I got an e-mail from a good friend, who urged those on the e-mail list to support Obama. His thoughts were well-written, but we differ strongly on many of his points. In an effort to be fair, I would like to publish his letter along with my response, but I have not yet obtained his permission. My thoughts are in direct response to some of his points and may seem random. Nonetheless, here it is:
If Barack Obama is indeed elected, we will have a far-left liberal Democrat executive (who has consistently and vocally expressed his socialist "spread the wealth" ideals), a liberal Democrat legislature with possibly over 60 voting members in the Senate (with the House being run by the far, far left Nancy Pelosi), with the possibility of the Supreme Court turning far left liberal during the next presidential tenure. This spells DANGER and TROUBLE. Remember the what happened with the Republicans in this position during the 2000s? The difference is, they didn't have the numbers to avoid filibusters. I don't recall a single Democrat that liked it when they had control (and not many Republicans, either). This should scare the HELL out of anyone who believes in democracy. Blank check, anyone? No checks and balances? The ideals of the Democratic party are not shared by the MAJORITY of the American citizenship, which they are elected to represent, just as the ideals of the Republican party are not shared by the majority. However, whenever either party had complete power, they are free to do whatever they want unchallenged, even though their ideal may not be shared by ANYONE. This is one reason why you hear people express how dangerous it will be for Obama to take office.
I have not met John McCain, which is to say, I have not shaken his hand. The company I work for has done several events for his campaign, so I have had the opportunity to see and hear him speak, without all the campaign rhetoric (I have attended meetings with professionals, not campaign rallies). He is not awkward in the least, as he appears on TV. He really connects with people, just as so many claim to be true about Obama. He is intelligent and level-headed and his thoughts usually make more sense to me than anything Obama has ever said. He's not an elegant speaker like Obama, but he speaks with SUBSTANCE, something Obama lacks in my opinion. McCain IS a man of ideas, but the news won't show you those sound bites. They will run Obama speeches at length without commercial interruption, but only air brief, edited McCain clips that could appear incriminating. That being said, I am not happy with McCain on the Republican ticket. To begin with, I do not agree with some aspects of his personal life, such as his divorce and remarriage. However, that is his business, not mine. What really bothers me is how he has failed to uphold the conservative ideals that I believe in (politically speaking, not socially). The final straw was his weak attempt at immigration "reform" with that bloated, good-for-nothing Ted Kennedy, which did NOTHING to actually resolve the issue. I'm sick of the unofficial open-door policy that our country has toward ILLEGAL immigration. Until a candidate runs for office that is not afraid to speak out about this epidemic without fear of being labeled a racist (a childish and weak tactic), none will ever have my complete support. This is just one issue among many that I consider when sizing up candidates. Another major issue is out of control spending, which leads to another major problem I have with Democrats having so much power. Republicans have not fared so well in this area of late, and they are the ones that are supposed to be fiscally conservative. If anyone is naive enough to believe that Democrats can get us out of this financial mess we're in, you are only fooling yourself. They have had two years to make things better, but things have only gotten worse under their control. Members of Congress are all politicians, and they stopped looking out for their constituents decades ago.
The Constitution guarantees the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It does NOT guarantee the right to be wealthy, or even moderately comfortable. Why does it make sense to pursue happiness by working hard to be successful, only to have the government take much of it away, and give it to someone else ("Spread the Wealth")? The federal government has no business doing so. We already pay enough in taxes as it stands, but the feds can't spend only what they have, like we have to do as citizens. That's why we need spending cuts. Don't spend more than you have. It's elementary. Obama is appealing to those who want a bigger piece of the pie that they didn't work for. Whatever happened to working for what you have? Whatever happened to PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY? Or accounting for your own actions, or being held responsible for them (Ted Kennedy)? This is the platform that I want to see a candidate run on. We are each responsible for ourselves, our families, and our communities. The federal government should not be reaching into our wallets. The government has three responsibilities: national defense, protect us from one another and itself, and print money. Other than that, they do not have any business penalizing someone for being more financially successful than someone else. This was the whole point of "Joe the Plumber." While Joe is an actual person, he was used as an analogy. Instead of listening to the validity of the point, the media focused on the man and did whatever they could to discredit him, completely missing the point. All that being said, I believe that we should take care of those less fortunate. I have no problem with my taxes assisting the disabled. Beyond that, it is a personal choice to donate time and/or money to help the needy. It is the personal responsibility of citizens and communities, NOT big government. The job of government is to govern, NOT rule unconditionally. Unfortunately, we are headed toward an imperialistic government, especially if you are penalized for being successful. If Obama is elected, the proverbial "American Dream" is dead.
