At the end of the year

On Christmas, at another almost-half of the immediate family event, something occurred which I have never encountered before. As the prominent economist Walter E. Williams said while substituting for Rush on Friday, he (and I) have lived one-third of the time the U.S. has existed.

That's how many years during which I have not previously seen the following: Younger daughter, who had felt poorly for several days, suddenly had a coughing fit, and rushed into the bathroom. As we heard the coughing continue, someone inquired, "Are you OK?" From her refuge, we heard her say, "No," in a weak little voice. I had never heard anything but, "Yes," before.

She was frightened by circumstances that we need not discuss here unless the subsequent testing reveals something life-threatening. I was impressed with her sister, however, who treats horses for a living, but here exhibited a good bowl-side manner that was very calming.

Parenthetically, in many TV dramas, after some character who has been shot or beaten or both and lying supine on the ground, is asked, "Are you OK?" I am still waiting for one of the victims to respond, "Do I look OK?"

PER RECENT TRADITION: Happy early New Year. A little more than 40 years ago, I celebrated New Year's Eve at Jack London Square in Oakland. The boats were still bedecked with Christmas lights, and loud music emanated from each of the many bars. I had a couple of stingers, my favorite alcoholic concoction, kissed someone at midnight, and looked for but did not find her lost earring on the way home. I haven't gone out on New Year's Eve since. I imagine it's too late for you to invite me now.

FYI: "Obama Ahkbar" was published without that title, and without the slash, which I thought ably connoted two lines of (bad) poetry.

Stuff I have left over; never waste

I find myself saying, "I voted 'no' on that," more and more often nowadays. It gives me a warm feeling to know I was right about so many things. Here are a few selected examples, in no particular order: I didn't fall for candidate Obama's empty promises, and was particularly appalled by his budget-busting healthcare plan which has become increasingly unpopular. I voted "no" on medical marijuana, and now its excesses have brought it down. What happened to those Indian casinos that were supposed to have a few well-regulated slot machines and no alcohol sales? I voted "no." The high-speed rail was ill-conceived and cannot be funded. My "no" vote could have told you so.

I'm happy to help you to resist the temptation to allow the government to spend more money it doesn't have, and to detect the proposals that are trouble waiting to happen.

Merry Boxing Day

I could research and tell you all about Boxing Day, but I have no readers in the UK or Canada, so who cares? Instead,

FYI: In California, during a traffic enforcement stop, you should acknowledge the officer's presence by turning on your right turn signal. You must not allow the officer to "become alarmed. . . [or] perceive that you have a reason to avoid yielding or that you might be impaired."* Who knew?

The same document (see * below) announces a new word which it has created: "sharrows," which are shared lane pavement markings used to remind drivers that bicycling is allowed. Apparently, my opinion that a bicycle is a children's toy and not a means of transportation is not universally held. I suppose I should be especially careful not to appear impaired lest the officer's interrogation turn to a discussion of two-wheeled vehicles. (I'm not a fan of motorcycles either.)

*Driver Handbook, Department of Motor Vehicles 2011.

Obama Ahkbar

The civil war in Iraq has resumed with growing virulence. We know who to thank -- the anniversary will bear his name -- Barack Obama. The day he withdrew American troops will always be remembered by the families of the dead, and those who wish they were dead, having been conquered by the religious sect they abhor. Perhaps it will be called Obama's Betrayal Day.

Whether you believe we should have gone into Iraq or not, I think you will have to agree it was wrong to leave at this time. The question is: Was it a mistake or a calculated liberal plot to try to fault their political opponents? You know, some nonsense like, "President Bush sent us in/ so the civil war can be blamed on him." That sounds like the off-key theme song of Betrayal Day.

SPEAKING OF ANNIVERSARIES: Tomorrow we celebrate the birthday of Jesus Christ, the self-proclaimed son of God, whose actions never put the lie to that assertion. We would be well advised to emulate Him.

Chances are December 25th is an approximation; it could have been almost any day that year, whichever one that was. Therefore, whether this greeting is early or late. . . Merry Christmas.

(See you on Boxing Day.)

What it's really about (Published w/o [ ] )

The AP article "Prop.8 repeal cleared for signature-gathering" on 12/17, has the board chair of the gay rights group, Love Honor Cherish, talking about how "a majority of California residents have realized it is a mistake to deny loving same sex couples the right to marry." Apart from the wishful thinking aspect of that statement, this issue is far less about loving, and mostly about money and control, specifically the control of money.

