I ask about Pepsi Cola or Coca Cola, people immediately say it is an American or European drink ... this is not true, the cola is African! They have taken the cheap raw material from us and produced it into a drink [that] they sell [back] for an exorbitant price! Why are Pepsi Cola and Coca Cola expensive? Because they have taken our cola and cheated us! We should produce it ourselves!" - Muammar Abu Minyar al-Gaddafi, son of Mohammed Abdul Salam bin Hamed bin Mohammed Al-Kaddafi

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Jim Palmer's hair

The writer of this blog clearly has issues, but that's not the most important thing right now. Great heights of hilarity have been achieved. The question is, what would Krankor (known to write screechingly funny parodies about Jim Palmer) think about this?

Sample:

I told the barber I wanted Mr. Palmer’s exact hairstyle.

I was somewhat skeptical when the barber pulled out his clippers, and started to shave all the hair off the top of my head.

This doesn’t seem right… I thought. I definitely remembered Jim Palmer having hair in the picture I had provided. Beautiful, beautiful hair.

I was about to question the barber, when he stopped shaving. As he walked over to a box labeled “Fake Hair Box”, I finally understood the barber’s plan.

He tossed the rug on my bare scalp, nudging it until it was slightly askew. I looked in the mirror. Something wasn’t quite right. I looked kind of like a poor man’s Jim Palmer. I’m looking at you, Buck Martinez.

I was about to complain, when the barber pulled out a large black spray can. At this point, I knew the barber and I were on the same page.

Heck, maybe Krankor is behind the whole thing. It could be yet another conspiracy, and y'all know how I love conspiracies.

UPDATE (Sept. 15, 2009 10:25 a.m.): Link to this blog now added to the sidebar.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Eight years ago today

WTC New York 9/11/2001Please forgive my choice of photo, everyone. It is a truly awful picture, but of course it was a truly awful day.

I don't really have the words to commemorate this - I didn't last year, either - but Rod Dreher (currently of Dallas, formerly of Brooklyn) always seems to get it right. I recommend you read this first, though. It is Dreher's very personal account of the day of the attacks, written about three years ago, describing what happened when he was en route (on foot) to the Financial District to cover the event as a journalist/columnist, saw the South Tower collapse as he was arriving on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge, and decided to turn around and go home to his wife.

I was a columnist for the New York Post that morning, and hustled from my waterfront apartment across the Brooklyn Bridge, notebook in hand, to cover the catastrophe. I made it as far as the Manhattan side of the bridge before I ran into a Post colleague. “Don’t go down there,” she said. “Those things are going to fall.”

“Oh come on, they’re not going to fall,” I said, genuinely disbelieving her. “That’s the World Trade Center.”

Moments later, down came the south tower. I staggered backward, and held on to her to keep my knees from buckling. I scrawled these words on my reporter’s notebook, which I still have: “the building isn’t there it’s gone.” A well-dressed woman grabbed the bridge railing and began dry-heaving. A short, stout black woman threw her arms up and her head back, bellowing, “And every knee shall bow and every tongue confess! It ain’t over people!”

And then I knew I had a choice to make.

The cloud of dust rampaged toward the bridge. I knew the cops would be closing it off to incoming foot traffic any moment. If I was going to cover the biggest story of my professional life – if I was going to be an eyewitness to history – I had better run toward the cloud. But then I thought about my wife and child behind me in Brooklyn. They had no way of knowing I was alive (I’d told Julie just before I rushed out the door, “I’m going to get as close as I can”). I had no way of knowing what was coming next. Would the other tower come down too? Would lower Manhattan go up in a fireball from gas explosions? What if there’s anarchy, and I can’t get back across the river to help my family?

Then read this, which Dreher wrote very early this morning as he looked back at it all. Excerpt:
I knew that the solidarity we all felt with each other in the immediate aftermath of 9/11 couldn't last and wouldn't last, beautiful as it was. But I found it impossible to imagine that we would so quickly absorb the trauma, and move right back to where we were before, unchanged. I really didn't see how we could forget. But we did. Here's the thing: I'm not saying that that's bad, or at least altogether bad. That's what healing is about -- getting on with life, not staying fixated on the trauma, doing what's necessary to live for the present, not letting the past dominate your psychological and emotional life.

This post is a more analytical look at the clash of tribalism and modernity. Excerpt:
Put another way, I really do fear the intoxication of the Crowd. After 9/11, I felt intensely tribal, and wanted our tribe to strike back hard at their tribe. I see now that I viewed events of that day as the Arab Muslim tribe raiding our encampment. I was ready to back our chief no matter what, and insisted that he strike back at their tribe, and damn the logic in it all. Iraq would do; make an example of them, and teach the rest of Their Tribe. We'll sort out the details later. Well, we see where that got us.

And if just want a few stories about the great works done on that day and during the days and weeks that followed, read this post.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Updating...

Dear Microsoft, and Adobe, and Hewlitt-Packard, and Sun Microsystems, and others,

I see that all of you have adopted the habit of updating your products. It would be impossible for me not to notice this, as one or several of you update your products on my computer just about all the time.

Mr. Gates, just how often do Important Updates have to be made to Windows XP? It used to be once every couple of months. Lately, the frequency should more accurately be described as "damn near daily", along with the added benefit known as "taking more time to do this than ever before." Get bent, Microsoft.

Sun: I don't need Java updates that often. Really, I don't. You're more stealthy about your work, but I still see you there. Bugger off.

Adobe: Acrobat Reader - well, the version that came out last year or so - is just fine. You really don't need to offer me a new version once a month. Disappear from my screen.

My computer is five years old, and is getting slower all the time because of these freaking updates. It's like trying to cram the traffic of 2009 onto the Pasadena Freeway, which is windy, small and was built for traffic in the 1950s. Oh, wait, that's happening too. Whatever. You get the idea. We're talking a variation of The Ingenuity Gap here. Your updates take up five times the space and eight times the RAM that the original version used. It's driving me cracked.

Seriously - what is the deal here? Do you silly companies really have to share with everyone as soon as you think of something new? Must we all be connected so closely and so often? It reminds me of the damn Borg, for goodness sake. And we all know what jackasses they are.

So the next time you fools feel the need to update something, here's a suggestion. Don't. Wait until 2010, do it once, and make it count for something other than tying up my time, slowing down my machine, and getting on my bloody nerves.

Monday, August 31, 2009

The Office

Back at mine this morning. Fun's over.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

This is it...and when I say 'This is it', I mean this is it...this is the final curtain call...

Okay. THIS time I'm stopping the blog. THIS time it's really good-bye.

For a couple more weeks.

I'm off to Quebec tomorrow at an uncivilized hour of the morning, and it will be a Jed-Clampett-like journey again, only in the opposite direction. We'll be home (all of us) around the 25th / 27th / 29th of August, depending on weather, family events, etc. We're planning a two-day trip by train to an unspecified location near the North Pole Lac-St-Jean from August 21st to 23rd, but other than that, we're mostly just planning a lot of beer.

Keep a lid on things, everyone. (And thanks, Jen, for the idea for the post title!)

Monday, August 10, 2009

Today's Definition of Happiness

All of the following apply to make happiness this day:

1) All of the new baseboard for the upstairs bathroom has been cut, shaped, bevelled, sanded, primed, painted and attached to the dang walls.

2) Three seven-foot pieces of doorstop, already primed and painted, were discovered in my garage this evening, and instead of using them as doorstops, I have used them at the bottom of the baseboard instead of the vinyl quarter-round which was on there before, and which I've always hated.

3) With the help of a friend, the washer and dryer have been put back into their proper places in the washroom, and we neither destroyed the new vinyl floor (placed on Saturday) nor threw our backs out in the process.

4) The washer hums away happily as I catch up on my laundry.

5) The seam along the bathtub has been caulked, and a darn fine job was made of it, if I do say so myself.

6) A new toilet gets installed tomorrow, but only if I feel like it. The old unit was removed and thrown out the window (second storey, remember) by me on Friday evening. How many of you have ever thrown a toilet out a second-storey window? Hm?

7) Following the completion of these tasks, I have quaffed a few beers this evening, and have a dang good buzz going. Can't you tell?