Something I have grown tired of hearing is how unjust the current wars we are involved in are. To begin with, the conflict in Afghanistan was completely justified, due to the fact that they were giving support to the terrorists that struck us. I admit I had my doubts about invading Iraq when Bush first mentioned them in the "Axis of Evil" speech. However, as the evidence came to light, I supported this effort as well. Now, there are those out there that have the benefit of hindsight to point out that the evidence was faulty. I will counter with this FACT: in the many years between Desert Storm and Iraqi Freedom, there were endless reports on the mainstream media about Iraq resisting the presence of UN weapons inspectors, which was a condition of the treaty they signed in 1991. I vividly recall a lengthy news report on one of the NBC primetime news shows, when the reporter accompanied UN weapons inspectors to a chemical plant. They were not allowed in and were kept at the front gate by guards. Low and behold, mere minutes later, several tanker trucks exited from the rear of the plant; this was caught on camera and well documented. The reporter and inspectors were not allowed to leave to investigate. After the last tanker truck left, they were finally allowed to enter the factory many, many minutes later. The development of weapons of mass destruction was not solely the speculation of Bush, Rove, and their "oil cronies." There were many reports filed that were similar to this. This was all during the CLINTON administration. I also remember seeing warning after warning from the person in charge of inspecting Iraqi weapons: 2008 Democratic presidential hopeful Bill Richardson. Now, the "no oil for blood" buffoons will try to rewrite history about how these wars were waged out of the clear blue. I know my history. I remember. Those in their own ranks that now decry the unjust wars were on board until the party ticket in the White House changed from a donkey to an elephant.
The greedy oil companies that are allegedly the base of the McCain-Palin ticket do not control the price of a barrel of oil. You can thank OPEC, commodity traders, and bad environmental protection legislation for that. You can also thank our legislature and car companies for not being fore-sighted. You can also blame ourselves for not pushing the issue of oil independence. It is a fact that the big oil companies pay the majority of the national budget with their taxes. You can thank them for keeping your personal taxes low. If Congress decides to enact a windfall tax on the oil companies (an almost certainty with a liberal Congress), you can thank the politicians for even higher gas prices and lost jobs. It is important to point out that the oil companies are in bed with BOTH parties, yet all we hear about is their tie to the current administration. News flash: they, as do most big industries, donate to candidates that they think are going to win. This includes donkeys. I think you will recall that one of the biggest oil companies, which I cannot legally name, was recently at our work. We were not allowed in the rooms that they occupied unless we were accompanied. Well, I happened to enter one of the rooms after one of the meetings because only two men were left, and they were walking out. I overheard one of them telling the other of his many meetings and rounds of golf with Barney Frank. Yes, THAT Barney Frank, Massachusetts member of the US House of Representatives. Oh, and he's a DEMOCRAT and Chairman of the House Financial Services Committee. This committee oversees the Federal Reserve, US Department of the Treasury, and the US Securities and Exchange Commission. You can thank Mr. Frank for his lack of oversight, which lead to the current financial crisis we are facing. You can see that all the issues of the country CANNOT be solely attributed to the elephants.
It is so easy for each of us to rally others to our cause because, frankly it is OUR cause. We want others to join us in our opinions because the future is ours to lose. In our eyes, we see everything as crap, and the opposition is completely wrong. We each attempt to claim that America is ours and those who differ from us are just plain wrong. Well, the fact is, we are all wrong. Simultaneously, we are all right. Those who fail to understand this point are the minority that try to inflict their will on the majority. Most social issues would be solved if individuals would take personal responsibility (it always comes back to this point). If we kept our noses in our own business, we would have a more peaceful society. Instead, there are those divisive types that want so badly for their noses to be in our business, yet threaten legal action if we stick our noses in theirs. These are the people that ruin it for all of us. They feel that their voice isn't being heard, so even if no one else in the entire country shares their opinion, they force it on us. They have turned our courts into one giant circus, and victimized our Constitution. They are selfish and weak. Not one person has the legal right to impose their views on anyone else. When they fail in their attempts at persuasion, they take it to the courts and force their will on the majority. Whether the issue is taking any mention of God out of the public consciousness, illegal immigration, or gay marriage, a minority is dictating what the majority should accept. However, should the majority merely suggest that they be a little more open minded to other's opinions, the minority becomes vicious and attacks them with false and damning accusations of bigotry. Unfortunately, these attacks are far too successful and the majority becomes silenced. The specific issue becomes moot and it instead becomes about wild accusations. This is completely un-American.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Casting Call for Hero
Our forefathers knew hard work. Everything that was built in our modern world was done so by the men who learned how to dig trenches while artillery showered down on them day and night during WWII. They had previously learned to till the same unforgiving earth before the war in order to earn a few pennies to help feed their parents and siblings. They were balls-out, no-nonsense, and logical. They were the salt of the earth and, unfortunately, most of them have returned to the earth. The modern free world that they saved can't seem to come close to their contributions.
