Campaign Diaries, 2014

           4/24 Here's a Nebraska clue for all you carpetbaggers bragging how your pal-for-Governor will show everybody how to balance a budget: EVERY NEBRASKA GOVERNOR HAS TO BALANCE THE BUDGET. Jim Exon and Bob Kerry did it. Kay Orr and Mike Johanns did it. Ben Nelson did it. The last one did it. The next one will do it. It's the law. So why not just pack your bags. If “trickle down” works so well, maybe you should go spend a little more time under the smart faucet. PS We all know you're really talking about Wisconsin Wrecking Ball budgeting. Next month we'll know if Nebraskans fell for it.

Butter Tub Woes

           Had to go see the shrink, Brian Teaser, again. This overwhelming sense of bewilderment took me prisoner.

           “What do you want THIS time?!” he demanded in his usual welcoming manner? That doesn't really bother me—I'm just comforted that he is awake. I still watch him, though. Our session tapes are rife with words I've shouted in mid-sentence to startle him from one of his naps.

           “Doc, you remember how you told me I needed to lose myself in something I was passionate about?”

           “Yeeess,” he tendered, looking guarded.

           “And, remember my earth-friendly campaign?”

           “Oh, your 'Save The Butter Tubs' thing? Sure, I remember.”

           “Well, it's going badly.”

           “You do look a little...jaundiced. Have you been eating too much butter? I can prescribe something...”

           “No no Doc, that's not it. Although I did once try to give a tub of butter mouth-to-whatever...I stuck my face in it. Just that once...because it stopped moving.”

           “Wait, the butter was moving?”

           “Well no, I figured out I was just dizzy at the time. Anyway that's not WHY I'M HERE!” He sat up with a start. “I just don't get why people don't care about butter tubs.” He turned away for a moment and covered his face with his hands to think. “I can see it's time to go,” I continued, “but Doc, I know lots of people who wouldn't give a starving butter tub so much as a day old lump of haggus!

          “Me too,' he said, tearing up. He was crying softly as I closed the door.

The Cult of Believability

          The revealing truths Rand Paul used to utter about Reaganomics, and their present day repercussions for Paul, have bared an ugly truth about the Cult of Believability: It only seems true if EVERYBODY says it is true.

If you want to sing with the Big Boy Choir, learn the words: climate change is a trick, Obamacare is ruining America, austerity is the only way to prosperity, Social Security has failed, Medicare must be vouchered, government has no business helping people in need, corporations and the wealthy are overtaxed, the minimum wage should be unchanged or abolished, Ronald Reagan’s economics were perfect, and no Democrat ever did anything worthwhile. Well, maybe Tip O’Neal, but never Carter.

           Alas, the Big Lie is turning to big plural lies, becoming complex and difficult to manage! Despite near hegemony on Obamacare, one can see enemy campfires multiplying in the hills surrounding austerity, climate denial, and the other lies. Reality is gaining strength. Like Rock & Roll, irreverent reality is making unwanted noise for the Big Boy Choir, taunting it as America’s “Liar Choir” and jostling the beliefs of the doubting loyal.

          Most scientists say climate change is real. Obamacare is helping. Austerity only benefits the rich. Social Security is a stellar success, vouchers cheat people, government is what we do together, income inequality is stealing our prosperity, Reagan was human, and even Carter did some things right. So around here, we want the Big Boy Choir to know something: Rock & Roll is Here to Stay!

Bainwarble Buttles On

            A Welsh coloratura barritone butler with alimentary issues, who speaks no English is an invention of the cosmos, destined to find employment with a penny pincher somewhere. Two words: my house. My wife, who insists that toothpaste cannot be re-used, claims I'm cheap. But she doesn't mind the money I'm saving on our new butler, Glassshard Bainwarble. His English, so far, comprises, “Tea!” and “off-the-clock.” Ducky Bumps says, “A Welshman who doesn't speak English?! Ridiculous!”

             I'm intrigued by the whole matter. I'm teaching Bainwarble, but he is also teaching me. I never knew I had such a facility for language. While he was learning the phrase, “Would you come here, please?” he taught me how to say the same thing in Welsh: “anghenion dwp rhywun helpu.” I have to say, Bainwarble makes me feel quite egalitarian. Now, whenever I want something, I say, “Bainwarble, would you come here please? anghenion dwp rhywun helpu.”

             Ducky Bumps said, “Why don't you invest in one of those little electronic translators people use these days? You speak into the thing and it displays or says whatever you want it to.”

             “Never,” I stormed, “those things cost money!”

             “Okay,” she sighed. Later, she secretly obtained just such a gadget.

               At the risk of domestic ridicule, I determined to master Welsh, and lay in bed repeating my new phrase before going to sleep. Then I noticed Ducky Bumps looking at something in her hand and convulsing with silent laughter.

              “Well, we have to communicate,” I snapped.

The Least Worst Choice

In one remarkable political ad we’ve seen, the 21st Century version of Ian Flemming’s thug, Odd Job, knocks an Obama bobble-head doll off a post with utter scorn and brags how he stood with our Governor against availing 50,000 needy Nebraskans of affordable health care by preventing Medicaid expansion. He wants you to know he was a brick in the wall of obstruction that has been thrown in front of America’s progress and recovery.

The gubernatorial Primary is looking bleak. We’ve got “Daddy Stock Bucks” who wants to change the way government works (code for more breaks for the wealthy), “Beau Brummel” Bruning another solid brick who fought affordable health care and says he “won”, although it’s not clear anyone else did. And “Odd Job” McCoy, who thinks it’s cool to symbolically smack the POTUS to the ground.

