Getting on With Life

John McCain's choice for Vice President has inspired some very interesting comments from the left-wing blogosphere:

i'm outraged that mclame piked a chearleeder

Well... actually... she was point guard for her high school basketball team and hit the winning free throw that clinched Alaska Small School State Championship.

another big oil stooge

Well... actually... she raised state royalties on oil drillers and gave every Alaskan a $1,200 energy credit from the proceeds. I understand that to the current crop of Neo-Socialists, tax credits that provide direct cash are anathema. After all, it's the responsibility of the state to confiscate earnings and profits then provide "services" designed to dictate behavior and promote a utopian society--while providing huge monetary gains for state-supported cronies. This is the culture of corruption in Alaska politics that Governor Palin was elected to combat, and did. Any comments from Mr. Obama--an extortionist for ACORN as well as willing accomplice to the Chicago corruption cartel--would be greatly appreciated.

once again an attractive woman gets picked ahaed of qualified women

This one is especially amusing. First, because it suggests that a woman with nearly a decade of executive experience is less qualified for Veep than a man with barely three years in the Senate and not a single legislative achievement on his resume is for President.

And second, because this feminist tactic confirms Rush Limbaugh's contention that:

"Feminism was created to allow unattractive women access to the mainstream media."

Okay, here we are. Many comments, very few surprises--until this little gem after it was made known that Governor Palin has a four-month-old child with Down's Syndrome.

she should have had an abortion and gone on with her life.

An isolated kook, right. Wait, there's more.

any woman who would give birth to a down sindrome baby isn't smart enough to hol office

she should quit her job, stay home and take care of her family; what's she doing having five kids anyway

Yes, I do agree with population control, and would want it guaranteed by
mandatory sterilization after one-half a live birth per person. Both people involved get the knife. And any guy who gets more than one woman pregnant at a time loses his nuts.

These vitriolic blatherings should not have come as a surprise. As I was reading these thoughtful postings my "Horrid Comment" memory chip kicked into gear. Years ago when an acquaintance from work gave birth to a Down's Syndrome child a highly-evolved colleague suggested that she should: "Leave the kid at the hospital."

Some turned away while others nodded.

And in fairness, even on the Leftoid message boards there were expressions of disgust from many posters. But that didn't keep the whackos from posting on.


I think it is dumb to have a kid that you know will be born all messed up. Period.

Actually, Trig's biggest problem isn't that he has Down's Syndrome it's that he has a repuke for a Mom.

Granted, as an adoptive father I'm biased. When our son was born, the inseminator (referred to euphemistically as the birth father) believed that his responsibility ended with an offer to pay for an abortion.

Our daughter was born three years later and our legal liaison relayed the same story.

But then, when I proudly showed her picture to a group of professional associates at an Upper West Side cocktail party I was left speechless (not easy) by a comment from a complete stranger who proclaimed with an unassailable aura of authority that:

"Foreign adoptions are a conspiracy to depopulate the Third World."

As I said, none of this should surprise me.

Staring at the Ceiling Fan

I'm sullen, confused, depressed. My normally cheerful outlook on life has been dragged through the depths of despair. All of the poisons that have lurked in the mud for millenia... well... never mind.

Every once in awhile I see, hear or read something that makes me want to go straight to the nearest cliff and throw myself to the mercy of gravity.

That was my reaction recently when I happened upon this essay written by a young gentleman, Ken Ilgunas, from Niagara Falls and published in the Buffalo News. The whining ruminations of Mr. Ilgunas are reproduced below in Bolshevic red.

I am 24, live with my parents, can’t find work and am floundering in a sea of debt five figures high. I think of myself as ambitious, independent and hardworking. Now I’m dependent, unemployed and sleeping under the same Super Mario ceiling fan that I did when I was 7.

How did this happen? I did what every upstanding citizen is supposed to do. I went to college. I took out loans so I could enroll at Alfred University, a pricey private school. The next year, I transferred to the more finance-friendly University at Buffalo, where I could commute from home and push carts part-time at Home Depot.