In the sixty years hence, subsequent generations have done everything they can to screw up what was done those long decades ago. The hippy-dippy flower brats of the sixties are now running the show and can't seem to see through the crap they smeared on the windows of their own homes. My generation has yet to find a voice, but I can't imagine it will be very insightful or loud when it finally comes. What we are left with is an unknown future, little imagination, and a murderous thief in our home that is lurking, waiting for us to turn out the lights.
Many of you may think that I am off my rocker. You may have said the same thing seven years and one day ago. It pisses me off to no end that the compassion and community that came together that day has disappeared. The horrific events that took place are already being marginalized and sugar-coated by our media and educational institutions. The blame has been put on ourselves (again), as if we were the soulless demons that terrorized the passengers and crews on those planes and flew them into the preselected targets, taking thousands more with them. I know it wasn't me, nor was there any action that this country has taken to have ever deserved such an encounter. My soul is as restless as the victims of that day.
So, here we are, seven years later, and while the media sensationalizes every little non-newsworthy story that they help create, they have toned down what happened that day, as if we will forget. I'll NEVER forget the sight of passenger jetliners flying into the World Trade Center towers, realizing that I just witnessed instantaneous death. I NEVER will forget the sight of bodies flying through the air from the heights of those buildings like the drywall particles that would rain down shortly thereafter. NEVER will I forget the creepy, solemn drive to work later that morning, with an unusual spirit between the other freeway passengers, looking at each other and knowing that though we were strangers, we were now somehow connected. I'll always remember the sounds of my neighbors the next evening, 3,000 miles away from the tragedies, gathering on our busy street, holding the American flag, with cars honking in support as they drove by.
We need to channel the souls of the brave men and women of WWII to help us with resolve and grit now, more than ever. Much like Holocaust deniers, there is a force out there trying to defeat our will and our collective memories. Our politicians over the past decades have royally fucked us over and left us to fend for ourselves with less and less to show for our efforts. They are men and women with no backbones, few ideas and have no concept of what it means to sacrifice or just survive day to day. Privilege has greeted them each day that they have risen, and they want to keep it for themselves. Instead of protecting the Constitution that they have sworn to defend, they are protecting those who attack it daily. What we need is someone to stand up for the people of THIS country, and defend the Constitution to their last drops of blood and sweat. Frankly, I can't see anyone who fits this description on the horizon. I try to be hopeful, but there comes a day when you have to accept that your condition may be terminal. I pray that I never see that day.
In the sixty years hence, subsequent generations have done everything they can to screw up what was done those long decades ago. The hippy-dippy flower brats of the sixties are now running the show and can't seem to see through the crap they smeared on the windows of their own homes. My generation has yet to find a voice, but I can't imagine it will be very insightful or loud when it finally comes. What we are left with is an unknown future, little imagination, and a murderous thief in our home that is lurking, waiting for us to turn out the lights.
Many of you may think that I am off my rocker. You may have said the same thing seven years and one day ago. It pisses me off to no end that the compassion and community that came together that day has disappeared. The horrific events that took place are already being marginalized and sugar-coated by our media and educational institutions. The blame has been put on ourselves (again), as if we were the soulless demons that terrorized the passengers and crews on those planes and flew them into the preselected targets, taking thousands more with them. I know it wasn't me, nor was there any action that this country has taken to have ever deserved such an encounter. My soul is as restless as the victims of that day.
So, here we are, seven years later, and while the media sensationalizes every little non-newsworthy story that they help create, they have toned down what happened that day, as if we will forget. I'll NEVER forget the sight of passenger jetliners flying into the World Trade Center towers, realizing that I just witnessed instantaneous death. I NEVER will forget the sight of bodies flying through the air from the heights of those buildings like the drywall particles that would rain down shortly thereafter. NEVER will I forget the creepy, solemn drive to work later that morning, with an unusual spirit between the other freeway passengers, looking at each other and knowing that though we were strangers, we were now somehow connected. I'll always remember the sounds of my neighbors the next evening, 3,000 miles away from the tragedies, gathering on our busy street, holding the American flag, with cars honking in support as they drove by.
We need to channel the souls of the brave men and women of WWII to help us with resolve and grit now, more than ever. Much like Holocaust deniers, there is a force out there trying to defeat our will and our collective memories. Our politicians over the past decades have royally fucked us over and left us to fend for ourselves with less and less to show for our efforts. They are men and women with no backbones, few ideas and have no concept of what it means to sacrifice or just survive day to day. Privilege has greeted them each day that they have risen, and they want to keep it for themselves. Instead of protecting the Constitution that they have sworn to defend, they are protecting those who attack it daily. What we need is someone to stand up for the people of THIS country, and defend the Constitution to their last drops of blood and sweat. Frankly, I can't see anyone who fits this description on the horizon. I try to be hopeful, but there comes a day when you have to accept that your condition may be terminal. I pray that I never see that day.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Thanks, Barack!