Over the past several years, I have found myself in six medical facilities. At no time did any of my friends or family who attended or visited me report being questioned as to who they were, so I discount the claim by gays that they are routinely denied access to hospitalized partners.

I am unmarried, and the medical and financial decisions at the end of my life will be made by one or more of my children. There are legal documents which designate my wishes, and they are available to all -- gay, straight, married or single. Government is uniquely unqualified to deal with "loving," so I feel its intrusion into marriage has been and always will be unwelcome.

None of the qualities espoused in the name, Love Honor Cherish, as applied to personal relationships, can be illuminated or even comprehended by government. [Love, to most politicians, is love of self. Honor usually involves not getting caught, and what they Cherish most is the money they can accumulate in their personal bank accounts.] All of us would be better advised to cast our fortunes in with some higher authority, such as the one who created the sacrament of marriage originally.

Auto repair

The problem was the EGR (exhaust gas recirculation) valve. (Not related to Edward G. Robinson -- real name, Emmanuel Goldenberg.) I paid $179, or about $10 per year. Certainly not bad, if it's a "permanent" solution.

When I'm back on the road, it will be comforting to know that my nanny government has decreed that no one should be too distracted to drive by texting or holding a phone to his/her ear. What about reading, eating, shaving, applying makeup, and checking license plates on passing trailers?

Word meanings

What does "permanent" mean to you? The license plate on first born's horse trailer bears only two things -- a number and the word permanent. No sticker.

Yesterday she was tooling down the freeway when she was stopped by the Highway Patrol. Apparently, permanent means "must be renewed every five years" in the State of California.

She refuses to think about when or if she received some reminder paperwork; it's too late now. I find it strange, however, that an officer had so much time on his hands, not chasing actual criminals, to fire up his computer, while driving and taking his eyes off the road, to verify that one trailer license had expired.

There will be a penalty, probably larger than the fee, because the state has decreed that schools must feed breakfast, lunch, and soon, dinner to the children of people all of whom do not necessarily fulfill their duties as parents. Not to mention those who have parlayed minor illnesses into months, sometimes years, of "disability" payments.

CORRECTION: Archie Panjabi is still #1 (ambiguous) sexy today.

Sexy?

Let me start by throwing out one name: Lauren German (on "Hawai'i 50" of late).

A wooden person

May I respectfully recommend a pleasant little film called "Dummy" (2002) that I saw yesterday on IFC. Chock full of performers I like, it stars Adrien Brody whose excess of charm overshadows his prominent proboscis. It's my kind of movie, with characters, strange as they are, about whom I actually cared. Don't be off-put by the unbelievable; it's part of the fun. Remember. . . not even "Dr. Strangelove" is perfect.

FROM AARP: "Q: How do you pronounce the capital of Kentucky: 'Loo-ee-ville' or Loo-iss-ville'?
"A: [Neither.] Kentucky's capital [is] Frankfort."

(Actually, in southern Indiana I heard it pronounced "Low-vul.")


A POLL conducted by "Men's Health" named Jennifer Aniston the sexiest woman who ever lived. No way! I find Miss Piggy more appealing. The voters must have been the sick guys who read the magazine hoping to find a cure. They should try a doctor, preferably a psychiatrist.

Final word for now

As a child, my mother assured me our family name was unusual, and the only others in the U.S. so named lived in Grand Blanc, Michigan, a small village near Flint. In the age of the internet, I discovered there are thousands, possibly millions, of them to whom I don't believe we are related.

One is or was a sportswriter in Chicago, but there don't seem to be any whom it would be advantageous for me to pretend to be.

I will still remember Sgt. Elliott as one of the most pleasant liars I have ever known, but that reduces the number of celebrity encounters I can claim by one, and, after all, every dropped name and $1.25 can get you a cup of coffee.

PARENTHETICALLY: The mother of my children went to heaven before she could claim her beverage for having gone to high school with the Smothers Brothers. Additionally, my grandson's father's bachelor party was held at Dr. Dre's. How about my son's laying carpet or tile at some country star's home (I don't remember which one[s]) in Nashville?

MEA CULPA

Preliminary research prompted by OPE reveals that I have been snookered. The Sgt. Elliott I met in 1959 was NOT the Private at Pearl Harbor. HE left the Army in 1945. Boy, do I feel foolish. . . .

