A Wonderful Human Passed Away Tonight

She lay quietly, breathing slowly in my and her daughter’s arms, her heart beating faintly and her breath coming at longer and longer intervals.

Then, the sounds and feel of her heart and lungs began to fade slowly much the way sound diminishes when we gradually turn down the volume on a radio.

Hardly without notice, her life as we understand it ceased.

I’m ashamed of myself because I failed to understand that she was dying and I waited too long to hold her and talk to her and hum some of her favorite songs.

I’m having a hard time inagining life without her.

I hope I have the strength to write her story.

Life is too uncertain at the moment.

A Fine Romance, My Dear, This Is

Or is it?

You’ll pardon me, I hope, if I descend into the murky depths of illicit affairs, which I take in this instance to mean sexual relations outside of marriage.

I’m thinking right now of South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford and his Argentine inamorata. Reports from Argentina have referred to her as a 43-year old professional woman of uncommon beauty. Sanford is 49, so the age range is in line with general expectations.

The element in this romance that strikes me as interesting is the appearance of the two. Given that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, we are, nonetheless, prone to accept reports that the woman is pretty darned good looking.

Sanford, on the other hand, altghough tall and with a commanding presence by virtue of that alone, doesn’t have the face of a Hollywood idol. He has close-set eyes that some may describe as beady. And a long, narrow nose reminiscent of the noses of some species of lower primates. Plus, he seems to have a perpetual five o’clock shadow.

As your typical generic Anglo-Saxon male, I am thus naturally prone to ask, “What does she see in that guy?”

In fact, when I look at Sanford’s face, I am reminded of an old Mickey Gilley honky-tonk song, “The Girls All Get Prettier at Closing Time.”

The song clearly suggests that a woman’s attractiveness increases in proportion with the amount of alcohol consumed by the male. I hold that the rule also applies to women. The more booze a woman consumes, the handsomer a generic will appear to be.

I am not suggesting that Sanford’s inamorata has to get loaded to engage in an affair with him. But Sanford surely must possess some sort of characteristic that transforms him into a desirable male, a characteristic that acts on the female brain much in the manner of booze, a characteristic that casts a soft glow around his entire being.

In my judgement, power is that characteristic. As pudgy Henry Kissinger once said, “Power is an aphrodisiac.” This once-Secretary of State ought to know. He used to squire some of Hollywood’s most beautiful women around town.

And now, generic Sanford is the beneficiary of the essence of Kissinger’s pithy homily. If only the rest of us plain folks were as fortunate, how sweet it would be.

Will sex scandals ever stop?

No. And as long as they continue to occur in San Francisco, the Chronicle will continue to remind us.

In its latest recap, the Chron chronicles San Francisco’s Top Ten Sex Scandals from 1879 to the here and now, proving anew that old sex scandals never die, they just find abbreviated life in media outlets desperate for ad revenues.

I don’t believe any of the sex scandals in the Chron’s list is sublime, but one certainly meets the ridiculous standard.

In 1983, a couple of bar personnel decided on some after-hours sex, not an unusual occurrence, but these two chose the top of a piano for their trip to Nirvana. One of them apparently tripped a hydraulic lift, and as they became engrossed in the task at hand, the piano rose to the ceiling, crushing the man and injuring the woman. I’ve often wondered if, during their flight to the moon, one or the other or both achieved an orgasm.

The most recent scandal on the Chron’s list is the Newsom caper. Among other items in its post, the Chron said Newsom apologized “profusely.”

Profusely you say? Profusely? I must have been on my Bicentennial Vacation to Mars when it happened. The apology I saw was short and not to the point. Then, Newsom disappeared, never to be heard from again in connection with his scandal.

Does the Chron’s use of the word “profusely” suggest in some small way that the paper favors Newsom as a candidate for Governor and wishes to minimize his participation in the event?

Not on your tinnie tin tin, girlie girl and boy boy. The Chron would never do such a thing. Would it?