Thanks, Barack!
By Shawn Hovis
In my conservative eyes, Democratic Party presidential nominee Barack Obama could not have made a better choice for his running mate than the cranky, crotchety, old wind-bag, Joe Biden. Very few politicians polarize the citizens that they were (mistakenly) elected to represent more than this has-been, who is riding out his political career as long as possible, while simultaneously trying to squeeze as much juice out of "the system" as he can. Indeed, he has added a new level of tart to the Obama lemonade that no amount of sugar can sweeten.
Joe Biden is not just one of the most transparent frauds in the Senate, but he also has as much charisma as the robotic Gray Davis. The similarities between the two are frightening to me: their lobbyist-controlled brains signal their mouths (both sides of which they use while talking like the pros they are) to smile their biggest, toothy grins as if on cue. He is quick to make an insulting quip, and then somehow work more insults in to a meritless apology.
If the pot calling the kettle black translates to being a hypocrite, Biden is a black hole. He and his far-left liberal friends love to "own" social concepts, such as equal opportunity, as if they invented it. They continue to consistently drive a wedge between Americans and make some of them think that they are each individually being cheated and are losing out on the American Dream solely because of who they are, be it an identifier like their skin color, heritage, gender, working class, etc., etc., etc. In their bland stump speeches, these politicians continue to make their constituents feel like they have very little, after which they go home to one of their plush multi-million dollar estates.
I clearly remember Joe Biden from the confirmation hearings for Superior Court Justice Samuel Alito and Chief Justice John Roberts. His behavior as a Senator was insulting. He would drone on and on in an apparent love affair with his own voice (the only person in my guesstimation that can accomplish this Herculean feat). After about five minutes of a rambling oratory with little or no point, he would ask a question of the nominee, who in turn would have about thirty seconds to answer. Biden would then selfishly interrupt to either make another pointless statement, or withdraw his question altogether. This is the man who, if elected as vice president, would be the tie-breaking vote in a deadlocked Senate.
I feel that I must clarify that I have nothing against Barack Obama. I don’t think that he is necessarily a bad person, unlike Biden. It’s just that his politics are all wrong. The fact is, I don't think much of him at all. But that's just the point: there is very little to think of this empty suit. He may have a way with words, as he recently proved during his tour of Europe (what was the point of that trip again?), but those words are empty and mean nothing. His handlers have certainly been successful in keeping Dorothy from looking behind the curtain. I challenge anyone to analyze his speeches and tell me exactly what he stands for and what his specific plans are for this country. Also, he sure handled the Russian invasion of Georgia well. There were very few sound bites on the subject from Obama in Vacation-Land. Apparently, Barack is only against the occupation of a sovereign nation if the occupier is the United States, the very same country he is hoping to LEAD. His stump speeches may sound good, but there is no depth. If you could only find meaning within the deepest abyss of the political ocean, Obama would be orbiting the earth high overhead.
So, on that note, I want to say, "Thank you, Barack!" You have just sealed your fate this past weekend with such a mind-blowing vice presidential pick. Good luck in Denver!
By Shawn Hovis
In my conservative eyes, Democratic Party presidential nominee Barack Obama could not have made a better choice for his running mate than the cranky, crotchety, old wind-bag, Joe Biden. Very few politicians polarize the citizens that they were (mistakenly) elected to represent more than this has-been, who is riding out his political career as long as possible, while simultaneously trying to squeeze as much juice out of "the system" as he can. Indeed, he has added a new level of tart to the Obama lemonade that no amount of sugar can sweeten.
Joe Biden is not just one of the most transparent frauds in the Senate, but he also has as much charisma as the robotic Gray Davis. The similarities between the two are frightening to me: their lobbyist-controlled brains signal their mouths (both sides of which they use while talking like the pros they are) to smile their biggest, toothy grins as if on cue. He is quick to make an insulting quip, and then somehow work more insults in to a meritless apology.
If the pot calling the kettle black translates to being a hypocrite, Biden is a black hole. He and his far-left liberal friends love to "own" social concepts, such as equal opportunity, as if they invented it. They continue to consistently drive a wedge between Americans and make some of them think that they are each individually being cheated and are losing out on the American Dream solely because of who they are, be it an identifier like their skin color, heritage, gender, working class, etc., etc., etc. In their bland stump speeches, these politicians continue to make their constituents feel like they have very little, after which they go home to one of their plush multi-million dollar estates.
I clearly remember Joe Biden from the confirmation hearings for Superior Court Justice Samuel Alito and Chief Justice John Roberts. His behavior as a Senator was insulting. He would drone on and on in an apparent love affair with his own voice (the only person in my guesstimation that can accomplish this Herculean feat). After about five minutes of a rambling oratory with little or no point, he would ask a question of the nominee, who in turn would have about thirty seconds to answer. Biden would then selfishly interrupt to either make another pointless statement, or withdraw his question altogether. This is the man who, if elected as vice president, would be the tie-breaking vote in a deadlocked Senate.