I related my forthcoming debt to puberty or a midlife crisis — each an unavoidable nuisance; tickets required upon admission to the next stage of adulthood. But as interest rates climbed and the cost of tuition, books and daily living mounted to galactic proportions,

I realized this was more than some paltry inconvenience.

Upon graduating, I was helplessly launched headfirst into the “real world,” equipped with a degree in history and $32,000 in student loans. Before ricocheting back home, I would learn two important lessons: 1) There are no well-paying — let alone paying — jobs for history majors. 2) The real world is really tough.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and I had no intention of living in a society that was as unfair as this one. To seek a haven devoid of the ruthless 9-to-5 ebb and flow of contemporary America, I moved to Alaska.

As a liberal arts major, I dreamed of making a profound difference in people’s lives. Instead, for a year, I lived in Coldfoot, a town north of the Arctic Circle that resembles a Soviet Gulag camp. My job as a tour guide for visitors temporarily alleviated my money woes because it provided room and board, but when the season ended and I moved back home, I was again confronted with the grim realities of debt.

Desperate, I browsed through insurance and bank job descriptions. I had hit an all-time low. Could I surrender my soul for health coverage and a steady income? Could I sacrifice my ideals by falling into line?

Suddenly, living at home didn’t seem nearly as degrading as selling out. But sadly, other graduates don’t have any choice but to work for temp agencies and retail stores to eke by.

That’s the tragedy of student debt: it doesn’t just limit what we do, but who we become. Forget volunteering. Forget traveling. Forget trying to improve your country, or yourself. You’ve got bills to pay, young man.

Unfortunately, the recent passage of the College Cost Reduction and Access Act doesn’t portend that times are a-changin’. The act reduces interest rates on Stafford Loans and increases Pell Grant awards. Whoopty-do.

There’s no question that this is a step forward. But we’re still talking pennies and nickels when we need to completely revolutionize the government’s role in financing post-secondary education.

College is a wonderful experience and something every young citizen should pursue. But without help, a college education is becoming an unaffordable rite of passage and a privilege of the affluent.

My loan payments can’t wait much longer, and soon I must leave home to find work that doesn’t compromise my integrity. Although I sometimes wonder what it would be like if I had declared as an accounting major and got a cushy job punching numbers somewhere, I’ll take my history major, my debt and my mom’s cooking any day of the week.

Being a heartless windbag I'm probably the last person who should be commenting on this doofus' ramblings, but I can't help myself.

HEY MR. ILGUNAS... A COLLEGE DEGREE DOES NOT GUARANTEE A LIFETIME OF COMFORTABLE, RESPONSIBILITY-FREE ADOLESCENCE!

Wanna travel? Get a job.

Wanna help your fellow man? Earn your own way and set a good example.

Wanna get out of the basement?

Stand on your own two feet and quit the whining and self pity.

America's future? I hope not.

New York Governor Averts Panic

The horrifying images are in. The killer shark that's been terrorizing aquatic adventurers on Long Island has been vanquished. A team of marine rescue specialists, dispatched by Governor David Patterson who declared a state of emergency from Montauk to Lake Champlain, descended upon Zach's Bay and captured the man eater before disaster ensued.

EMS technicians arrived at the scene to treat panic-stricken bathers. Women screamed, children fainted, grown men cried in anguish at the sight of the monster.

Maria, a 37 year old mother from Flushing, was treated for "The Vapors" and described the horror experienced by everyone who witnessed the near carnage.

"For the rest of my life, everytime I take a drink of water or step into the shower I'll be haunted by the grisly images of what might have been."

Marine biologists, unsure of what to do with the pelagic carnivore, decided to give it to Rip Curant--a Jones Beach lifeguard who has a 110 gallon marine aquarium in his bedroom.

Rip is seen here, taking his new pet out for a walk.

Forever Young

It was an inspiring evening. A very close friend and colleague invited a few intimate buddies to his 80th birthday at Tavern on the Green in Central Park. More than 300 people packed the main banquet room. He has been a great mentor to me, a pioneer in the art of television lighting.

