The Political Shell Game: Hypocrites Unite!

“She moves like she don't care, Smooth as silk,
Cool as air,
Oooh it makes you wanna cry.
She doesn't know your name and your heart beats like a subway train.
Oooh it makes you wanna die.
Oooh don't you wanna take her? Wanna' make her all your own? Maria …You've gotta see her.
Go insane and out of your mind.
Latina…
Ave Maria.
A million and one candlelight’s.

I've seen this thing before,
In my best friends and the boy next door.
Fool for love and full of fire,
Won't come in from the rain…
She's oceans running down the drain…
Blue as ice and desire.
Don't you wanna make her?
Oooh don't you wanna take her home?
Maria…
You've gotta see her.
Go insane and out of your mind.
Latina,
Ave Maria…
A million and one candlelight’s”
--“Maria” by Blondie off of the No Exit album.

Liar Liar, pants on fire; or in the case of South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, the fire is in the pants; so to speak.

I really am not as interested in if he had an affair with Maria from Argentina. What I like about the latest political scandal is that the Republicans were so quick to condemn Clinton, so quick to call themselves the party of family values, and so obnoxious to pry into the private lives of every Democrat out there. And when one of their own is caught, well, “we have to respect his/her privacy,” and “feel sorry for his/her family.”

The other thing that offends me is the romantic writing if the emails Sanford sent.

For example Sanford writes, “You have a particular grace and calm that I adore. You have a level of sophistication that so fitting with your beauty. I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificent gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curve of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of the night’s light…but hey, that would be going into sexual details.”

Lord, how sophomoric. Tan lines, curve of the hips, and I wonder what two parts of Maria are magnificent in her eroticism? Translation for those who are not catching it all, Mark Sanford likes Maria’s big boobs. And as for the “hey that would be going into sexual details” line, nice save, NOT! Can you imagine this buffoon, I openly admit that I like your boobs, but I do not want to talk sexually. What a dipstick.

Then this married guy who stands up for family values gets this reply from Maria: “You are my love ... something hard to believe even for myself as it's also a kind of impossible love, not only because of distance but situation. Sometimes you don't choose things, they just happen... I can't redirect my feelings and I am very happy with mine towards you.”

These sound like the lyrics for a bad pop song by the Bay City Rollers, or Elton John, or the Raspberries or some other schlock band of the mid-seventies. We “don’t choose things?” Well, wrong Maria and Governor Sanford, yes we do. You chose to be unfaithful. You chose to write drivel and dreck. You chose to check out each other’s “magnificent parts” each other’s bodies.

Now I am curious what she looks like, because the Media dragged out picture of Sanford’s wife, Jenny. She’s fairly attractive. I need to understand Mark Sanford’s position as I want to see the magnificent parts of Maria that she holds up erotically in the moonlight.

Now will Sanford do the responsible thing and step down? No, I suspect not.

The thing about this is that this “man” heck’s out Maria’s “magnificent body parts” on Father’s day. Hmmm, not the best candidate for Man of the Year, huh?

I know I am turning over a new leaf and trying not to judge others, but “Duh.” I feel, especially after reading these letters, that I have intercepted one of my freshman’s notebooks and the kids collects love notes. I can see it now, a Big Notebook with a heart on it and inside the heart it “Says Mark Loves Jenny” (and then it is scribbled out and in its place is) “Maria.”

A Titanic Trip

“There are wounds that bleed inside us...

There are wounds we never see...

They are part of our refinements,

That allow a man to be.

There are wounds that bleed in silence...

With aristocratic grace;

There are tears we keep beside them;

Never seen upon a face

Dear God

Do you think it's wise

To remember everything that has ever happened?

Dear God

Could we compromise

Or must the shadows of this night be everlasting?

I believe what the prophets said...

That the oceans hold their dead.

As I contemplate this stand...

What I do,

Is who I am

I believe what the prophets said...

That the oceans hold their dead,

But at night when the waves are near...

They whisper...

And I hear”

--Jon Oliva from “The Wake Of Magellan” from the album of the same name, 1997.

Jen and I ventured out last Sunday to see the traveling Titanic Museum. In this show, sponsored by country companies, as one can clearly see, various artifacts were brought to the surface for viewers to see the largest disaster ever caused by an iceberg and ego-maniacal people.

We saw watches and trinkets, money, suitcases, buttons, notes, money, photos, a spittoon, and other treasures from the relic.

We were given a boarding pass to match our passenger at the end to see if we made it. I was married and took the cheap seats on the voyage. As a result, my wife, children and I perished. Jen was a wife who was in second class, a class above me. Lotta good it did her, she died as well as her husband and children, too.

Still it was interesting to see.

The problem was we arrived at 1:00 PM, and from where we started they said “3 hour wait.” We decided to stick it out. 4 and ¾ hours later, we arrived to where the picture above was taken, just before the entrance. Now Jen looks a bit like Kate Winslett to me, but I am not Leonardo Di Capreo at all. The walk through exhibit lasted about 25 minutes from start to finish.

We would go ten feet every fifteen minutes. We both were sunburned and our backs were sore. Still we waited. Jen took a break to get some chocolate from the Borders in the mall where this exhibition was showing—the exhibit was in the lot. WE saw a woman feint twice and EMT’s were called. The classy people of Peoria, Illinois, were understanding and made room for the EMT’s to help, except for a few jokers who were taking pictures (and no I am not kidding) of the person suffering heat stroke. Where would you share that photo?