I feel that I must clarify that I have nothing against Barack Obama. I don’t think that he is necessarily a bad person, unlike Biden. It’s just that his politics are all wrong. The fact is, I don't think much of him at all. But that's just the point: there is very little to think of this empty suit. He may have a way with words, as he recently proved during his tour of Europe (what was the point of that trip again?), but those words are empty and mean nothing. His handlers have certainly been successful in keeping Dorothy from looking behind the curtain. I challenge anyone to analyze his speeches and tell me exactly what he stands for and what his specific plans are for this country. Also, he sure handled the Russian invasion of Georgia well. There were very few sound bites on the subject from Obama in Vacation-Land. Apparently, Barack is only against the occupation of a sovereign nation if the occupier is the United States, the very same country he is hoping to LEAD. His stump speeches may sound good, but there is no depth. If you could only find meaning within the deepest abyss of the political ocean, Obama would be orbiting the earth high overhead.
So, on that note, I want to say, "Thank you, Barack!" You have just sealed your fate this past weekend with such a mind-blowing vice presidential pick. Good luck in Denver!
Friday, August 22, 2008
Remembering Bob Maggi
There comes a time in our lives when we face the reality of our own mortality. This thought is a common cliché, but for me, it happened this week. A friend from high school died as a result from injuries sustained in a car accident. The details of his death are unimportant, especially when I reflect on him as a person and the source of memories, distance and reconnection that I don’t think he ever imagined he would become.
When I moved to Jackson, California (a small, old gold-mining town in the Sierra Nevada foothills) my sophomore year, I was not the person that I am today. That is to say, I was quiet, shy, and not confident of who I was. Bob Maggi was the polar opposite. Previously, I had grown up in a large city in the Midwest, where football is king. I played on the team, which really means that I was merely ON the team. Taking the field was a pipedream, but I was happy to just be wearing a jersey. The high school I attended my freshman year had a huge population (a few thousand, if memory serves) and I was content with being anonymous.
Flash-forward a year and I found myself in a new school, whose entire population was about the same as my previous freshman class. Anonymity was no longer an option, and being on the football team meant that everyone (except for uncoordinated, near-sighted goofs like me) played offense AND defense. We won our division my junior year and there were many gifted players, including Bob. A decade and a half has robbed me of specific games and stats, but I remember Bob for being an extremely intense player. His stature was such that he had a low center of gravity and could plow through opponents and find holes in the line where you thought there were none. He lived his life the same way. Some players carry their intensity off the field with them until they are put back in. Bob didn’t. He was cool and collected, but the coaches could depend on him to amp up on the field. Even though I had many more inches of height over him, I recall being intimidated merely by his presence, but not due to anything he ever said or did to me. I never really gave it much thought at the time, but I realize now that it was because I viewed him as a badass, a far cry from how I saw myself.
Attending a small country school means that everyone knows everyone. Even though we may have not hung out in the same social circles, we all saw each other in nearly every class. We almost surely ran into each other at parties. I wasn’t much of a party animal, especially due to the fact that I worked every night on the weekends, but I got out from time to time. Bob and I attended the same party on at least a couple of occasions that I can recall. I was slightly intimidated as usual, due to my own insecurities. I remember Bob striking up a conversation with me once and I thought I was pretty cool, even though I must have acted like an idiot.
Our class graduated just over 90 students. Many of us have stayed connected over the years, despite the fact that life has limited the consistency of our communications. There is a bond that I feel with every one of my classmates. I hadn’t seen or spoken to many of them until our ten-year reunion a few years ago, but it felt like time had never passed. I ran into Bob Maggi at a bar that a fellow classmate had recently opened. It was the reunion after-party and it felt like old times, except we weren’t worried about hiding from chaperones or parents. I was utterly surprised at how friendly and light-hearted Bob was. He acted as though we had been great friends in high school. While this wasn’t untrue, we had never spent much time together during our formative years. He told me that we should hang out, then gave me his business card and told me to call him. I can still see the card, with his name and number on the front. Several more years have passed since our reunion, but I have never seen Bob again. I have moved several times since then and have subsequently misplaced his card. I hope I come across it someday. What I recognized from this encounter is that I never really knew Bob. He was more friendly and congenial than I had ever realized. My own insecurities robbed me of getting to know a good person and becoming a better friend.