Happiness, baby, happiness. And yes, I know it's never a good idea to post anything when under the influence, but exceptions sometimes need to be made.

Sunday, August 09, 2009

Thirty five years later

President Richard Nixon resigned the U.S. presidency thirty-five years ago today, on August 9th, 1974. His shortened second term in office was overwhelmed by the Watergate scandal, and allegations that Nixon either knew in advance of plans by people working for him to break into Democratic Party headquarters in 1972 (probably false) or that he participated in a conspiracy to cover up the crime and obstruct justice (definitely shown to be true).

I am aware of President Nixon's faults, and I know these go beyond the Watergate scandal. Nevertheless, I have been fascinated by Richard Nixon for 25 years, and have read books written by and about him. I prefer therefore to take a balanced view of the man, and having studied the entirety of his life, you could count me among his admirers.

Since many people today study so little history, and choose instead to repeat cliches and conventional wisdom without the benefit of critical questioning, President Nixon is almost always associated only with Watergate, and most discussions of him inevitably cover only his downfall. As I am not one to swim with the prevailing current of thinking - especially since most of what passes for "thinking" today is not thought per se, but reaction based on emotion - I prefer to take a different course when I encounter a Nixon detractor. Therefore, you could also count me among the man's defenders.

So whatever you think of Richard Nixon, or what he did before, during or after his presidency, I ask you to think of two things that rarely get mentioned.

One is the negotiated end of U.S. participation in the Vietnam War in 1973. Very rarely does anyone mention the scenes in airports all over the United States, as soldiers who had been prisoners of war of the North Vietnamese came home. Several of them walked up to television cameras in the arrivals area, and tearfully thanked President Nixon for getting them out of hell.

The other is the famous photo taken in China in February 1972. The premier of China, Zhou En-lai, was not expecting Richard Nixon to shake his hand. Shortly afterward, in an automobile taking them from the airport, Zhou said to Nixon, "Your handshake came over the vastest ocean in the world - 25 years of no communication."

Think of those things today. There will be plenty of other days to chat about Watergate.

Friday, August 07, 2009

Another Baseball Post

I know this will delight my legions of followers, since most of them tune in for baseball news only.

Two t'ings:

1) I see the Red Sox have "designated" John Smoltz "for assignment", which is another way of saying, "you're fired." Dude was once a great pitcher, but he's clearly done and needs to retire. Which is what I've been saying for weeks. I guess I should have put it in writing sooner, and we could have moved on more quickly.

2) I just saw a clip of Terry Francona talking about the changes to the Red Sox roster. I could not believe my eyes. I am aware Francona has coronary heart disease (diagnosed in 2005), and the only thing I can say is I hope he has good doctors and that he is being followed closely. God forbid this prediction be accurate, but truthfully, Francona looks like he is within a few days or weeks of a heart attack. I hope it was just poor lighting in front of the TV camera. Seriously, he looked scary-bad.

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Messages to American League Baseball Teams

To the Toronto Blue Jays:

  • Did you guys know that on May 18th, your record was 27-14? Did you know that on that date, your winning percentage was .659, and that you were in first place?

  • Did you know that since May 18th, your record is 24-41? Did you know that since that date, your winning percentage is .369?

  • Did you know that watching you idiots play against the New York Toad Excrements Yankees is like watching a stalled, rusted-out 1973 AMC Gremlin roll into the path of a speeding, fully-loaded, double-high Canadian National Railways freighter?

  • Did you know that trading for guys like Edwin Encarnacion, who, despite his cool-sounding Catholic name, is a .209 hitter, and then sticking them in your starting linenup proves that untrained monkeys could do just as good a job in your front office?

  • Do you guys know you suck?

To the New York Toad Excrements Yankees:

  • Did you guys know that despite your 64-42 record (.604), and despite your 49-25 record (.662) since May 12th, I still think you're a bunch of primadonna, cheating, feckless crapweasels?

  • Did you know that everyone who roots against you also thinks your new stadium is a weak, Charlie-Finley-type attempt to induce your silly team to break some batting and home run records?

  • Did you know that your shortstop, Derek Jeter, is the most overrated player in baseball?

  • Did you know that your announcer, Michael Kay, is the silliest broadcaster in baseball, even edging out the ridiculous Ken "Hawk" Harrelson of the Chicago White Sox?

  • Did you know that my money is on you fools getting knocked out in the first round of the 2009 playoffs, if you even make it that far?

To the Boston Red Sox:

  • Did you know that it is not a good idea to put a .227 hitter in the middle of your lineup and make him the DH, even if the guy's name is David Ortiz?

  • Did you know, Terry Francona, that the more relievers you use in a ballgame, the more likely you are to find one who has nothin' going that day, and that he'll probably cost you the ballgame?

  • Did you know that even before last night's ridiculous game against the Tampa Bay Rays, you ought to have learned this lesson at least 30 times in the last five years?

  • Did you know that J.D. Drew needs to be traded away as quickly as possible, as he's never come close (and never shall) to his so-called "promise"?

  • Did you know that you treated a talented young pitcher, Justin Masterson, badly before you traded him?

  • Did you know that John Smoltz is finished as a pitcher, and that it is beyond silly to continue having faith in him?

Here endeth the questions. No doubt representatives from all three teams shall stampede to this space to address these issues.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Implicating myself in a conspiracy

Thirty-four years ago today, on Wednesday, July 30th, 1975, former Teamsters Union President Jimmy Hoffa disappeared from near the Machus Red Fox Restaurant in Bloomfield Township, near Detroit, Michigan.

No one seems particularly moved by my foreknowledge of the JFK assassination in 1963, probably because the whole thing was a dream. Fair enough. However, here are a few things about the Hoffa disappearance which, at the risk of putting myself in the sights of the authorities, make one take pause:

  • Jimmy Hoffa and I used to live within 60 miles of one another. Well, we would have been living within 60 miles of one another, if Hoffa hadn't been in the federal hoosegow at the time.


  • Hoffa disappeared 34 year ago today. '34' is a Markov number, so named after Russian mathematician Andrey Andreyevich Markov, whose masters thesis was entitled, "About Binary Quadratic Forms with Positive Determinant," which just screams conspiracy.


  • Less than two weeks after Hoffa disappeared, I was on board an Air Canada flight from Toronto to Los Angeles with my brother, sister and parents, and we flew right over the city of Detroit.


  • Hoffa took over the Teamsters' presidency in 1957, succeeding Dave Beck. I used to work with a guy named Beck when I was a banker. (Hoffa's friend Beck dressed better than my friend Beck.)


  • President Nixon commuted Hoffa's sentence in 1971. My brother, who was on the plane with me in 1975, was born in 1971. And twenty-two years later, I met a man who had worked for Nixon.


  • Hoffa was 62 years old when he disappeared. At the time, the civic number on the house where I lived was 62.

Look, I could go on and on here, but you get the idea. I have answers, but no one ever bothers to ask the right questions.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Non sequitur quiz

Let's change gears for a minute, and have a quiz. Try and answer all of the following questions. From easiest to most difficult, they are:

1) Is this man wearing a toupée?

2) Who is this man?

3) Where does he currently reside?

Enjoy. Please submit your answers in the comments.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Pickup trucks and Dealey Plaza

In just a day and a half, as I alluded to in my previous post, I have come to the realization that a man needs a pickup truck. All the struggling with cargo, renovation materials, hauling tools, furniture, etc. could all be solved if I bought myself a truck. Just yesterday, I drove my father-in-law's pickup exactly one block to the local building supply store to buy some drywall sheets. The dang things fit just lovely in the back of the truck. No fussing, no removal of seats in the back of the minivan trying to make something fit that is not going to fit anyway, no cursing under my breath as I load at the store or unload at home.

I am now on the hunt for a decent half-ton. I'll keep y'all posted.

------------

This section really should be its own post, I know. More than one post a day, or more than eight or ten a month, is asymptomatic of this blog. So I'm shifting gears now and sharing the details of the strangest, most vivid dream I have had in years. This one occurred in the early hours of Saturday morning.

In the dream, I had access to a means of time travel. Not a machine per se, but simply some means of moving the entire world's clock to whatever date I wanted it to be. I somehow felt I was limited to the 20th century. I don't know why.

