Electing who we don't like

I'm still fuming over the state legislators giving themselves a 5.3 percent raise while bantering on about how deep and severe cuts must take place in order to cover the shortfall in the state budget. Elected officials somehow thought this would be a good idea and would fly without causing a stir. I just don't get it.

Maybe the problem lies in the word "elected". Not that I am suggesting they should be appointed, quite the contrary. Maybe the problem is in the criteria we use to elect them in the first place. "Electability" has become nearly synonomous with "likeability". Do we need to like the officials we elect? Elections should not be a popularity contest. They should be about evaluating the officials who are entrusted to safeguard our future, and preserve our state for generations to come. I think back to my most effective teachers (not necessesarily favorite), and I did not like most of them. In hindsight they got the job done and I have gained respect for them. However, if given the power and choice at the time to have them replaced with a more likeable teacher, I imagine I would have done so. We are doing this now with our elected leaders, and these leaders are acutely aware of it. They are more than aware of it, they base their whole operation around it. Getting re-elected by far outweighs the responsibility of governing.

We need to start electing people who say and do things which are unpopular but right. And when their opponent brings up how that upright person did things that were not immediately gratifying for you, we need to them to shut the hell up and stop being so myopic. We need to have people in charge who should not be afraid of doing the right thing because it may cost them some popularity, and thus their job. As grown adults with reason developed beyond that of a pre-teen pupil, I'd like to think we'd have the sense to do that.

Midwest work ethic

I've always wondered where the midwest work ethic comes from. Does it have to do with the historically agrarian lifestyle? Does it have to do with the density of German immigrants? Is it a rust belt thing? I am convinced it is none of that. It is winter. Shoveling snow it in particular. In order to survive, dwellers of the midwest have to go to their jobs like in every other part of the country. Here however, we must continue to wake up on winter mornings when in is dark until after you get to work, and dark when you return home at night. It will also be very cold, and not just outside. In order to keep a job, we have to keep forcing ourselves to get out of the warm bed, take a shower, and step out of that shower into a cold bathroom while wet. After drying off and getting dressed, you have to venture into the very cold outdoors to scrape the frost off of your windshield and warm your car for 5-10 minutes before you can go to work. On on those lovely mornings where it snows, we must wake early to shovel a path to the road in order to even begin your journey to your place of employment. Lesser men would give up and return to bed, but not the mighty midwesterner. And we still get to work an hour earlier than the folks living on the coast.

So why does this give us a great work ethic? For starters, shoveling snow gets the metabolism going first thing in the morning, setting one up for a day of good hard labor thereafter. Plus the morning routine of cold shocks and natural metaphors for all that is inconvenient in this world weeds out the less motivated who headed to warmer climates when the weather gets rough. Those of us who do not back down from a challenge think of winter as a test of their mettle. On top of that, many of us have ancestors who came here in the summer and lived in caves during the winter. The work ethic comes from the blood of people who chose to settle here in spite of the fact winter meant it was just you, the wilderness, and lots of cold and snow. Those people knew how survival meant dealing with the elements, which took a lot of extra labor. It was them or the wilderness, and they weren't about to go down. And that spirit to get through winter lives in the midwest yet today. I may curse winter now and then, but like a lot of things I grumble about putting up with, it makes me a better man.

Snowing cats and dogs

You ever notice how fresh snow seems to alleviate the responsibility to pick up dog poop for some dog owners? What is that all about? It's like that Simpson's episode where Bart buries the molten Christmas tree in the front yard's snow. Do people think the poop will biodegrade before the next thaw? Or is it more of the "you can't see it, I didn't do it" mentality? Anyway, if you are going to commit to taking care of an animal for its life, be prepared to pick up poop. For 10-15 years. Every day. At least a couple of times. Dammit.