From what I understand, Bob, like many of us, has had his battles over the years. Some of us emerge victorious and others don’t. Those like Bob are never given the opportunity to find out. I don’t know too many particulars of his life, but frankly, it’s none of my business or anyone else’s. What has emerged from this tragedy has touched me every time I think of it. As I alluded earlier, there is a deep spiritual connection that I have always felt with my former classmates. As the news of Bob’s accident came to light, I began to receive phone calls, e-mails, and text messages from friends that I had not heard from in years. I, in turn, continued to relay the horrible news. Despite the passage of time and lack of communication between each of us, Bob was cared for enough to hunt each other down and pass on the word. We also still care for each other enough to reconnect and console one another. Bob is the first one from our class that any of us can recall losing and it is a huge loss. Bob’s presence always filled a room, and even in his absence, he will continue to do so.
When I moved to Jackson, California (a small, old gold-mining town in the Sierra Nevada foothills) my sophomore year, I was not the person that I am today. That is to say, I was quiet, shy, and not confident of who I was. Bob Maggi was the polar opposite. Previously, I had grown up in a large city in the Midwest, where football is king. I played on the team, which really means that I was merely ON the team. Taking the field was a pipedream, but I was happy to just be wearing a jersey. The high school I attended my freshman year had a huge population (a few thousand, if memory serves) and I was content with being anonymous.
Flash-forward a year and I found myself in a new school, whose entire population was about the same as my previous freshman class. Anonymity was no longer an option, and being on the football team meant that everyone (except for uncoordinated, near-sighted goofs like me) played offense AND defense. We won our division my junior year and there were many gifted players, including Bob. A decade and a half has robbed me of specific games and stats, but I remember Bob for being an extremely intense player. His stature was such that he had a low center of gravity and could plow through opponents and find holes in the line where you thought there were none. He lived his life the same way. Some players carry their intensity off the field with them until they are put back in. Bob didn’t. He was cool and collected, but the coaches could depend on him to amp up on the field. Even though I had many more inches of height over him, I recall being intimidated merely by his presence, but not due to anything he ever said or did to me. I never really gave it much thought at the time, but I realize now that it was because I viewed him as a badass, a far cry from how I saw myself.
Attending a small country school means that everyone knows everyone. Even though we may have not hung out in the same social circles, we all saw each other in nearly every class. We almost surely ran into each other at parties. I wasn’t much of a party animal, especially due to the fact that I worked every night on the weekends, but I got out from time to time. Bob and I attended the same party on at least a couple of occasions that I can recall. I was slightly intimidated as usual, due to my own insecurities. I remember Bob striking up a conversation with me once and I thought I was pretty cool, even though I must have acted like an idiot.
Our class graduated just over 90 students. Many of us have stayed connected over the years, despite the fact that life has limited the consistency of our communications. There is a bond that I feel with every one of my classmates. I hadn’t seen or spoken to many of them until our ten-year reunion a few years ago, but it felt like time had never passed. I ran into Bob Maggi at a bar that a fellow classmate had recently opened. It was the reunion after-party and it felt like old times, except we weren’t worried about hiding from chaperones or parents. I was utterly surprised at how friendly and light-hearted Bob was. He acted as though we had been great friends in high school. While this wasn’t untrue, we had never spent much time together during our formative years. He told me that we should hang out, then gave me his business card and told me to call him. I can still see the card, with his name and number on the front. Several more years have passed since our reunion, but I have never seen Bob again. I have moved several times since then and have subsequently misplaced his card. I hope I come across it someday. What I recognized from this encounter is that I never really knew Bob. He was more friendly and congenial than I had ever realized. My own insecurities robbed me of getting to know a good person and becoming a better friend.
From what I understand, Bob, like many of us, has had his battles over the years. Some of us emerge victorious and others don’t. Those like Bob are never given the opportunity to find out. I don’t know too many particulars of his life, but frankly, it’s none of my business or anyone else’s. What has emerged from this tragedy has touched me every time I think of it. As I alluded earlier, there is a deep spiritual connection that I have always felt with my former classmates. As the news of Bob’s accident came to light, I began to receive phone calls, e-mails, and text messages from friends that I had not heard from in years. I, in turn, continued to relay the horrible news. Despite the passage of time and lack of communication between each of us, Bob was cared for enough to hunt each other down and pass on the word. We also still care for each other enough to reconnect and console one another. Bob is the first one from our class that any of us can recall losing and it is a huge loss. Bob’s presence always filled a room, and even in his absence, he will continue to do so.
"Tomatoes", or "I Did It!!!"
I confess that I have a mistress. I am deeply in love with Miss Cuisine. No need to whisper around my wife; she is aware of my deviance. My love of eating is only surpassed with the science, technology, and art of preparing food. There was a time in my life that I could have followed the path to culinary greatness (count your blessings, Bobby Flay), but I instead chose the better path that led me to where I am today. My experiences during high school of grilling finely cut steak over a raging inferno, whipping up sauces and soups of a French persuasion, and being mindful of the time bomb counting down until the plating of ten orders must be served together for a single table, have stuck with me for (dare I say it?) fifteen years.