I chose to go back to the early 1960s. Dreams being what they are, there were all kinds of inconsistencies, like the fact that the neighbourhood I grew up in got built in the 1960s, but in my dream it was as it was in the 1980s. That's not important but I thought I'd mention it anyway.

What struck me is that I suddenly came to the realization that the date to which I had shifted the entire planet was none other than Friday, November 22nd, 1963. I had done this entirely accidentally. When I realized what date it was, I felt a terrible chill.

Several other people in the dream were with me - they were friends of mine, and they were from the present day. In other words, they were in on the whole time travel thing. I gathered my friends together in a state of panic and anxiety.

"Do you realize what today is?" I told them.

"Yes." Everyone nodded.

"The Kennedy assassination is two days from now," I told them, for some reason thinking the date was November 24th.

"No, that's not right," one of them corrected. "Two days from now is the Oswald assassination. The Kennedy assassination is today."

"Today? What time is it now?" I asked, alarmed.

"It's 12:30 p.m." came the reply. "With the time difference, it is 10:30 a.m. in Dallas." (None dare say I confuse my time zones when I sleep.)

"We have two hours to do something!" I yelled. "What the hell do we do? Who do we talk to?" About this point in the conversation, I realized I was in the middle of my old street in Nova Scotia with the others, pacing frantically.

The conversation turned as to how the Kennedy assassination could be stopped. We were just about to act, to start making calls to the authorities, when everyone stopped and looked at one another.

"We cannot do this," someone said quietly. "We would be changing the course of history in ways we cannot predict. It could be extremely dangerous." The conversation then turned to the various presidencies and administrations that followed President Kennedy's, and many of the permutations that flowed from them. The sense of panic gave way to resignation, and then the hatching of another plan.

"If we cannot stop it," I said, nearly choking up, "we can at least make sure that the truth gets out." Everyone agreed on this.

The plan was that I was going to call a journalist in Dallas, and ask him to record my call. (Dan Rather was in Dallas that day - I wonder if it was him I was supposed to call?) I would ask the journalist to verify that he was recording my call, and I would ask him to verbally confirm the time of day and his location, so that the call could be verified to have been placed prior the assassination. I would tell him everything I knew or believed about the plot. Part of the plan was believing that he would likely take me for a crank caller and do nothing about the information I was giving him until after everything had happened. At that point, what reporter would sit on a tape of a call like this? The event would not be stopped, but the truth would get out.

The amazing thing is the amount of detail that I had in mind to give to the journalist. I was planning to tell him that there was a conspiracy to assassinate the president; that there were to be gunmen on the railroad overpass or behind the bushes atop the Grassy Knoll, and in the Texas School Book Deposity Building, and in the Dal Tex Building at Dealey Plaza; that the police would arrest the wrong man; that the man arrested would be killed in two days' time by a Mafia-connected nightclub owner; that JFK's Secret Service detail had hangovers and could not be considered reliable today; that the Dallas police could not be trusted to investigate the crime; that the Warren Commission would cover up the conspiracy; that Lyndon Johnson and J. Edgar Hoover could not be trusted; that the autopsy would either be botched or forged; that the CIA had placed agents all over the place who were unwittingly part of the conspiracy; and that the man from California the police would arrest in the Dal Tex Building after the shooting (Eugene Brading) is Mafia-connected and ought not to be released.

I never made the call. I woke up before I could get to a telephone.

Over the last twenty or so years, I have read a few (maybe a half dozen) books on the JFK assassination. Among these include Contract on America by David Sheim and Le Dernier Témoin by William Reymond and Billie Sol Estes. (Le Dernier Témoin was written by a Frenchman [Reymond] and first published in France. It was released in English under the title The Last Man Standing.) Most recently, at our cottage in Quebec, I started reading High Treason by H.E. Livingstone and Robert Grodin, published about twenty years ago. I only got about halfway through it due to being too busy to read very much, and the fact that it is a big, thick pig of a book, loaded with names and information that take time to absorb.

The strange thing is that my dream took information from every one of the books I have read, boiled down the details and the allegations to a summary of a few that I believe to be true or at least worthy of focus, stuck them vividly in my head and then sent me back to November 22nd, 1963. The dream was incredibly creepy, based on the subject matter, the clarity and the emotion.

In time, whenever I get around to it, I'll share some more thoughts on the JFK assassination. Jack Ruby said to a friend visiting him in prison that it was "the most bizarre conspiracy in the history of the world." I certainly don't have the answers about the murder, but some of what has been proved would raise the eyebrows right off your head.

(The photo of President and Mrs. Kennedy was taken at Love Field in Dallas after they disembarked their plane, less than one hour prior to the shooting.)

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Jed Clampett's trip home

For the fifth summer in a row, I am home alone for a few weeks to take care of bi'niz at the homestead and at the office. My family is hopefully enjoying the change of pace, as my absence from the cottage means that the renovation madness has come to a halt.

This was the third time I have driven myself home in five years. Back in 2005, I splurged and had Marie drop me off at the airport in Quebec City, whence I flew to Moncton, New Brunswick, and then took the Moncton / Zanzibar North shuttle to a point just one block from my house. In 2006, I drove home using Biff, while Marie borrowed a car from her mother to use for herself while I was away. In 2007, I drove home in the air-conditioned comfort provided by Chloe. Last year, I hitched a ride from my aunties, who continued to Halifax after dropping me off.

This year, I borrowed my father-in-law's 2000 GMC pickup, leaving Chloe in Quebec.

Now a man, it is said, needs himself a truck. Clearly I missed the memo, though, and in more than 25 years as a licenced driver in various jurisdictions, I have somehow made it this far without a truck.

But I don't see how. More on that another time.

The truck was necessary as my father-in-law constructed a large wooden backyard swing in his heated workshop during the winter and spring just past, and presented it to Marie and me as a gift. It looks a little like this one, in that it has two double-wide seats facing one another, and a tabletop in the middle, and wheels beneath it. But ours does not have an attached roof - but I intend to do better than that this fall, when I build us a fine gazebo in the backyard, in which the swing will reside. (Yes, another project.)

So the swing parts that come apart were removed, those being the table and the two benches, and the swing base and platform were placed in the bed of the pickup, and then the table and benches set in place where they would obstruct one's rearview the least. The swing base and platform fit in the truck with about six inches to spare in width, and four inches in length. (Maybe it was planned that way.) Then a bicycle was added to the cargo area alongside the swing, and our pressure washer, which we brought with us to Quebec two weeks ago, was added. As was a large cooler full of frozen homemade strawberry jam, made of berries picked by us at a Fraises-à-cueillir vendor about five minutes from our cottage. Plus a few bags of clothes. And other sundry items, like a bag with a few bottles of beer in it, and some jumper cables, and of course my lunch, meaning enough food to keep me fed for the duration of a drive of nearly 600 miles.

Think of the opening scene of the Beverly Hillbillies, except the truck dates from 2000, not the 1920's, and you more or less have the right image.

This year, I avoided Quebec Route 289, the towns and scenery on which I love very much, on account of the suspected condition of the road. When I wrote about it two summers ago, I left out how cracked and broken the pavement was over a long stretch of the portion before, near and after Lac-Pohénégamook. I figured with a borrowed pickup truck loaded with cargo, it might be more prudent to stick to Quebec Autoroute 85 and Route 185 to get to New Brunswick, which are in better condition.

At Edmundston, I exited the highway, drove downtown, found a parking spot under a nice shady tree, and strapped on the ol' feedbag.

But as for my backroads route, I did enjoy a stretch of US Route 1 in northern Maine, as is my habit. The scene in Madawaska, Maine with United States Customs was enjoyable, too. The agent in the booth was a lady I had not seen before, but I have travelled enough to know to beware of a woman in a uniform. I wondered how the exchange would turn out, given the load I was hauling, but I know by now to get any interaction with U.S. border agents off to a good start by smiling, saying good morning/afternoon, and presenting my passport without waiting for them to ask for it.

Customs Agent: Where are you heading?

Ig: I'm heading to my home, in [town redacted], Zanzibar North.