If picking up poop is a problem for the would be pet owner, might I suggest getting an animal that excretes less? How about a snake? Hey, you only have to feed a snake once a week, and they poop just about as frequently. Or maybe picking up poop isn't the problem, its having to get dressed, go outside, remember to bring a bag, tying it up and throwing it away that is a problem. Then why not get a cat? They go indoors in a box. Easy to train, too. Cats are neat animals. Or maybe one of those digital pets are your answer. Better yet, go visit friends with pets when you want to play with a dog. No one I know has ever begrudged you for wanting to spend time with their pets. Like a childless kid lover willing to babysit the twins, it is most often a welcome treat. Best part, the commitment lasts no more than a few hours.

I've never had a problem picking up after the dog. For me it has always been more of a hassle to be home every 8-10 hours to let the dog out. Nothing kills impromptu drinks after work more than dogs. Well, maybe kids. But in my experience once people start having kids they can't stop talking about them, even bringing their childspeak into their adult conversations. This usually turns off the childless among them enough to stop asking the new parent to join them for drinks after work in the first place. There is something about having a conversation about Wow Wow Wubbzy that makes happy hour less exciting. But this self-filtration out of the after-work bar scene doesn't happen to dog owners. Unlike having a child, humans don't have this genetic impulse to change their ways once they get a dog. They don't seem to have any change at all. Except maybe for a naturally higher tolerance for looking at poop. No wonder dog ownership makes such a great gateway into parenthood. Ah, but I digress...

Casinos, Judges, and playground logic

My mother-in-law took me to Dejope "casino" the other day. I put it in quotations because technically, it is a bingo hall. Not that you'd be able to tell that by the advertising they do. "A Little Vegas, right here in Madison" they say. Except they lack a few essentials to be even a little like Las Vegas. No poker, blackjack, or card games of any kind. No roulette, no craps, or other table based games of chance. And though they have what appear to be slot machines, they technically do not have slot machines - they have video bingo games.

They seem to skirt the law by assigning a bingo card to each play of the reels, which otherwise looks and feels a hell of a lot like a slot machine. The only difference is the lack of a handle and a tiny bingo card in the corner of the screen. Some creative person created an association between all possible positionings of the reels to a pattern on a bingo card, and assigned the winning slot reel combinations to winning bingo card patterns. Oh, and instead of hitting a button to spin the reels, you have to hit the button twice. The first time is to start a new "bingo game", which each spin of the reels is. Then within 3 seconds you must hit the button again, performing a virtual daubing of your virtual bingo card. Failure to hit the button the second time is akin to failing to daub ones bingo card, thus negating all winnings. After you daub the card the reels spin and the screen looks almost exactly like the slot machines, even makes the same noises.

How this gets around they the gaming law is beyond me. This is as blatant a violation of the spirit of a law while technically adhering to its letter I have seen since the Frankenstein vetos, or the time Judge Michael Gableman distorted the record of Louis Butler with his campaign ads (we'll save those for another post). This reminds me of the kind of logic kids use when they are in the very early stages of using their ability of reason. Any of you ever have an annoying sibling who, when mother told him/her to stop touching you, kept his/her hand a millimeter away from your body while maintaining the annoying behavior? This kind of legal manipulation reeks of the kind of logic I thought we extinguished in when we entered puberty. Is this where we have come as a society, accepting the playground logic of bullies and manipulators? Only now instead of skirting the "stop touching your brother" law, they have taken their underdeveloped logic to the state statutes and regulations.

Maybe there are too many of us to have that shared common understanding without some nut getting out of line and reintroducing the sensibility of the devious recess hoodlums. While education and debate may take generations to end this kind of travesty, I think the free market option of avoiding the products and services of such places (or voting for such representatives)will provide more immediate gratification. Maybe someday we will evolve to a higher level of common understanding. I'm just surprised its taking so long.