Literally a pioneer

That term is bandied about, but when Immie started there was no such thing as TV lighting. He was trained in theater, so when he was hired on at ABC in 1950 he told his new boss that he knew nothing about TV lighting. His boss told him not to worry, nobody does.

"How will I know if what I do is right," he asked.

"If it looks good, remember how you did it."

Good advice all around.

When I started in TV as a technician (1974) Immie was already a legendary figure. The first time I encountered him in the studio I was too awestruck to approach. Then, years later after I became a writer, I got a call to work on a corporate documentary:

"This is Imero Fiorentino Associates, would you please hold for Mr. Fiorentino?"

My heart stopped.

Over the years I have been very blessed. At every turn there have been bright, creative and caring people who were more than willing to put a hand on my shoulder and guide me through the rough spots. None more creative and caring than Immie. Following his example I've also tried to return the favor to those young people entering our industry.

At the end of the evening he jumped up to the podium to thank everyone for being part of his life and to invite us all to be a part of the rest of his life.

Never a thought of retiring.

Never a thought of slowing down.

At 80 he's looking forward to more challenges and more victories.

The renowned glass artist, Josh Simpson, once said that an artist must find his comfort zone and then spend the rest of his life staying out of it.

Through the quiet eloquence of his sterling example Immie has shown all who have been blessed to know him that staying out of our comfort zone is more than a slogan, it's a way of life.

Pre-Teens in Combat

In a dramatic report, the New York Times has uncovered a conspiracy by the United States military to conscript children.

Posing as male nannies, bow-tied Republicans wisk away infants as their single mothers pursue their dreams in exciting careers away from the drudgery of traditional home-based chores. They then force these babies into combat zones and cover up their misdeeds with the complicity of the right-wing hate media.

This conspiracy came to light in today's Times. Buried deep inside a front page story detailing how George W. Bush has personally foreclosed on millions of American homeowners in order to give their houses to Halliburton stockholders, the Times printed this seemingly innocent quote:

"Steve Allen, 51, a Vietnam veteran in Seattle, was repeatedly rejected when he and his wife, Lesa, started searching for an apartment this month. Some apartment managers said no because they had lost their home to foreclosure. Others said their credit scores were too low."

If the New York Times reporter had a calculator handy, she could have quickly determined that Mr. Allen, born in April of 1957, would have been 15 years old at the time of the Paris Peace Accords of January, 1973.

Democrats were quick to cite this disclosure as evidence of a larger, ongoing conspiracy.

"This is typical of this administration's continued effort to distort, misleed and dissemble" said Democratic presidential hopeful Barack Obama.

Harry Reid added that his office will look into the recent rash of child abductions. "There is nothing this adminstration won't do to advance their war strategy, including kidnapping" said the Senate Majority Leader.

Eli Pariser of Moveon.org commented that this disclosure reinforces the Moveon/AFSCME message seen recently in their "Not Alex" TV commercial. "If you think that these Neo-Fascists won't kidnap your children and train them to fight in secret wars, think again" said Mr. Pariser as he was leaving his aroma therapy session.

Quick to respond, the far-right hate cult Swiftboat Veterans for Truth issued a press release. "We have polled thousands of American veterans who served in Vietnam between 1965 and 1973. Not one had ever reported seeing American children in combat."

Senator John Forbes Kerry, however, differed. "I remember this clearly. It is seared into my brain. During Christmas of 1944 I was windsurfing toward Bastogne when I came upon a battalion of American snowboarders. They couldn't have been more than eleven years old."

In a related development, Barack Obama has reported to close advisors that he has been experiencing symptoms of post-traumatic stress syndrome.

According to campaign chief David Axelrod, the senator has been having recurring hallucinations where he sees himself, as a child, using a flamethrower against civilians living in grass huts.

"We are looking into a two-year gap in the senator's personal history. We can't seem to account for the years 1970-1971. This has an ominous feel to it."

"Barack would have been eight years old at the time," added Michelle Obama, "the perfect age for the Republican abduction squads. After all, Steve Allen was eight when they sent him to Viet Nam in 1965. Do the math whitey!"