Customs Agent: Okay - so you're just looking to traverse the state of Maine on your way home? [Looks at bad passport photo, then waves the passport bar code over her scanner. Scanner beeps.]

Ig: Right. I'm just looking to cross a small corner of the state of Maine, so I can fill up with some less expensive gas. I intend to re-enter Canada near Grand Falls.

Customs Agent: [Looking at pile of stuff in the back of the truck, including large wooden contraption (the swing) which she clearly cannot identify.] Um, none of what you've got here, then, is staying in the United States?

Ig: No, ma'am. (Add your own Senator Barbara Boxer joke here.)

Customs Agent: [Quizically, looking at the swing:] Uh... what is that?

Ig: It's a homemade backyard swing, ma'am.

Customs Agent: I see. Hang on one second. [Agent exits her booth, goes to the back of the truck, and takes note of the licence plate. I sense what is about to follow. She returns to the booth.] All right, then. You're heading to your home in Nova Scotia, and you're driving a truck with Quebec plates. Can you explain that?

Ig: Actually, ma'am, it's Zanzibar North where home is, not Nova Scotia; the pickup truck belongs to my father-in-law, who lives in Quebec. He made the swing I'm hauling home. [At this point, I'm anticipating a few more questions about the truck, but there aren't any.]

Customs Agent: Ever been to court for anything? Any trouble with the law?

Ig: No, ma'am. (I innocently forgot about that business over the parking offense.)

Customs Agent: Ever applied for a pardon in Canada? (Clever, this lady, trying to set a trap to see if I lied on my first answer. Much like Inspector Dim - but unlike Ronnie Higgins, I did not fall for it.)

Ig: No, ma'am.

Customs Agent: All righty, then. You can proceed. Have a nice day, and drive carefully.

Ig: Thank you very much, ma'am. [I move out of the inspection station and into the metropolis of Madawaska.]

See, folks? That's how you deal with crossing the U.S. border. The Americans want a passport? Well, go out and get one, and then present it when you cross. Really simple. And then show up and act like a naïve rube who couldn't smuggle a piece of greaseproof paper, let alone a case full of Swiss watches. In my case, no acting is required.

I stopped for gas at my usual place in Van Buren, although the name has changed. Dead River Exxon has become Dead River Shell; Exxon having fallen out of favour, I assume, of the Dead River Company. From the service station, I took a look across the street at the small building and storefront that used to be John's Restaurant. The vertical blinds are drawn, and a For Sale sign is posted inside the glass. I wonder about what happened - when did John and Renée decide to close the place? They were still open last year, but to my regret I didn't stop in. Two weeks ago, when we travelled up to Quebec on the 9th, I noticed the place was closed. I hope the decision was voluntary, and that they've moved on to better things. But times are tough in the restaurant business all the time, and more so now in a recession. It is likelier that they came to their decision under duress. I wonder, too, about the regulars that visited - where do they go now? And what of the older lady with the French accent who worked as a waitress?

Nothing good lasts forever. Not buildings, not bridges, not things, not fortunes, not people, not civilizations, and certainly not a quaint little diner with friendly owners in a pretty small town in northern Maine. Sigh.

Enough elegy for now.

I crossed back into Canada at the Hamlin/Grand Falls crossing, which is only open from 7:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m., I discovered. Lucky I was there in the middle of the day. Customs agents in Canada are still stuck back in the 70s, when the focus was on stuff, like things purchased outside of the country, and on taxes and duty, and certainly not in identifying who the hell is entering. As usual, I was not even required to show identification. I realize the Constitution of Canada guarantees the rights of Canadian citizens to leave, enter or re-enter, or move about within the country, but really. Dude could at least look like he gives a crap about whether I am who I say I am.

I stopped for a cup of coffee bought in Grand Falls, which could not be drunk for 20 minutes because it came from Tim Hortons, of course, where I assume coffee is not permitted to be sold unless its temperature is within 5% of that of newly-erupted lava from Mount Vesuvius. As I started off from Grand Falls, I realized it was about 2:30 p.m. Atlantic Time, which meant I had been dilly-dallying a little too long. It was time to make tracks, so I got on the Trans-Canada highway and didn't stop until I reached Moncton, about three-and-a-half hours away at 110 km/h.

I wondered whether to stop in Moncton to surprise some old friends, as I had done in 2007. At the last minute I decided I would, because even though I was tired and wanted to get home, I would have regretted not having stopped later on. When I got to their house, strange and unfamiliar cars sat in their driveway. One was a taxicab under the carport. A large, unfamiliar dog looked out through the front screen door. Something was not right with the place.

A man exited the house as he saw me coming up the walk. This man was clearly not my friend Charles, whom I have known since 2001. My friends had sold the place and moved.

But new dude - named Marcel, I believe - was great. He told me my friends had moved just a few minutes away, and that although he didn't know their address, because the house they moved to was in a new subdivision, he knew how to get there and told me to follow him. It was no trouble, he assured me - it's only a few minutes away.

He was right about that. It was less than five minutes' drive. My friends' house is brand new, and apparently they moved there a few months ago. The driveway and street are not even paved yet, although the cement concrete curbs are in place. Unfortunately, my friends were not home. I waited around about 15 minutes in case they were not far off, but they did not return. It struck me that they could be working late or away on a trip somewhere. So I left a note with a message along the lines of "You can run, but you cannot hide", and continued on my way.

(If by chance you end up reading this, Charles and Chantal: C’était un grand plaisir de voir votre beau nouveau domicile, même si vous n’étiez pas chez vous. Le temps que ça a pris de descendre de l’autoroute était bien dépensé, et la prochaine fois je vais savoir où vous êtes. A la prochaine fois, chers amis. Je vous appelerai bientôt.)

As I crossed the Confederation Bridge, the sun was bobbling not far above the horizon on it's downward path to my left. The tide in the strait was low, and the smell of salt air on a summer breeze wafted into the truck. And although I'd prefer to have the whole summer off work and remain in Quebec with my family, I realized that it is absolutely true that the sea gets into your blood when you're a Maritimer. I was reminded that a man who pulls his car or a borrowed pickup into his yard after a trip away, and smells the salt air as he gets out and, without looking, automatically finds the right key on a ring of many to unlock his home, is blessed beyond his own understanding.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Worst. Vacation. Ever.

Well, it wasn't the worst ever if the goal of the two weeks I just spent in Quebec was to do nothing but work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work on the dang cottages in lousy weather. And I've already commented about the horrible things a crappy summer does to me.

More later, film at eleven, etc. etc.

Memo to Mother Nature: Get your head out of your ass, already. This isn't funny anymore. It was never funny anyway. I don't need 2005 over again - just something like 2006 or 2007.

The drive home today was good, though.

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

This is goodbye

Well, not forever, although the light blogging the last few months might have suggested something like that. Just for a couple of weeks. We are bailing out of town tomorrow morning at some ridiculous hour, and heading to the cottage.

I'll be back around July 24th or so, for about three weeks, before gettin' outta Dodge again. Marie and the kiddies will be at cottageside (ancient in-joke) for the next seven weeks.

Stay well and out of trouble, everyone.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Zealotry for the law! Part II

Back at the end of January, I posted about the loss of the governor's office, at the hands of the Illinois State Senate, suffered involuntarily by the Great Helmet-Haired Milorad Blagojevich. The comments that followed led me to express my hope that U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald would experience an ignominous loss if the whole business ended up in court. (Since Blago has since been indicted, in court it shall be.)

A commenter on my original post, my friend Mr. Macrum from Maine, he of the bicycle repair shop that would get my business if I only lived a little closer, asked me why I felt this animosity toward Fitzgerald. Kenneth Starr was mentioned in passing, and I wrote this post on February 10th about how zealotry for the law, however nobly intentioned, often leads us to all sorts of unpleasant places, particularly the disheartening trend to criminalize politics. In the post, I focussed on Starr, with a promise to follow up at some point on Patrick Fitzgerald - he who got the topic rolling in the first place.

None dare accuse me of striking while the Teflon-coated frying pan is hot, or whatever the proverb actually says. It is now five months later and I cannot use the "I don't have time to write about this right now" excuse anymore. I still don't have the time to write about it, but truthfully, I don't have the time to write about anything. I managed to put this post together over the past few weeks (if anyone was wondering where I was). So today Patrick Fitzgerald finally gets his day in court, here in the Great Halls of Ignatian Pontification.