Around here we think these three belong in the private sector. We don’t need an oligarch for Governor. We don’t need a wannabe oligarch either. "Beau Brummel" Bruning says he has a plan to reduce property tax revenue. Shifty. And C’mon, “Odd Job” McCoy’s behavior is just crude. Nebraskans don’t want someone who seems like a thug in the mansion. That may play well on TV, but in real life? Really?

Then, Carlson & Slone, fine men in whose corners the odds makers are not, should be scratched. To paraphrase Conan Doyle, When you’ve eliminated the ones you don’t want for this who-should-do-it primary, the one that remains is the least worst choice. Mike Foley has been quietly keeping state government honest for years.

How to Freeze Out Aggressors

          Those of us who are not CIA insiders may never know who dropped the ball in Ukraine. The internationally innocent among us may never learn how much the west’s failure to financially underpin Ukraine has impacted its political stability. And we probably will not get a contemporary account of how bad Ukraine’s government (the one we supposedly support) really is. It IS certain that our national broadcast news media will fail us in these matters. They’re too busy pimping their commercial wares, and parading hotties, to actually do news. If you doubt that, ask yourself how much they have actually taught you about how the US Congress works, and about the bills it passes.

          It does seem clear however, that Putin and his minions are going to continue encroaching on their neighbors, and generally behaving like they want a rematch of the Cold War (they lost the last one). The frightening thing is that Putin may be the best Russia has, in the way of leaders able to moderate that country’s behavior.

           Around here, we support coordinated international sanctions against Russians to encourage such moderation. It won’t work of course, but it’s good because it promotes dialogue and perhaps even consensus about discouraging aggression. In America, sanctions once imposed ought to be permanent. The perpetrators of aggression, Russian or otherwise, and their beneficiaries, should be excluded from everything America might offer, and our courts should proceed with permanent action against all their assets. Or are we just playing games here?

Bainwarble Settles In

          We are pleased with our new butler, Glassshard Bainwarble. We didn’t need help in our little cabin, but now that we’ve moved into this huge house, well, you understand. Not that it’s a mansion. There isn’t actually enough room for Bainwarble to stay in the house, so he lives in a camper out in the alley. I think he’s happy about the three-bucket outdoor shower we had installed beside the Sanitation Nation outhouse that we rent for him—he plays the trumpet out there.

           I didn’t want a butler until we moved in. One bright morning, I kissed my wife, Ducky Bumps, and embarked on a tour of the place, starting with the basement. Before I finished, I had to call her on the cell phone and tell her I’d be late for lunch. It was nearly tea when I stumbled back to my starting point. “Ducky Bumps,” I gasped, “this place is huge. I got lost twice. How about some pie?”

           “It’s 800 square feet! You got lost because you never pay attention. You get no pie because you never pay the cook!”

           “Seems reasonable,” I muttered, “Wait! You’re the cook! It isn’t me; I wouldn’t pay myself.” She just tapped her index finger on her temple and nodded.

           Bainwarble entered, crouching through the back door, natty as ever in a lint free tuxedo, black bow tie, and patent leather shoes, no sox. I’ll have to speak to him about that. “Tea!” he grunted, uttering his first English word.

Corporations are People, Money is Speech

         If corporations are people, they ought to be taxed like people. That refrain is climbing the charts these days. Most people don’t know how corporations are taxed, but believe the burden bears no resemblance to the withholding they suffer each payday. The feeling probably relates to stories of lucrative corporations that pay no tax—that even get ‘refunds’ from the government because of legislative favoritism. Plus the realization that starvation wages paid ( resulting in the need for Medicaid and food stamps ) are just a way for the government to subsidize the greed of profiteers.

It is a confusing situation, especially since the “Everybody-should-have-skin-in-the-game” whiners don’t seem at all bothered by these corporate ‘people’ who appear to be skinning America alive. Then there are the offshore tax haven users, and the climate change deniers who make us wonder who will get the tab for keeping the rising ocean waters out of Manhattan. It’s no wonder that Americans are 99% pissed.

You can hate the beneficiaries all you want, but the problem lies with congress. Legislation creates favoritism and profiteering, and legislation can stop it. While congress dithers, obstructs, and throws away America’s wealth, it’s no secret who the real takers are in this country.

Around here, we kind of favor the “Money-is-speech” concept. When we hear the deficit hawks and “obstruct-it-alls” and the “our-way-of-life” seducers and the “taking-care-of-the-needy-costs-too-much” gluttons say the government is our problem, we say, “Twenty dollar me another sad story, spoiler!” or “Grant me a break!”

The New Butler

            Well, we finally hired a butler.  But I saved a lot of money by taking a man who speaks only his native Welsh.  The communication gap poses its problems, but I’m smiling all the way to the bank.  His name is Bainwarble.  My wife, Ducky Bumps, said, “Oh, that’s nice.  What’s his last name?” 

“It’s Bainwarble,” I said.  “His first name is Glassshard.  He came to this country to start over.  He’s a coloratura baritone who was kicked out of his singing group back home.  Something about air quality in the choir loft, I don’t know.”

“That’s very sad,” she sniffed.  At that exact moment, Bainwarble glided into the room, looking very much like the Adams family’s Lurch.  He extended an exquisite Correlle platter bearing plastic tumblers of iced tea, bowing and grinning at Ducky Bumps.  “Oh, I don’t want any right now,” she said.  Bainwarble bowed even more deeply, grinning and nodding ‘yes’ and kept the platter before her.

“He’s a big man, somewhat frightening,” I said, “and he doesn’t understand.  Just take a glass, dear.”  Then he placed the other glass on my table, still bowing and smiling.  “Thank you Bainwarble,” I nodded, “that will be all for now!”  

His smile widened and he said, “Mae gen i gynluniau ar gyfer chi,” which I assume is a flowery Welsh phrase meaning something like, ‘Thank you my general.’ It really warms the heart when you know that the people who work for you find you worthy of their esteem.