Funny how soon they forget . . .

Dick Cheney is laser sharp in his criticism of the current Administration and in his trumpeting of his initiatives during his 8-year Reign of Terror.  His memory for his accomplishments is uncanny.

Oh, wait, there is that inconvenient incident in which he outed an intelligence officer because her husband was critical of Cheney’s intelligence gathering and evidence supporting the Iraq War.  What was her name again?   He couldn’t remember anything when pressed by federal prosecutors.  He couldn’t “recall” 72 times

Dick, let me help you. 

Her name is Valerie Plame.  She worked for the CIA defending and protecting this country

But, her husband doubted on your fabricated evidence for war, so you exposed a patriotic American, a defender of our safety and way of life and, by extension, you put in harm’s way ALL OF THOSE AGENTS WITH WHOM SHE WORKED.  

And, you can’t remember.  Is it because you did it so often?  

 

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By PETE YOST, Associated Press Writer Pete Yost, Associated Press Writer Mon Nov 2, 6:34 am ET

WASHINGTON – Federal prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald famously declared in the Valerie Plame affair that “there is a cloud over the vice president.” Last week’s release of an FBI interview summary of Dick Cheney’s answers in the criminal investigation underscores why Fitzgerald felt that way.

On 72 occasions, according to the 28-page FBI summary, Cheney equivocated to the FBI during his lengthy May 2004 interview, saying he could not be certain in his answers to questions about matters large and small in the Plame controversy.

The Cheney interview reflects a team of prosecutors and FBI agents trying to find out whether the leaks of Plame’s CIA identity were orchestrated at the highest level of the White House and carried out by, among others, I. Lewis “Scooter” Libby, Cheney’s chief of staff.

Among the most basic questions for Cheney in the Plame probe: How did Libby find out that the wife of Bush administration war critic Joseph Wilson worked at the CIA?

Libby’s own handwritten notes suggest Libby found out from Cheney. When Libby discovered Cheney’s reference to Plame and the CIA in his notes — notes that Libby knew he would soon have to turn over to the FBI — the chief of staff went to the vice president, probably in late September or early October 2003.

Sharing the information with Cheney was in itself an unusual step at the outset of a criminal investigation in which potential White House witnesses were being ordered by their superiors not to talk to each other about the Plame matter.

[rest of article omitted]

Punditry

On the urging of my college friends, I entered the Washington Post contest for a new pundit/columnist position.  Ok, they were looking for a fresh face and mine is 45 years old, but, hey, I am younger than some people.

I submitted a short piece about the mixed legacy of Ted Kennedy (whether our nation’s ideals would have been better served if he didn’t get a free pass on his transgressions) and referred them to this blog. 

I had dreams of having a by-line on a column next to those of Pulitzer Prize winners.  My mother would have beamed from Heaven as if I had received a Nobel Peace Prize. 

So, by entering a contest, I was three degrees away from a Nobel Peace Prize.  Three degrees

So, I didn’t get a bronze, silver or gold.  But I was a contender

And that, I think, is close enough for my mother, who believed that EVERYONE is entitled MY opinions.

Cell YELLLLLLL

Cellphones are sometimes blessings but, most times, curses. 

When your 89 year-old father is running late because of city traffic, it is a blessing not to start calling emergency rooms around the city.  If you are on a bus and a teenager is talking about adolescent issues and her first visit to the gynecologist, well, then, it is a little like being in purgatory.

Recently, on a bus going uptown on the west side of Manhattan, a woman in her mid-to-late seventies was having a conversation on her cellphone.  To be more precise, she was YELLING into her cellphone as if she were hard-of-hearing or had never used a cellphone before (or both).  A man in his sixties turned around and told her he was very sensitive to noise and ask very politely if she would mind lowering her voice.

Her response was to tell her friend, “can you believe someone told me to quiet down? If you were next to me and we were screaming to each other, no one would say anything to us.” 

You can’t argue with that, mostly because all you would get out of it is a headache.

Another Gym Moment

We had had friends over for dinner Saturday night and good food and wine doesn’t not go gently on the body anymore. 

So, Sunday, at the stroke of 11:39am, I set off for a run.  I cut short the run at a mile, because, well, the chill in the air was not helping the creaks in my knees and the gym is warmer.  So I trot into the gym and, thinking about my new health regimen, I get one of those parsley, beet, cucumber, kale, blah blah blah drinks with some extra stuff for energy and focus.  It is a gross green color and therefore it must be good for me, right?

I drink it up as I am inputting my weight and my age into the machine (I pause for a moment to shake my head at the weight creep up the scale) and I notice that I have a faint after-taste of garlic.  Aaaargh.  Garlic was not listed in the ingredients to this elixir.  Luckily, I have one of those damp towels with eucalyptus in it (who knows why, but I took one), so I can breathe into it and not offend others near me.

This time I choose the recumbent bike, so that there is really no way I can fall off this machine, even if I faint from the garlic and the eucalyptus.  The woman next to me is ten years older and is going further and faster on her bike.  And she is burning more calories.  It’s ok, I rationalize because if I went faster, I would sweat more garlic, and SHE would keel over.  So my slow pace is actually altruistic.  And not only that, I am breathing through my eucalyptus towel to keep the garlic smell quotient to a minimum.