Blago!  With the cool hair!I know by now I should have changed my mind about Blago. The indictments sound pretty severe, and with cases like this, high-profile prosecutors avoid bringing indictments forward if their cases are not solid. But to hell with all that. As my friend Mr. Durham from South Carolina pointed out, there is no justice in seeing Blago get sent up the river when the rest of the detritus that passes for politics in Chicago remains free. I am therefore remaining on record that I hope to see Rod Blagojevich beat the rap and win acquittal on every single charge, because I think it would be a delight to see the look on Patrick Fitzgerald's face when he mugs for the cameras afterward. "If I'm on camera, even if the publicity is bad, it is a good thing," opined Fitzgerald recently. Okay, I might have made that up. Let's move on.

PruneheadFirst of all, I have to preface my remarks by stating that I did not always think Patrick Fitzgerald was a grandstanding nincompoop. I believe he worked very diligently and courageously back in the 1990s when he prosecuted members of the New York mafia and even more so later when he was part of the team prosecuting Omar Abdel-Rahman and other terrorists who were connected with the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center in New York.

Sometimes one gets carried away with one's own success. Sometimes one gets caught up with one's ability to turn a phrase and make a good argument, and gets egged on by the echo chamber around him. (Hell, that's happened to me before.) Sometimes the approach to solving a problem works so well that the problem solver starts applying it inappropriately to other areas of life. For example, suppose the success of jailing the 1993 WTC terrorists and Omar Abdel-Rahman was achieved by zealously applying anti-racketeering, anti-conspiracy, and anti-terrorism laws. This is a useful and appropriate application of the law, because the problem is terrorism, and therefore there is a need to protect the public from a virulent and mortal physical threat. But what if some of the same laws are applied the same way to politicians who have had their hands in the till or who have lied to the FBI about political decisions they made while in public office? One should reasonably argue that these politicians, if proved guilty, should be subject to punishment. But if the laws prescribe penalties that exceed the seriousness of the crime, should they be applied with the same zeal? Some would say yes, because politicians are just pigs at the trough, and should rot in jail. Others might say no - I would say jail time is appropriate, in some cases, but if there is no threat to the public from these guys, at some point there has to be a consideration for the questions of cost and justice in keeping them incarcerated. (And let’s bear in mind that the notion of justice should not be defined by emotion.)

In other words, a big part of the problem is the law itself. The hammer hits too hard. Rod Blagojevich's predecessor, Governor George Ryan, entered federal prison (after prosecution by Patrick Fitzgerald) at age 73 to begin a six-and-a-half year prison term for corruption. Is this a just outcome? I have no problem with Fitzgerald's conduct during the Ryan trial, by the way, but I ask the question sincerely. George Ryan deserved time in prison, but is six-and-a-half years appropriate? His reputation has been irretrievably destroyed and he has been ruined financially. Why does the taxpayer have to pay for his continued incarceration? If justice is being served, that could be a good reason. If his example serves as a deterrent to others, that could be a good reason. Bear in mind, though, that Mr. Ryan faced many decades in jail - the sentence handed down was seen as lenient. Should a politician convicted of a wide range of comprehensive charges of corruption - many of which overlap one another and cover the same crime from different angles using different wording - actually face the possibility of a hundred years in jail? That is what I mean by the law being part of the problem.

If you take these laws, with their overlaps, their punitive overkill and their statutory authorization to read unproved criminal activity into arguably lawful private or political conduct, and you put them in the hands of someone who has become zealous about his role as a prosecutor and proud of his ability to articulate a sense of justice, what do you end up with? You end up with Patrick Fitzgerald.

Scooter Libby, brother of Skateboard Libby.Mr. Fitzgerald kicked off a classic display of overstep on October 28th, 2005, when he announced that the District of Columbia Grand Jury had returned a five-count indictment of I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby, who had been Vice President Dick Cheney's chief of staff. It was the culmination of Fitzgerald's investigation into the now-infamous Valerie Plame case. For those who were smart enough not to pay attention, Valerie Plame, the wife of former Ambassador-to-Tiny-West-African-Nations Joseph C. Wilson, was a CIA employee whose employment with the CIA had been classified. On July 14th, 2003, she was identified in a column by Robert Novak as a CIA employee. Somewhere along the way, her status had been inappropriately or illegally divulged to Novak and possibly others, and an investigation followed. It lasted over two years.

The investigation was passed late in 2003 from the Attorney General, John Ashcroft, to the Deputy Attorney General, James Comey, who in turn gave Patrick Fitzgerald special prosecutor status. And after a very long investigation, no one was charged for illegally divulging Valerie Plame’s employment at the CIA.

But one would not know that by listening to Patrick Fitzgerald’s press conference when he indicted Libby with obstruction of justice, perjury and lying to the FBI. Let’s parse some large swaths of it:

Good afternoon. I'm Pat Fitzgerald. I'm the United States attorney in Chicago, but I'm appearing before you today as the Department of Justice special counsel in the CIA leak investigation.

Oh, oh! Did you see that? Blatant! Oh, wait a minute, I’m getting ahead of myself.


A few hours ago, a federal grand jury sitting in the District of Columbia returned a five-count indictment against I. Lewis Libby, also known as Scooter Libby, the vice president's chief of staff. The grand jury's indictment charges that Mr. Libby committed five crimes. The indictment charges one count of obstruction of justice of the federal grand jury, two counts of perjury and two counts of false statements.

So far, so good. But whether he intends to or not, Fitzgerald misleads everyone listening when he starts putting things into "context":


Valerie Wilson was a CIA officer. In July 2003, the fact that Valerie Wilson was a CIA officer was classified. Not only was it classified, but it was not widely known outside the intelligence community.

Valerie Wilson's friends, neighbors, college classmates had no idea she had another life.

The fact that she was a CIA officer was not well-known, for her protection or for the benefit of all us. It's important that a CIA officer's identity be protected, that it be protected not just for the officer, but for the nation's security.

Valerie Wilson's cover was blown in July 2003. The first sign of that cover being blown was when Mr. Novak published a column on July 14th, 2003.

But Mr. Novak was not the first reporter to be told that Wilson's wife, Valerie Wilson, Ambassador Wilson's wife, Valerie, worked at the CIA. Several other reporters were told.

In fact, Mr. Libby was the first official known to have told a reporter when he talked to Judith Miller in June of 2003 about Valerie Wilson.

Oops! Now, raise your hands if by this point in time you would have 1) stopped listening to the windy press statement, and changed the channel, and 2) glazed over the first mention of Scooter Libby and concluded that he was being charged with knowingly and illegally divulging Valerie Plame’s classified status.


It's critical that when an investigation is conducted by prosecutors, agents and a grand jury they learn who, what, when, where and why. And then they decide, based upon accurate facts, whether a crime has been committed, who has committed the crime, whether you can prove the crime and whether the crime should be charged.

[snip]

That's the way this investigation was conducted. It was known that a CIA officer's identity was blown, it was known that there was a leak. We needed to figure out how that happened, who did it, why, whether a crime was committed, whether we could prove it, whether we should prove it. And, given that national security was at stake, it was especially important that we find out accurate facts.

There's another thing about a grand jury investigation. One of the obligations of the prosecutors and the grand juries is to keep the information obtained in the investigation secret, not to share it with the public. And, as frustrating as that may be for the public, that is important because, the way our system of justice works, if information is gathered about people and they're not charged with a crime, we don't hold up that information for the public to look at. We either charge them with a crime or we don't.

And if you cannot charge them with a particular crime, you can always hold an over-the-top press conference and put the emphasis on the part of the story that is not even the object of the indictment.


That brings us to the fall of 2003. When it was clear that Valerie Wilson's cover had been blown, investigation began. And in October 2003, the FBI interviewed Mr. Libby. Mr. Libby is the vice president's chief of staff. He's also an assistant to the president and an assistant to the vice president for national security affairs.