The Grapes of Wrath

Fate wants me to read the Grapes of Wrath. While waiting for a repairman to come to the house one morning I caught the tail end of the movie starring Henry Fonda. I was intrigued and thought to myself, "self, you should read the Grapes of Wrath". Two days later at work a copy of Grapes of Wrath is found in the museum with a sticker on it that read, "I'm not lost. I'm on a journey. Read me and leave me somewhere for someone else to find". You can even go to booktraveler.com to track the journey your book has been on so far. Well I like to believe the universe tends to steer you in the right direction, though usually a bit more subtly. So I guess I will be reading The Grapes of Wrath.

It's the Great Turkey Charlie Brown

Thanksgiving is upon us and already this morning I am learning a lesson in gratitude from my cat Cecil. As is my morning routine, I opened a can of utility-grade meat to feed the cats. This process is always at the very least unappetizing for me, and at the worst, it is downright disgustung. However, a split second after the can popped open I could hear Cecil's collar jingling as he jumped down from the bed, ran through the hall, around the corner, down the stairs and into the kitchen. I hadn't even gotten the food into a bowl and he already has been rubbing up aside my leg, meowing with rejoice that he will get to devour another can of food I cannot bear to smell yet alone eat. There is noting special about this food for Cecil. It is the same food he has been eating for over a year. He eats it three times a day - shares it actually, with Wyatt, our cat of more refined taste. Yet Cecil expresses his gratitude for this simple pleasure by rubbing against my leg every morning. I think he also tries to express thanks once again after finishing by climbing on my lap an breathing into my face. "Here dad, see how good this was?" There is nothing like the smell of canned ocean whitefish after it has passed the cat's palate, let me tell you.

I have lost my sense of gratitude for each opportunity to eat. I more often find myself sighing at the contents of the cupboard than gleefully expressing thanks for the abundance of food I have to eat. Sometimes I'll even move boxes and jars of less than desireable food around the cupboard and frige, not once thinking of the fact that I have more food in my possesion that I can see at one time. Well, Cecil has taught me to give thanks at each meal. His is the life of simple gratitude and happiness. He bears no grudge if the food is not to his preferences. He comes running with the expectancy of filling his belly with whatever ends up in the bowl, and he likes it (now if only I could say so much for Wyatt).

This Thanksgiving, and hopefully here on out, I shall also be grateful for each opportunity to eat. Maybe I'll even resemble the cat a bit and come running when dinner is called, though I will likely forgo the leg rubbing part for obvious reasons. We are truly lucky to have such an ample supply of inexpensive and variegated food. After all , we live in a country where the poor are more obese than the rich (imagine fathoming that 100 years ago!). Ooh, gotta run! I hear popcorn a popping downstairs!

Schlitzville

1848 - Wisconsin becomes a State
1849 - Schlitz Brewery founded
1850 - Milwaukee now famous

Well maybe it wasn't that simple. Nonetheless, the old Schlitz, which is to say the good Schlitz, is back. I spent last night enjoying Schlitz beer in the very city it purportedly made famous. Maybe it's becuase I work in the Wisconsin Historical Museum, but there is something about drinking original-formula Schlitz in Milwaukee that goes beyond nostalgia. It almost feels reverential. For the better part of a century Schlitz was the #1 beer in the country. Schlitz was the first beer to come in brown glass bottles. And until some distant relatives of Joseph A. Schlitz got a hold of the company and ruined a great beer with shorter fermentation time and seaweed extract, Schlitz beer symbolized Milwaukee's indisputable status as America's brewing capital (along with Blatz, Pabst, and Miller). As a beer that played such a role in defining a great Wisconsin city, the Schlitz name has earned my respect. When I heard the old formula was coming back, I could not wait to get some new-old Schlitz. I felt honored to be able to toss back a couple Schlitz the way my grandfather or great grandfather might have in a Milwaukee tavern. I'm not sure I like the idea of Schlitz costing $3.50 a bottle, but hey, you are buying more than just the beer. When you buy a Schlitz you are buying some great history and culture. You pay extra for that tropical mindset when you buy Red Stripe or Corona, so what is the problem with paying a bit extra for some retro-Milwaukee tavern culture? I'll gladly raise my $3.50 bottle in honor of Joseph A. Schlitz.