All of this altruism, eucalyptus and garlic is making me tired and I still 25 minutes to go (I have only been pedaling for five minutes, but it was a complicated and emotional five minutes).  The Marathon is on the TV and now I am psyched up to keep going.  Then I turn to another TV and see John King on CNN asking dumb questions instead of tough questions and I get agitated.  My bike starts making weird clanking noises.  They are loud enough for the people next to me to look over because they can hear the noises over their iPods.  The older woman is staring at me and I want to say, “hey, I am breathing into this stupid towel so you don’t faint from garlic, and you are running faster and further than I am, so you want to make something of my clanking bike?”  But of course I don’t.  I smile sheepishly as if I had been flatulent and everyone can smell it. 

Oh, will the degradation ever end for this schlepper at the gym?  No, I fear. 

I am destined for every gym visit to be — how shall I say? — “schl-epic”.

Blackberries, iPhones and other means of electronic torture

A few years ago, we were always on our blackberries because we were always juggling deals and family, etc.

Sometimes, we would look at our blackberries to be passive-aggressive if we were angry with our spouses.  Not with my spouse, however.  I tried that for one week and, thereafter, when I came home there was the ceremonial handing over of the blackberry to her and she would throw it somewhere, at least until dinner was over.

Now we are always on our blackberries, fiddling with the battery, checking whether the wifi is on, because we can’t imagine that no one needs to reach us immediately.  In fact, I have three different electronic gizmos just in case one doesn’t work.

Blackberries won’t give us business and restart the economy, but looking at it all the time will anger friends and family.  Sooooooo, I am starting a 12-step program.

It’s The Great Pumpkin

Ok, so my son’s babysitter and he carved a pumpkin LAST Friday because she is away this Friday.  So, we have a candle-less jack o’lantern in the house.  To me, it looked like a fruit that was poised to rot if left out.  (Maybe you are getting the idea that I hate Halloween.)  What am I to do with a carved-up piece of fruit that will attract every manner of vermin and insect into my kitchen?  Throw it out?  An excellent idea, except that would not be a good thing in my son’s eyes.  So, I put it in the refrigerator, where one puts stuff that would rot if left out.

My partner comes home and sees the pumpkin in the refrigerator and thinks I am an alien who came fully sprung from a pod and never experienced Halloween or any other quaint Americanism that our society holds dear.  She thinks it is even a little charming.  Then she realizes that I grew up in NYC and I am (allegedly) a non-pod person, so now she thinks I am crazy and a little ooky.

People dressing up in scary clothes, eating candy that rots out teeth, carving rotting fruit.  What kind of holiday is this anyway?

A very Merry Chanukah To You

http://www.jewishsource.com

You have got to check out this site because there is a Chanukah hat that is out of a Santa Claus catalogue.  Ok, let’s just give up all pretense about Chanukah being anything other than the well-to-do Jews’ answer to Christmas.  My Bubbe and Zeide would just say, “oy, vhat a strange country, America”.

As a second generation American, this is NUTS!!!  Celebrate Christmas but don’t turn a minor holiday into a commercial extravaganza.  Ok, at least not a Christmas-lite extravaganza.  Let’s not dilute Christmas and let’s not spoil our kids.IMG00067

No-Where-istan Swears In Minister of Peace, Love and Happiness

Here she is, the Minister of Peace, Love and Happiness, plucked from the subways of NYC and into the ministry of Peace, Love and Happiness.  She is wearing the official dress and head gear of the country in keeping with its cultural roots.  There will be traditional dancing at the inaugural balls later on in the season.  But for now, I give you, ladies and gentlemen, Her Excellency the Minister:

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“Networking” is a drag

So, last night, I go with a colleague to a networking party in our professional field.  I realized after scanning the faces in the crows how many of my friends and clients lost jobs.  I knew a few people there but not many.  After I spoke to them, I decided that I would just introduce myself and start talking to whomever and even work my way toward introductions with potential business sources. 

I was, in essence, speed-dating.  Some conversation starters worked, some didn’t.  Some situations were uncomfortable (as in former clients) and some were comical. 

I was trying to meet this important guy who was clearly not interested in talking to me.  But I planted myself next to him — why not? he doesn’t give us business now so what do I have to lose? — but unfortunately I also planted myself in the path of the waiter staff trying to pass hors d’oeuvres.   Someone in the conversation asked me what I do (as in for a living), and “I said I try not to get in the way and I am not always successful” as another waiter nearly beheaded me (AND I had moved out of the way) with a tray of almond crusts chicken on skewers.  Then we start talking about facilitating transactions and someone spills wine on my blazer.  “Don’t worry,” I say, “the color is midnight blue so no one will notice”.  Needless to say, I felt like the comic entertainment.  And my blazer needs to be dry-cleaned.

GMAC is different than CIT

CIT is a huge lender to small and middle-market businesses. 

If we want to keep the main engine of our economy from falling off a cliff, we ought to be more worried about the survival of lenders to small and middle-market companies than whether someone at Goldman gets $10million or whether seniors get a $250 check. 

Were all lenders taking outrageously stupid risk?  Yes.  Should they all have a time out?  Yes.  Should they make a lot of money? No.  But, first we need to shore up cash and credit availability to the backbone of our economy.  Then we can point fingers. 

Remember, the ambulances come to a scene of a shooting and take all the injured away and treat them.  After the dust settles, one of them may be in prison (or getting a lethal injection if he is in Texas).