The focus of the interview was what it that he had known about Wilson's wife, Valerie Wilson, what he knew about Ms. Wilson, what he said to people, why he said it, and how he learned it. And, to be frank, Mr. Libby gave the FBI a compelling story.

Yikes. Fitzgerald’s “context” – while perhaps important to explain - still gives the impression that Mr. Libby was the crook behind the leak.


What he told the FBI is that essentially he was at the end of a long chain of phone calls. He spoke to reporter Tim Russert, and during the conversation Mr. Russert told him that, "Hey, do you know that all the reporters know that Mr. Wilson's wife works at the CIA?"

And he told the FBI that he learned that information as if it were new, and it struck him. So he took this information from Mr. Russert and later on he passed it on to other reporters, including reporter Matthew Cooper of Time magazine, reporter Judith Miller of The New York Times.

And he told the FBI that when he passed the information on on July 12th, 2003, two days before Mr. Novak's column, that he passed it on understanding that this was information he had gotten from a reporter, that he didn't even know if it was true.

And he told the FBI that when he passed the information on to the reporters he made clear that he didn't know if this were true. This was something that all the reporters were saying and, in fact, he just didn't know and he wanted to be clear about it.

Later, Mr. Libby went before the grand jury on two occasions in March of 2004. He took an oath and he testified. And he essentially said the same thing. He said that, in fact, he had learned from the vice president earlier in June 2003 information about Wilson's wife, but he had forgotten it, and that when he learned the information from Mr. Russert during this phone call he learned it as if it were new.

When he passed the information on to reporters Cooper and Miller late in the week, he passed it on thinking it was just information he received from reporters; that he told reporters that, in fact, he didn't even know if it were true. He was just passing gossip from one reporter to another at the long end of a chain of phone calls.

It would be a compelling story that will lead the FBI to go away, if only it were true. It is not true, according to the indictment.

In fact, Mr. Libby discussed the information about Valerie Wilson at least half a dozen times before this conversation with Mr. Russert ever took place, not to mention that when he spoke to Mr. Russert, Mr. Russert and he never discussed Valerie Wilson or Wilson's wife.

He didn't learn it from Mr. Russert. But if he had, it would not have been new at the time.

Let me talk you through what the indictment alleges.

Finally! Yes, for goodness sake, talk about what the indictment actually alleges. Up until this point, Fitzgerald is throwing around the impression that Libby is being indicted for something else – namely, the leak itself.


The indictment alleges that Mr. Libby learned the information about Valerie Wilson at least three times in June of 2003 from government officials.

Let me make clear there was nothing wrong with government officials discussing Valerie Wilson or Mr. Wilson or his wife and imparting the information to Mr. Libby. But in early June, Mr. Libby learned about Valerie Wilson and the role she was believed to play in having sent Mr. Wilson on a trip overseas from a senior CIA officer on or around June 11th, from an undersecretary of state on or around June 11th, and from the vice president on or about June 12th.

It's also clear, as set forth in the indictment, that some time prior to July 8th he also learned it from somebody else working in the Vice President's Office.

So at least four people within the government told Mr. Libby about Valerie Wilson, often referred to as Wilson's wife, working at the CIA and believed to be responsible for helping organize a trip that Mr. Wilson took overseas.

In addition to hearing it from government officials, it's also alleged in the indictment that at least three times Mr. Libby discussed this information with other government officials.

It's alleged in the indictment that on June 14th of 2003, a full month before Mr. Novak's column, Mr. Libby discussed it in a conversation with a CIA briefer in which he was complaining to the CIA briefer his belief that the CIA was leaking information about something or making critical comments, and he brought up Joe Wilson and Valerie Wilson.

It's also alleged in the indictment that Mr. Libby discussed it with the White House press secretary on July 7th, 2003, over lunch. What's important about that is that Mr. Libby, the indictment alleges, was telling Mr. Fleischer something on Monday that he claims to have learned on Thursday.

In addition to discussing it with the press secretary on July 7th, there was also a discussion on or about July 8th in which counsel for the vice president was asked a question by Mr. Libby as to what paperwork the Central Intelligence Agency would have if an employee had a spouse go on a trip.

So that at least seven discussions involving government officials prior to the day when Mr. Libby claims he learned this information as if it were new from Mr. Russert. And, in fact, when he spoke to Mr. Russert, they never discussed it.

But in addition to focusing on how it is that Mr. Libby learned this information and what he thought about it, it's important to focus on what it is that Mr. Libby said to the reporters.

In the account he gave to the FBI and to the grand jury was that he told reporters Cooper and Miller at the end of the week, on July 12th. And that what he told them was he gave them information that he got from other reporters; other reporters were saying this, and Mr. Libby did not know if it were true. And in fact, Mr. Libby testified that he told the reporters he did not even know if Mr. Wilson had a wife.

And, in fact, we now know that Mr. Libby discussed this information about Valerie Wilson at least four times prior to July 14th, 2003: on three occasions with Judith Miller of The New York Times and on one occasion with Matthew Cooper of Time magazine.

The first occasion in which Mr. Libby discussed it with Judith Miller was back in June 23rd of 2003, just days after an article appeared online in The New Republic which quoted some critical commentary from Mr. Wilson.

After that discussion with Judith Miller on June 23rd, 2003, Mr. Libby also discussed Valerie Wilson on July 8th of 2003.

During that discussion, Mr. Libby talked about Mr. Wilson in a conversation that was on background as a senior administration official. And when Mr. Libby talked about Wilson, he changed the attribution to a former Hill staffer.

During that discussion, which was to be attributed to a former Hill staffer, Mr. Libby also discussed Wilson's wife, Valerie Wilson, working at the CIA - and then, finally, again, on July 12th.

In short - and in those conversations, Mr. Libby never said, "This is something that other reporters are saying"; Mr. Libby never said, "This is something that I don't know if it's true"; Mr. Libby never said, "I don't even know if he had a wife."

At the end of the day, what appears is that Mr. Libby's story that he was at the tail end of a chain of phone calls, passing on from one reporter what he heard from another, was not true.

It was false. He was at the beginning of the chain of phone calls, the first official to disclose this information outside the government to a reporter. And then he lied about it afterwards, under oath and repeatedly.

Hang on, Patrick. If Scooter Libby was the first official to disclose this information outside the government to a reporter, why was he not charged for doing this? Why is it okay for a prosecutor to tell the press that a man is guilty of the object of a long investigation if the same man is not under indictment for this offense? I thought you were going to get to the point of the indictment, which was one count of obstruction of justice, two counts of perjury, and two counts of uttering false statements to the FBI. Oh, wait, here’s a brief bit in the next paragraph:


But I think what we see here today, when a vice president's chief of staff is charged with perjury and obstruction of justice, it does show the world that this is a country that takes its law seriously; that all citizens are bound by the law.

That’s it?
But what we need to also show the world is that we can also apply the same safeguards to all our citizens, including high officials. Much as they must be bound by the law, they must follow the same rules.

So I ask everyone involved in this process, anyone who participates in this trial, anyone who covers this trial, anyone sitting home watching these proceedings to follow this process with an American appreciation for our values and our dignity. Let's let the process take place. Let's take a deep breath and let justice process the system.

Sniff, sniff... I’m touched. What office are you running for, Patrick? I thought prosecutors were supposed to, you know, prosecute. You know, in court. Not before the press. Save it for the jury, and stop behaving like you enjoy being a pontificating blowhard before the TV cameras.

The entire business was over the top. The press conference was over the top, and the investigation – particularly the rough way it treated the reporters – was over the top. I wonder how happy the press is that a special federal prosecutor essentially set a new precedent for coercing reporters to testify under oath about their confidential sources. And after an investigation of two years, Fitzgerald could not find evidence of a criminal leak of Valerie Plame’s status. That sure as hell didn’t stop him from giving the opposite impression when he charged Libby, though.

And before anyone jumps on me for defending Scooter Libby, I’m not. He was convicted of four of the five counts in the indictment, and they were serious matters. I am glad he did not go to jail, because as I mentioned above, the sentences handed out for political crimes are very heavy. I have gone on record here in the past as being somewhat (but not completely) unsympathetic when a government official goes to jail. It goes with the territory when you wander the halls of power. You may overstep your role and break the law, either intentionally or unintentionally. Your boss’s political enemies may find a way to paint you into a corner with trumped up charges. It is shitty, but it is a risk that should be assessed by anyone asked to serve at high levels of political power.