Willie Randolph Blames Man-Made Global Warming for Historic 2007 Collapse

Citing extensive United Nations research as well as personal observations, former Mets manager Willie Randolph has concluded that last year's historic late-season collapse of the New York Mets was caused by anthropogenic global warming.

"This is a settled issued," declared Randolph.

"The Intergovermental Panel on Climate Change has investigated every possible explanation for our cataclysmic stretch run choke. The only logical conclusion is that global warming caused severe imbalances in the microclimates in and around Shea Stadium."

Pressed for details Mr. Randolph explained that temperature readings in left field were .0002 of a degree (Celsius) higher than readings in right field.

This phenomenon was most pronounced during day games when left field is bathed in sunshine while right field is shrouded in shade.

The Mets left-hand heavy lineup was at a dramatic disadvantage since fly balls hit to right field carried an average of .013783 of an inch less than a similarly struck ball hit to left field.

He was quick to note that the Mets final game last year was played in the afternoon when the leftfield/righfield temperature differential was most dramatic.

Mr. Randolph continued. "Satellite readings also showed that Tom Glavine's armpit temperature was 98.70012 rather than the normal 98.6 degrees. This, to any thinking person, should be conclusive."

The former Mets manager also suggested a solution.

"The commissioner should institute baseball's version of cap and trade" he said.

Under this proposal major league teams in cooler climates would gain one game in the standings for each one-tenth of one degree decrease in field temperature below a specified norm determined by the United Nations. Under these rules, the Mets would now hold a five game lead over the Philadelphia Phillies and sixteen game lead over the Florida Marlins.

"And I would still have a job," added Willie.

When asked whether his opinion was colored by the fact that the Mets are the northernmost team in the National League East, Mr. Randolph angrily described the questioner as a global warming denier and stormed out of the press room.

Just before his exit he was overheard muttering to a confidante that global warming had killed his dog, reduced the value of his home and given him athlete's foot.

Reflections on Father's Day

Whenever I reflect on the most important moments of my life it's always those seemingly insignificant and casual conversations that come to mind. In every possible way he could devise, my father tried to impart to me the lessons and values he had learned the hard way, hoping against hope that my journey would be less torturous than his own.

The most profound message that my Dad delivered to me was:

"Put in a little effort now and it will pay off for the rest of your life."

Of course, as a precocious (some say obnoxious) pre-teen I put more emphasis on the "little" than I did on the "effort." As a result I skated through my junior high and high school years with less than inspiring B/B- results. To say that I was Joe Average would be overstating the obvious. My high school graduation standing listed me as 150th in a graduating class of 300. Jim Hightower, that progressive scion, once said that the only thing you find in the middle of the road is roadkill. Well, he didn't know me. There I was, comfortable and complacent sunbathing right there on the solid double line next to a flattened and bloody possum.

Then, my little effort regressed to a miniscule effort and that B/B- magically became a C/C- during my first two years of college. Way to go kid.

Thankfully, after I endured science, math, sociology, pychology and all the other requirements that university students were once expected to master, I got to the real meat: theater, music, philosophy, art--the reason I attended college in the first place. I'm not sure whether I put in more effort because I enjoyed the subject matter and did well, or I enjoyed it more and did well because at that stage of life I was more willing to put in more than the minimum. Whatever the reason, I finished my last two years with a perfect 4.0 GPA and no one asks, nor do I volunteer, what my four year cumulative was. The diploma on my wall doesn't have an asterisk indicating that:

"We confer this degree on Josph Martini in spite of the fact that he f**ked up during his first two years."

As in golf, the scorecard just records the result, not that you had to hit it out of the trap to save par.

Lucky for me that this life is full of opportunities for redemption.

Next week my son will receive his high-school diploma. Next September he will attend college. I'm certain that he'll hit rough spots and have to hit it out of the sandtrap occasionally, metaphorically speaking. And I will have to be there to guide, advise and encourage while resisting the impulse to micro-manage his life.

I hope that I'm equal to the task.

In spite of all the mistakes I've made in these past eighteen years there are still opportunities for redemption.

Lucky for me.