Oh well, it was a fun piece of fiction. I really did perform on stage with Gary Collins, however. I'm sure of that. (Look him up. . . he is a minor celebrity. Please don't tell him I said "minor.")

Feast Day of St. Ambrose

Having been born on this day, my father was named Ambrose. Why his German family chose to name him for a fourth-century Milanese patron of orators and attorneys is puzzling, but it seems they were seriously religious, and accepted the concept of saints, those people who allegedly performed miracles, as determined by those who believe there are such things.

Dad signed his name A. Edward XXXXXX. His friends, relatives, colleagues and acquaintances called him, variously, Ed, Eddie and Rosey, depending upon when in his life they met him. He christened me with the assumed name he used during that atypical military career mentioned earlier. It didn't keep me out of the Army.

(Don't forget to take down your flag at dark.)

Remembering Pearl Harbor

December 7, 1941 was my father's 40th birthday. It was Sunday, so I assume we went to the 11 a.m. mass. Immediately upon returning home, Mother probably prepared dinner, likely her special chicken, and we cut the cake. At about 7 p.m., we turned on the radio to enjoy the evening's entertainment. I believe that was when we heard the dreadful news. . . several hours after the event. My first reaction was a childish, "What? No Jack Benny?"

In the days that followed, I began to worry about the possibility of my father having to go to war. His German heritage was also a concern when our declaration of war included Hitler and Mussolini. Dad assured me he wasn't going anywhere, however, except to his life-long job at the newspaper. Years later, what I learned about his unusual youthful experience with the military made me realize that he had indeed been allowed to cruise virtually undetected under the radar the rest of his life.

Speaking of radar, 18 years later, as an Army draftee, I served with one Sgt. Elliott, a career soldier. I was initially skeptical of his story of having been at Pearl Harbor. He said that, then as a private, he was on duty in a radar facility on a nearby high hill that morning, when he and a buddy saw an anomaly on the screen and phoned it in. Because the technology was in its infancy, they were told to forget about it, and to come back to headquarters. Within moments they were able to see the entire attack from near the top of the hill, he said.

Eleven years later the blockbuster film, "Tora! Tora! Tora" portrayed the incident exactly as he had related it. . . right down to the name, Private Elliott. As a Sgt., he was a neat guy, and in the Army that frequently means "liar," but I now believe him. However, I don't remember him having a Korean War story, and I do hope he retired before the Vietnam conflict. I do remember him as a better human being than a soldier.

I RELATE this story one day early so that you may have time to find your flag, and prepare to fly it at half staff tomorrow. I'm going to spend a good part of the day trying to remember Sgt. Elliot's first name. After all, we who regularly came home after curfew knew and traded on it to weasel out of punishment. I told you he was neat; he always let us slide, good old what's his name.

The bad and the unexpected

With a mere five days left to change my Plan D drug coverage, I received word from my insurer that next year they will not pay for my most expensive drug. When I mentioned the letter to my agent and my drug store, their reaction mirrored mine: "Bastards." Neither of them, however, could or would help me. They advised me to call 1-800-MEDICARE.

Then a miracle occurred. Mid-afternoon on a Friday, I got right through. Continuing my extraordinary good luck, I was talking to someone who was patient, knowledgeable, and made a change which I understood completely. In less than thirty minutes, God willing, I had arranged to have acceptable, if slightly more expensive, coverage. . . I think. The paperwork that will be forthcoming will tell.

. . . with tongue firmly in cheek

The destruction of the presidential candidacy of Herman Cain by the Democrats and their accomplices in the mainstream media can be attributed directly to sexism and racism.

Sexism. . . because "everyone knows" that when a woman offers, no man can refuse, and a black man is particularly susceptible because of. . .

Racism. Remember. . . it was the black "culture" that invented the concept of "babydaddy," the tradition of men impregnating and then abandoning women to society to raise the child.

Under that double whammy, what chance did Herman Cain have to compete with the likes of Bill Clinton, often called the first black president, whose Democrat Party membership protects his piccadillos from criticism?

I could be more upset if I hadn't observed that Cain had adopted the Obama template -- promises of bullshit. Where have all the statesmen gone?

Although the name "Herman" isn't very presidential, it was better than Mitt and Newt. And you thought we had hit rock bottom with "Jimmy" (Carter). (I kinda like "Millard," and two "Franklins" make it acceptable. Same for "Grover," because he served twice non-consecutively.)