I do admit a high level of unsympathy for Joe Wilson and his wife Valerie Plame. Here’s a bit of advice for other Washington power couples:

Do not write an op-ed for the New York Times talking about your trip to Africa, if your being asked by the US government to make the trip depended on your wife’s employment with the CIA, and your wife’s employment with the CIA is supposed to be secret.

* * * * * * * *

And now the same Patrick Fitzgerald has Rod Blagojevich in his sights.

Blago is in very deep crap. The indictment has 19 counts, of which I believe 16 apply to Blago, and they’re going to be harder than hell, if not impossible, to beat in court. The indictment was announced on April 2nd, 2009. The accusations against Blago, as enumerated in an Associated Press story on April 3rd:


  • Directing billions of dollars in bond business to a company whose lobbyist secretly agreed to give them hundreds of thousands of dollars.


  • Having convicted developer Tony Rezko give the governor's wife, Patti Blagojevich, tens of thousands of dollars in real estate fees and salaries that she didn't really earn.


  • Arranging job interviews for Patti Blagojevich with financial institutions doing business with the state. When no jobs materialized, the governor allegedly said he didn't want the companies to get any further state business.


  • Handing out a high-level state job in exchange for $50,000 in donations to Blagojevich's campaign.


  • Telling a lobbyist that it would take a $50,000 donation to get his client on the list of recommended investment funds for the Teachers' Retirement System.


  • Threatening to block a $220 million TRS investment with Capri Capital unless Capri's owner arranged substantial donations to Blagojevich.


  • Threatening to withhold a $2 million state grant to a public school unless a U.S. congressman arranged a political fundraiser for Blagojevich.


  • Demanding a $50,000 donation from the head of Children's Memorial Hospital in return for approving increased state support children's health care.


  • Extorting $100,000 in donations from two horse racing tracks and a racing executive in exchange for quick approval of legislation the tracks wanted.


  • Extorting $500,000 in donations from a construction-materials company and a company executive in return for action benefiting the road construction industry.


  • Withholding state aid sought by the Tribune Co. unless the company fired unfriendly editorial writers at the Chicago Tribune.


  • Scheming to get personal benefits, such as a Cabinet post or a lucrative union job, in exchange for Blagojevich's decision on who would replace Barack Obama in the U.S. Senate.


  • Soliciting help from national fundraiser Joseph Cari in exchange for state business and contracts.


  • Using improper influence to block efforts to consolidate several retirement funds.


  • Discussing the possibility of getting U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald removed in an effort to block his investigation.


  • Lying to the FBI.

The second to last one sounds like reasonable behaviour to me. (All right, I’m kidding!) But the issue I have with Patrick Fitzgerald again stems from his comments to the press. And in this case, the comments made to the press were made fully four months prior to the indictment. Not the date of the indictment, but four months prior.

Quick now: how many of you reading this would like a United States Attorney to make accusations against you in public regarding alleged offenses for which you have not even been charged? And if you think it’s okay because Blago is a politician, why do you think this is okay? If a politician’s reputation or his chance for a fair trial later on can be destroyed by the words of a prosecutor who is not yet ready to indict but is yapping anyway, why not yours too? And if you think it’s okay because Blago is clearly guilty, ask yourself if you think you would like to live in a country where what the acceptability of what the government says about you is based on a presumption of guilt prior to the same damn government even having its charges ready to file against you. Against you. First they came for the sleazy douchebag politician with the helmet hair....

Don’t think it’s any big deal? Well, let's see what Fitzgerald said back in December 2008, when Governor Blagojevich was arrested – the arrest was necessary, I assume, because Fitzgerald could not simply pick up the telephone and inform the governor or the governor’s lawyer that he was under investigation. Sometimes those damn telephones do not work well, and an arrest is the only way to go.

Oh, wait – there was a compelling public interest at stake here. The public ought to have the right to know that the governor is under investigation. If that’s the case, then perhaps a less political and more reasonable approach would be to release a statement informing the public that the governor is under investigation, and outline – in broad, general terms – what the investigation is all about.

Sorry for the lengthy buildup. Here is what Patrick Fitzgerald actually said:


This is a sad day for government. It's a very sad day for Illinois government. Governor Blagojevich has taken us to a truly new low. Governor Blagojevich has been arrested in the middle of what we can only describe as a political corruption crime spree. We acted to stop that crime spree.

Hold on a second, Pat. You’re not the dang jury. You’re the prosecutor. You prosecute in court, and you prove your case. And before you even get there, you indict. Am I the only one who finds it a little unseemly that a federal prosecutor is accusing a politician of taking “us to a truly new low” via a “crime spree” months before he is ready to file charges?


The most appalling conduct Governor Blagojevich engaged in, according to the complaint filed today or unsealed today, is that he attempted to sell the Senate seat -- the Senate seat he had the sole right, under Illinois law, to appoint to replace President-elect Obama.

I am not excusing this if it is true, but I seriously doubt it is the first instance of a state governor doing something like this.


Let me take you back eight weeks ago to set the allegations in context. Back eight weeks ago, we had the following environment. There was a known investigation of the Blagojevich administration that had been going on for years, involving allegations of pay-to-play conduct and corruption. There had been a recent trial of an associate of Governor Blagojevich in which allegations were aired where people testified that government -- Blagojevich was involved in corrupt conduct. And there was an Ethics in Government Act that was pending, that would go in effect January 1 of 2009, that would bar certain contributions from people doing business with the state of Illinois. You might have thought in that environment that pay to play would slow down. The opposite happened. It sped up. Government -- Blagojevich and others were working feverishly to get as much money from contractors, shaking them down, pay to play, before the end of the year.

Does this sound like a prosecutor to you? Or does this sound like a political opponent?


[snip]

After being aware that actually the pay-to-play scheme had taken up greater steam and greater urgency, back eight weeks ago, after careful review, decision was made that more extraordinary means of investigation needed to be used. After that point, a bug was placed in the campaign offices of Governor Blagojevich and a tap was placed on his home telephone. And that tap and that bug bore out what those allegations were.

Why would a prosecutor say all of these things in public before he is ready to indict? Is it because he feels he has to justify an unnecessary arrest?


I'll give you two examples set forth in the 76-page complaint. One involves Children's Memorial Hospital, a hospital that obviously takes care of children. At one point, the governor awarded funding -- reimbursement funding to that hospital to the tune of $8 million, but he also indicated privately that what he wanted to get was a $50,000 personal contribution from the chief executive officer of that hospital. In the ensuing weeks, that contribution never came, and Governor Blagojevich was intercepted on the telephone, checking to see whether or not he could pull back the funding for Children's Memorial Hospital.

Shame! It was for the children! Won’t someone please think of the children?


A second example is legislation that is pending concerning horse racing. There is a bill that, I believe, sits on the governor's desk that would take money from casino revenues and divert a percentage of it to horse-racing tracks. While this was pending, the interceptions show that the governor was told that one person who he is seeking to have -- raise $100,000 also was working with a person who was seeking that money to have a -- a bill pending. And the governor was told that the person who wanted that bill, from whom they wanted money, was told the following, that he needed to get his contribution in.

And the quote was, "Look, there is a concern that there is going to be some skittishness if your bill gets signed because of the timeliness of the commitment," close quote. Then the person told the contributor, the money, quote, "got to be in now," close quote.

And when the governor was told this part of the conversation, his response was, "Good."

Shortly thereafter, the person who was trying to get the contribution from the person who had the bill pending suggested that the governor call the person directly, that it would be better to get the call personally from the governor, quote, "from a pressure point of view," close quote. And the governor agreed.

As we sit here now, as far as we know, that bill sits on the governor's desk. That $8 million in funding is still pending.

In addition to the pay-to-play allegations which are described in greater detail in the complaint, we also were surprised to learn of an extortionate attempt against the Chicago Tribune newspaper. The Chicago Tribune had not been kind to Governor Blagojevich, had written editorials that called for his impeachment. And Governor Blagojevich and defendant Jonathan -- John Harris, his chief of staff, schemed to send a message to the Chicago Tribune that if the Tribune company wanted to sell its ball field, Wrigley Field, in order to complete a business venture, the price of doing so was to fire certain editors, including one editor by name.