If cooking is my whore, the Food Network is my pornography. On several occasions, I have found myself glued to the boob tube for an entire day just to find new, quirky recipes. The blends of ingredients astound me, especially if they are used in a way that is new to me, or better yet, if I have never heard of them. I salivate watching chefs choose produce from their expertly grown personal stock, and I think to myself, “THAT is what makes them a chef!” There is no substitution for fresh herbs and vegetables. Would Thomas Keller, owner and executive chef of the world famous French Laundry in Napa, use dried herbs, or so-called “fresh herbs” from his local Safeway? Inconceivable! I have had this “Eureka!” moment on several occasions and have aspired to grow my own personal garden more times than I care to recall.
If anyone has ever accused me of having a green thumb, they didn't realize that it is gangrenous. Of all the mightiest of great battles throughout recorded history, not one challenger has capitulated to a more crushing defeat than I have to Mother Nature. In the beginning, I would plant seeds in a pot of overpriced dirt from the local hardware conglomerate. I have over-watered, under-watered, and finally, after giving up, put my seedlings through a drought that would rival biblical famines. The next logical solution would be to swallow a little pride, skip the first step, and buy seedlings already sprouted by someone else in little disposable pots. The young tufts of green are perky and happy when they leave the store, but wilt at will as soon as they cross my threshold. It reminds me of a young, idealistic puppy that playfully rides along to the veterinarian’s office for the first time, only to discover he is not leaving with everything that he arrived with. The subsequent terrifying trips to the vet are the replicated experiences of new saplings entering my palace of vegetative death.
Earlier this summer (an inspiring time for gardeners), I was at my local over-priced grocery store that specializes in organic produce. Lo and behold, they have an entire area purposely located by their front doors dedicated to fresh, organic herb and tomato saplings. I walked by looking at them longingly, their future deaths firmly predicted in my mind. Strolling through the produce department, I began to concoct a recipe and knew I would need some fresh packaged herbs, but my God! Look what they charge for those things! I could buy the potted variety outside, plant them for my culinary uses and never have to buy any again! Just as a recovering alcoholic tells himself that one more drink won’t hurt, I rushed outside and loaded the bottom of my shopping cart up with a variety of my favorites: rosemary, sage, basil (two types!), and thyme. “I’ll start slow,” I told myself. The biggest thrill of all was the tomato plants nearby. Throwing history to the wind, I picked up a couple of them as well.
The basil lasted exactly 36 hours; the sage started to go after five days. The rosemary looked okay until the lower half started to brown. “What the hell?” I thought. Previous time spent in the desert told me that sage and rosemary bushes were resilient to drought. Regardless, I curiously thought that maybe the heat was getting to the younglings. I then remembered that a constant blanket of fog keeps the central coast of California (where I live) at cool temperatures, rarely venturing out of sixty-degree weather. My next logical deduction was that perhaps the fog was keeping them from getting enough direct sunlight. This was a little beyond my control. I really didn’t feel like getting raised eyebrows from neighbors by setting up growing lamps bought at the local head shop, a.k.a. hydroponics store. I just kept watering them in the mornings and checking their progress in the afternoons.
Progress is an interesting concept because daily attention makes you think that there is none. Only the elapse of time allows you to look back and properly gauge progress. I had gone into maintenance mode, which is a step above giving up and letting the plants die a slow, dry death. My lovely wife first alerted me to their existence. I couldn’t believe my ears; I had to see for myself. I ran out to our deck and sure enough, a miracle was before me. Tiny, dime-sized tomatoes, still green in their infancy, were beginning to form on the vines that I was a week away from declaring dead. Only then did I realize how much they had grown beyond their initial size when I had brought them home from the store. It is at this point that I began to get choked up and teary-eyed up and mentally made the connection between the use of the term “nursery” as a place that raises plants and a place that cares for children. Screw the herbs; they are the red-haired, freckle-faced stepchildren that I never wanted. These tomatoes are my offspring. I will care for them, water them, and love them until the day that I can eat them.
At this point, I am feeling like Michael Phelps must have felt with a neck full of Olympic gold medals. I could hear my neighbor on his deck, which is positioned about eight feet behind mine. It is a little tough to see over there, so I leaned over my railing slightly to proclaim my victory. “Congratulations,” he told me. That’s when I saw it. He has a 32-gallon rubber garbage can, filled with dirt. A barrage of tomato plants are overflowing the top of the can, threatening to overtake his entire deck. He and his girlfriend planted the tomato plants themselves...from seed. “We sprinkled in about 80 seeds. I never thought this many would grow. There must be about thirty plants.” They can bite me. I turned my back and looked at my own tomato plants like a father who has an only son that aspires to be in the debate club instead of the football team. Even in victory, I admit defeat.