Afterwards we went to the Kaiserhoff German Restaurant, which had 16 German beers on tap, including a wide variety of excellent (I am confident) wheat beers and Pinikatas and BBK Dark.

I had none; although I had a Sprecher Root Beer from the tap. It was good.

When we arrived home, after Jen slept in the car, me jamming out to Kamelot and cranking the air-conditioning, we entered her house, hit the TV, and found Titanic on TNT.

We were both a bit creeped out by the irony.

The Final Stroke

“Lock me away, where the silly boys go;
I’m on top of my nerve, don’t you know?
Take me apart ‘cause I’m out of control
Send me a letter on a midnight scroll…
I got a lot on my head,
Most of it’s you
Got a lot on my head,
Can’t forget about you.”

--Ric Ocasek and Ben Orr, “I Got A Lot On My Head,” as performed by The Cars, from the album Candy-O, 1979.

The “you” above refers to the stroke. Pun intended on the lot on my head line.

Home now for six weeks, bored, depression has crept in and out and the basic lack of carbs have all contributed to the dreaded “C” word. Not that one, but rather change.

Warren G. Harding wanted a return to normalcy. I do as well, and perhaps that is what is needed. Someone stop me, now. I am quoting bad Republican Presidents for goodness sakes.

Some changes cannot be reversed. Less carbs, no beer, and more healthy eating is essential for the survival. That I understand. Surprisingly, I do not miss the beer. I miss potato chips now and again, but not beer. That kind of takes me aback to a degree. Thus a change.

Less stress is needed in my life. That is also a change, especially for a type A Personality like me. I really wish folks would do me a favor, and not push my buttons on stressful stuff. I do not want to get involved with the daily stressors that I normally fend off for others. As an example, I went to school Friday, and was hit up for a union issue, as an immature teacher felt there was a reason to bother our membership leaders and me for a petty question/concern that had nothing to do with the union. I am resigned to thinking that if you live a venomous life like this annoying faculty member, you will have poison running through your relationships with others.

One thing I did not expect was how depressing this damnable thing has been. I think that is only enhanced by boredom. My doctors agree. So I am back to see my counselor who helped me during the “pity me; I have had heart surgery” years. He's helped calm me down. The church Jen and I attend and are joining has been a spiritual revival for me as well.

One thing is that if I go out and return to my “social tendencies,” although some would call it a cross of my ego and my ability to be a ham or show off or something similar. It was very therapeutic for me to go back to the graduation. I saw some of my seniors off, some I missed, and I mingled. I also went back to work Friday to say hello to faculty members missed and goodbye to some of those leaving. I was living to make a difference, blessed to be a blessing to others.

People ask questions and they are concerned, but I have a tendency to give too much information, and then I have a tendency to bore the snot out of them. Suffice to say, this is the last “stroke” blog for a whole. I will get back to the usual stuff soon. People do not want to hear my procedural stuff, the fact that I really think I was blessed, and the like. I now just say, “The doctors are pleased, so I am pleased.”

One thing, folks reading this who know me and random readers who happened to hit this site, I must say:

Here is my last stroke Blog/Advice Commentary:

Eric Sweetwood's “If-you-know-someone-who-suffered-a-stroke-or-something-similar-how-to-act-and-how-not-to-react” Primer.

Most stroke patients go though the surprise of the whole thing, the fear it will happen again, and the shock of it all. Please, for their sake, do NOT add to their stress: be extra kind and extra gentle and upon occasion, just be quiet.

Further, comparative comments like “when my aunt had that she had rehab for six weeks—you are lucky,” or comments like “well, it could have been cancer, you are lucky.” No one with a stroke feels lucky. If they have recovered well and they know (like in my case) they will realize their good fortune, luck, blessing, the divine intervention or whatever you wish to call it, soon enough. Pacing is the key.

Lastly, please follow this last bit of advice for dealing with the stroke victim: do not play doctor and demand answers or offer commentary as to the cause of the stroke—as an example, someone said to me, “well, if you did not drink so much beer..” blah blah blah or another asked “well why don’t they know what caused it? You need to know, bah blah blah” and comments like that.

The best thing I can suggest for anyone going through this is as Warren G. Harding suggests is a return to Normalcy. My God, I am still quoting bad republican Presidents—maybe my brain is not as clear as I thought. Anyway, normal activities are good. It felt good to be at the awards evening, or the graduation, or talking to friends.

Yes, I dwell on this stroke because it confuses me as to why it happened, but I am getting over the “pity me” part of this thing, but talking (or even writing about it) is a reminder.

I am glad to be alive, I am thankful for the love of my family (thanks Dan, Karen, Angela, Mark, and Mary—you all now why) and friends, I am thankful Jen and her uncompromising love and the fact that she took care of me for two weeks (see picture above--she is so cute and has a beautiful heart), thanks for all of the good folks who visited me or sent cards or emails of well-wishes and the like, I am glad I was treated so quickly, the Doctors knew what they were/are doing, and I feel honestly as if I was blessed by God..

As one doctor told me, “live everyday like it is your last and have fun, or live everyday like you will talk about it in twenty-five years—you will find that both are the same. If you live your life looking over your shoulder waiting for the next stroke, fear wins, and that is not a good way to live your life.”

I refuse to give in to fear and let it pervade in my life. It is time to go back to normal. I promise something about the Bears, Batman, social comments, my damn ego, or the like next time.