In the governor words -- governor's words, quote, "Fire all those bleeping people. Get them the bleep out of there and get us some editorial support," close quote. And the bleeps are not really bleeps.

The defendant Harris tried to frame the message more subtly to get the point across to the Tribune that firing the editorial board members would be a good thing in terms of getting financing to allow the sale to go forward.

But the most cynical behavior in all this, the most appalling is the fact that Governor Blagojevich tried to sell the appointment to the Senate seat vacated by President-elect Obama.

The conduct would make Lincoln roll over in his grave.

This may seem like no big deal, fans and friends, but I think it is. This is Patrick Fitzgerald, the U.S. Attorney, talking. He is not in court, trying for a bit of dramatic flair to impress the pretty girl with the nice brown eyes sitting on the jury. He is in public. The guy he is talking about had not even yet been charged when he said this. Fitzgerald is doing this only to impress the reporters covering his statement, and to impress the grannies sitting home watching the news. And that’s not what a federal prosecutor is supposed to do. He is supposed to know the law, describe the law to the jury, and argue how the facts of someone’s conduct transgress the law. His role is not to engage in dramatic political speech on television.


The governor's own words describing this Senate seat, quote: "It's a bleeping valuable thing, thing. You just don't give it away for nothing," close quote.

Another quote: "I've got this thing. And it's bleeping golden. I'm just not giving it up for bleeping nothing. I'm not going to do it. I can always use it. I can parachute me there," quote.

Those are his words, not our characterization, other than with regards to the bleeps. The tapes reveal the Governor Blagojevich wanted a number of things, in exchange, for making the appointment to the Senate seat -- an appointment as secretary of Health and Human Services or an ambassadorship, an appointment to a private foundation, a higher-paying job for his wife or campaign contributions.

At one point, he proposed a three-way deal, that a cushy union job would be given to him at a higher rate of pay, where he could make money. In exchange, he thought that the union might get benefits from the president-elect. And therefore the president-elect might get the candidate of his choice.

I should make clear, the complaint makes no allegations about the president-elect whatsoever, his conduct. This part of the scheme lost steam when the person that the governor thought was the president- elect's choice of senator took herself out of the running. But after the deal never happened, this is the governor's reaction, quote, "They're not willing to give me anything but appreciation. Bleep them," close quote. And again, the bleep is a redaction.

I bet – I just bet – Rod Blagojevich is the first governor in the history of the United States to use off-colour language.


What I should also talk about is that, in another event, somebody else approached the governor. And the governor's understanding of this approach was that in exchange for an appointment, to the Senate seat, he would receive campaign contributions. And the governor's view of what was told, to him, through intermediaries was that, quote, "We were approached pay-to-play that, you know, he raised me 500 grand. Then the other guy would raise a million if I made him senator," close quote.

This is a conversation where the senator is describing how he perceived a message that came through multiple hands. His concern: Was he offended that, he thought, campaign contributions were being offered in exchange for a Senate seat? No. He was worried that the campaign contributions would actually be paid. He wasn't against the corrupt deal. He was against being stiffed in the corrupt deal.

His quote was, he wanted the money, quote, "tangible, up front," close quote. He told someone who was his intermediary, quote, "Some of this stuff has got to start happening now, right now. And we've got to see it," close quote.

Just last week, he was saying this to someone, to make sure that the money was going to be up front. And he said, quote, "You've got to be careful how you express that and assume everybody's listening. The whole world is listening. I would do it in person. I would not do it on the phone," close quote. That's the governor of Illinois.

After an article appeared in the Tribune, last week, indicating a belief that Mr. Blagojevich had been taped, then a message was sent for him to undo contact with the intermediary on that campaign contribution deal.

And finally we should also note that the governor talked about appointing himself to the Senate seat, for reasons not having to do with the better welfare of the citizens of Illinois.

He wanted to do it to avoid impeachment in the Illinois legislature for his conduct. He wanted to do it to have access to greater financial resources if he were indicted. He wanted to do it to see if he could help his wife work as a lobbyist. He wanted to do it to remake his image, to run for office in 2016. And he wanted to do it to see if he could generate speaking fees.

I am dreadfully sorry if I do not see how the conduct in the previous paragraph is criminal, or how it is any of Patrick Fitzgerald’s business. All of the allegations here are purely political in nature. A governor wants to get a new job before the legislature tries and fires him? No wonder. A governor wants to get a higher-paying job because he anticipates he shall fall under indictment, and find himself in need of money for legal fees? No damn wonder. The government has unlimited resources to prosecute. A governor wants to see if he could get a lobbying job for his wife? Politically, you may not like it, but it is not criminal. A governor wants a change of venue to try to repair his damaged public image? No wonder. A governor thinks a certain political move may, in the future, generate higher speaking fees? So bloody what? How is this the business of a federal prosecutor?


At the end of the day, the conduct we have before us is appalling.

What I do want to note is that, at the end of the day, it's very, very important that how we proceed from here be the right way to proceed. We have a lot of information gained from a number of interviews and investigation over the years. We have a tremendous amount of information gained from the wiretap and the bugs that occurred over the last month and a half or so.

What we also know is that some of these schemes went pretty far, and some did not go far at all, but they had discussions about what they would do, who they would approach, and how they would phrase it. And we need to do the investigation, now that the investigation is overt, to find out from other people what happened: what they were told, how explicitly, what they understood, and what happened. That part of the investigation we intend to conduct responsibly.

We hope that people out there understand that this complaint only charges two individuals. These two individuals are presumed innocent. But we make no charges about any of the other people who are referenced in the complaint, most not by name. And people should not cast aspersions on people who are discussed on the wiretap or bug tapes for conduct when other people are scheming to figure out how to approach them for different things. We hope you'll bear that in mind and not cast aspersions on people for being named or being discussed, or if you learn they're being interviewed.

"These two individuals are presumed innocent." What? Is Fitzgerald kidding? After all the accusations, hyperbole, drama and grandstanding, Patrick Fitzgerald has the audacity to say, “Oh, yeah, it is my duty to mention that these two people are presumed innocent, and I have to proceed the right way, and prove my case in court, etc. etc.” What a bunch of nonsense.


The other part is that I think this is a moment of truth for Illinois. In all seriousness, we have times when people decry corruption; and yet, here we have a situation where there appeared to be wide-ranging schemes where people were seeking to make people pay contributions to get contracts or appointments or do other stuff.

The FBI and their sister agencies at Postal, IRS and the Department of Labor have done a magnanimous -- a magnificent job. They will continue to work very, very hard. But what we really need is cooperation from people who are not in law enforcement, the people outside who heard or saw things or were approached in ways that felt uncomfortable. If they felt uncomfortable and they think, "This is not how you run a government," they ought to come forward and give us that information. It's very, very important that we get that information, so we can make the right decisions about where to proceed from here.

Translation: “Uh, some of what I’m saying is me talking through my ass. I have suspicions only but cannot prove them all. Someone please come forward and help me.”


I can tell you we've been conducting interviews during the day, and we're already quite heartened to hear that there are a number of people out there who were appalled by this conduct who are willing to come forward and talk to us. So we encourage people to talk to us. We encourage people to work with us, to let us get to the bottom of what has happened here.

We remind people that there's a lot we don't know and need to know. We remind people that we -- there's an awful lot we do know, and we'll be able to verify what people tell us. But we ask that the press, in particular, recognize that we're not casting aspersions on people other than the two people we charged, and bear that in mind and be responsible.

Getting to the bottom of things shall hopefully include the discovery that much of what went on in Rod Blagojevich’s tenure was of a political, not a criminal, nature. I actually do believe that the governor broke the law and I also believe he is going to pay dearly for it. In fact, he already has.

But Patrick Fitzgerald continues to colour outside the lines because of his zealotry for the law. He continues the unhappy American trend known as the criminalization of politics. He has become a grandstanding blowhard who presents the appearance of a man obsessed with enhancing his small acre of fame.

And I appear to be the only person in Christendom calling him on it.