Well, that’s a matter for you to decide. Personally, the Chron can endorse Mickey Mouse for all the effect newspaper endorsements have on voters’s decisions.

But, really, Chron, when you summarize the Newsom case, do you always need to include names other than Newsom’s? After all, Newsom is the one running for governor. The others are sincerely attempting to move on with their lives.

The Chron ought to move on as well. A little more substantive news might enhance its bottom line.

In the meantime, let’s all sit back and wait for the next sex scandal.

Hmmm, I wonder who lightning will strike next.

Pol Dancing

With his selection of Sonia Sotomayor to replace David Souter on the U.S. Supreme Court, Barack Obama has kicked up a few little dust devils within the Republican Party.

If the party leans on Sotomayor too heavily during her confirmation hearing before the U.S. Senate, it stands a good chance of alienating the tiny Hispanic vote it now enjoys. If the party doesn’t lean on Sonia, it will inevitably arouse the ire of its conservative base.

If the Republicans in Congress follow recent procedure, they’ll dance around a little during the hearings, leaving the heavy work to such luminaries as Rush Limbaugh. Rush has already leaped on Sonia, flat out calling her a “reverse racist.”

Let me see, if a racist is a bad person, isn’t a reverse racist a good person? That’s my view, but then again, I’m just a hillbilly from Arkansas. Where’s George Carlin when we need someone to interpret the English language for us?

In the meantime, Republican operatives are scouring Sotomayor’s prior legal opinions for signs of, dare I say the word, liberalism. That should be an easy task. To your average conservative, anything and everything is liberal, even the writings of Edmund Burke, founder of modern conservatism and an icon of the movement. Perhaps I overstate my case, but you get the point.

And, as usual, at least one repug has called Sonia an “activist” judge. In repug circles, that’s the ultimate put down. The word sort of suggests to me a judge who, instead of sitting on his or her ass and reading Superman comics, actually reads the Constitution as well as assorted legal cases before rendering a judgment.

I could understand a need for an “inactivist” judge if this were 1789. But 2009 is a wee bit modern. The law is more complex, and the practice of law is no longer merely a matter of whipping out a slate tablet and taking a quick look at a couple of cases from the English Common Law. Today, all of the cases interpreting the Constitution would probably fill the National Archives and Records Service in D.C. and all of its outlying records depositories. Someone has been pretty active over the years, and I would be willing to bet that a goodly share of those cases originated with conservative inactivist judges.

On balance, I have no overriding problem with Sotomayor’s confirmation. From the outset, I opted for a woman Justice, although the thought of a Hispanic woman hadn’t crossed my mind. My primary criterion for any nominee, male or female, was and remains a lack of legal experience of any kind. There are too many lawyers cluttering up the legal system. We need a return to the basics of common sense.

I Pulled a Boo Boob

To err is human. To forgive is divine.

I therefore enter the realm of divinity by forgiving myself for predicting that Donald Trump would remove Miss California, Carrie Prejean, from her position as Miss California USA, based on a picture or two of Carrie’s half a boob that reached the public eye.

Oh, and there was that little matter of Carrie speaking publicly about her opposition to same-sex marriages.

Well, the Good Donald has permitted Carrie to retain her title.

He hardly mentioned her upper superstructure as a factor in his decision, but, according to The Donald, if opposition to same sex marriages is good enough for the President, it’s good enough for ordinary Americans like beauty queens to oppose them as well.

Okay, so there. I stand publicly chastised by myself for my grievous error.

Geez. Divinity feels wonderful even if real men never apologize.

In fact, I feel so good, I hereby invite our Real Man and America’s Esteemed Waterboarder in chief, Dick Cheney, to admit the error of his ways and jump on the bandwagon.

Try ir Dickie, Baby. You might like it.