If cooking is my whore, the Food Network is my pornography. On several occasions, I have found myself glued to the boob tube for an entire day just to find new, quirky recipes. The blends of ingredients astound me, especially if they are used in a way that is new to me, or better yet, if I have never heard of them. I salivate watching chefs choose produce from their expertly grown personal stock, and I think to myself, “THAT is what makes them a chef!” There is no substitution for fresh herbs and vegetables. Would Thomas Keller, owner and executive chef of the world famous French Laundry in Napa, use dried herbs, or so-called “fresh herbs” from his local Safeway? Inconceivable! I have had this “Eureka!” moment on several occasions and have aspired to grow my own personal garden more times than I care to recall.
If anyone has ever accused me of having a green thumb, they didn't realize that it is gangrenous. Of all the mightiest of great battles throughout recorded history, not one challenger has capitulated to a more crushing defeat than I have to Mother Nature. In the beginning, I would plant seeds in a pot of overpriced dirt from the local hardware conglomerate. I have over-watered, under-watered, and finally, after giving up, put my seedlings through a drought that would rival biblical famines. The next logical solution would be to swallow a little pride, skip the first step, and buy seedlings already sprouted by someone else in little disposable pots. The young tufts of green are perky and happy when they leave the store, but wilt at will as soon as they cross my threshold. It reminds me of a young, idealistic puppy that playfully rides along to the veterinarian’s office for the first time, only to discover he is not leaving with everything that he arrived with. The subsequent terrifying trips to the vet are the replicated experiences of new saplings entering my palace of vegetative death.
Earlier this summer (an inspiring time for gardeners), I was at my local over-priced grocery store that specializes in organic produce. Lo and behold, they have an entire area purposely located by their front doors dedicated to fresh, organic herb and tomato saplings. I walked by looking at them longingly, their future deaths firmly predicted in my mind. Strolling through the produce department, I began to concoct a recipe and knew I would need some fresh packaged herbs, but my God! Look what they charge for those things! I could buy the potted variety outside, plant them for my culinary uses and never have to buy any again! Just as a recovering alcoholic tells himself that one more drink won’t hurt, I rushed outside and loaded the bottom of my shopping cart up with a variety of my favorites: rosemary, sage, basil (two types!), and thyme. “I’ll start slow,” I told myself. The biggest thrill of all was the tomato plants nearby. Throwing history to the wind, I picked up a couple of them as well.
The basil lasted exactly 36 hours; the sage started to go after five days. The rosemary looked okay until the lower half started to brown. “What the hell?” I thought. Previous time spent in the desert told me that sage and rosemary bushes were resilient to drought. Regardless, I curiously thought that maybe the heat was getting to the younglings. I then remembered that a constant blanket of fog keeps the central coast of California (where I live) at cool temperatures, rarely venturing out of sixty-degree weather. My next logical deduction was that perhaps the fog was keeping them from getting enough direct sunlight. This was a little beyond my control. I really didn’t feel like getting raised eyebrows from neighbors by setting up growing lamps bought at the local head shop, a.k.a. hydroponics store. I just kept watering them in the mornings and checking their progress in the afternoons.
Progress is an interesting concept because daily attention makes you think that there is none. Only the elapse of time allows you to look back and properly gauge progress. I had gone into maintenance mode, which is a step above giving up and letting the plants die a slow, dry death. My lovely wife first alerted me to their existence. I couldn’t believe my ears; I had to see for myself. I ran out to our deck and sure enough, a miracle was before me. Tiny, dime-sized tomatoes, still green in their infancy, were beginning to form on the vines that I was a week away from declaring dead. Only then did I realize how much they had grown beyond their initial size when I had brought them home from the store. It is at this point that I began to get choked up and teary-eyed up and mentally made the connection between the use of the term “nursery” as a place that raises plants and a place that cares for children. Screw the herbs; they are the red-haired, freckle-faced stepchildren that I never wanted. These tomatoes are my offspring. I will care for them, water them, and love them until the day that I can eat them.
At this point, I am feeling like Michael Phelps must have felt with a neck full of Olympic gold medals. I could hear my neighbor on his deck, which is positioned about eight feet behind mine. It is a little tough to see over there, so I leaned over my railing slightly to proclaim my victory. “Congratulations,” he told me. That’s when I saw it. He has a 32-gallon rubber garbage can, filled with dirt. A barrage of tomato plants are overflowing the top of the can, threatening to overtake his entire deck. He and his girlfriend planted the tomato plants themselves...from seed. “We sprinkled in about 80 seeds. I never thought this many would grow. There must be about thirty plants.” They can bite me. I turned my back and looked at my own tomato plants like a father who has an only son that aspires to be in the debate club instead of the football team. Even in victory, I admit defeat.
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