Wish They All Could be California Girls

What’s the big deal with Miss California’s boobs? Everyone seems all fidgety because she posed with a half a boob (no nipple) in a lingerie ad. Now, her position as First Runner Up in the Miss USA contest is at the mercy of Donald Trump, who is supposed to make a final decision on Carrie’s status tomorrow. My guess: “You’re fired!”

But, wait…

The boob display won’t do her in. If Trump lets her go, his reason will hinge on her stance on gay marriages. She’s against them and has publicly said so.

I disagree with her, but I see no reason to take away her crown for her views. After all, we live in a country where we supposedly can speak our minds without the government’s interference.

But, wait…

It isn’t the government that wants to nail Carrie. It’s a private organization. See, the Constitution says “Congress shall make no law….” That revered document doesn’t cover private institutions. Organizarions such as Miss USA and Miss California can pretty well set their own speech standards.

So, hasta la vista, baby. It was nice seeing a large photo of your attributes in Google’s Image feature.

Facebook Frenzy

Lately, I’ve been in a Facebook frenzy.  For some reason, I started working a few of those idiotic exercises that remind me of the 2^nd Grade, like “What kind of element are you (Krypton, it turns out),” or “First 5 cars you owned.”  On the cars thing, I actually couldn’t remember, so I just named the ones I thought would impress the girls. All in all, I ran through about ten of Facebook’s finest. Here they are, along with the results and my observations.

Where have you lived?
Honolulu, HI, San Francisco, Moses Lake, Washington, Petaluma, California and Tokyo, Japan.
Some of these were exciting places, some boring. I think my preference was Petaluma.

Favorite movies of all time
Cool Hand Luke, Dirty Harry, Bullitt, Open Range and Unfaithful.
I included Unfaithful because there is a lot of Diane Lane’s skin along with those gorgeous legs throughout the film.

5 people that I can’t stand
Dick Cheney, George Bush, Donald Rumsfeld, Bill Clinton and Gavin Newsom.
This was so easy. The names popped out without a pause.

5 landmarks I’ve visited
Lincoln Memorial, Vietnam Wall – Wash, DC, Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco, Mississippi River and The Mouth Of The Columbia River.
There have been more on my itinerary, spots like Port Arthur, Texas, but I thought these would impress someone with my dedication to politics and panoramic grandeur.

What do people think of you at first sight?
You are cute.
This is so not true. If there is a non-cute human on the face of the earth, it is me. Call me ugly if you want to, but cute may bring an explosive stream of vomitus in your direction.

Robert took the Are You a Real Texan quiz.
Yes, You’re a Real Texan!
That’s funny. I never was before. And I fully expected not to be following this difficult test of Texas history. I challenge Texans and non-Texans alike to take this quiz.

Robert took the Rorschach Test quiz
The result is Perfectly Sane.
Except that I see a Vampire with Werewolf paws sitting on the head of an ugly kid and a couple of dancing dogs jumping over a chicken.

Robert completed the quiz “So, you think you know American History?”
The result:  Graduate.
Man, the result surprised me. This was another difficult one for me, and again, I challenge the brains among you to prove your knowledge of American history.

Robert took the quiz Where Should You Be Living?
The result: New York
This is absolutely ludicrous. It’s actually just the opposite of every one of my answers. I was thinking of Reno or Winnemucca. Also, Annapolis MD is nice. A few Bay area enclaves were also in the mix. Not to mention the rolling fields of Pennsylvania’s Amish Country. But New York? Give me a break.

One last frenzied attempt. People are challenging me to take the IQ Test. I won’t do it because whoever concocted the quiz wants my cell phone number but I refuse to provide it. I submitted a fake number but it was rejected. Besides, based on the scores of people I know who took the Quiz, I don’t want to embarrass myself with a score of 65 or something.

I’ve invited a few Facebook friends to join me in these fun exercises, but none of the gutless twerps has responded. Well, two have, but they are sterling friends I would trust my life with. The rest are merely collectors of large numbers of “friends” with whom they never communicate.  If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say they are members of the political class, a redundant species that may soon become extinct.