We're in a heap of trouble folks. And the Republicans have the freakin crazy nerve to give us what. An old sick guy and an ignorant small town politician to take over America. LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE. TAKE A LOOK AT BILL MAHER and what he had to say about McCain's pick for Vice President:

A mix between Wonderwoman and Superwoman or TransHero.

Flying to the rescue of poor people being harassed by obnoxious constable

Mission Accomplished!

Au Revoir Wondersuperwoman!

I can see foot problems developing for Dallas Super Heroes. Wearing 5 inch heels seems countraindicated when your mission consists of running after criminals (and pesky constables.) Safety trumps style, ma'am, even in Dallas.

These national enthusiasms, however well meaning and sincere, blind us to readily apparent contrary information.  America is enthralled with the future of EHRs and partying like its 2014, and we're "mission accomplished" per President Bush's 2004 decree.

Gelzer worries that there is much about electronic health records that we just don't fully understand and appreciate as of yet.  He describes unmeasured medical-legal risk due to EHR's that may only offer inadmissible data as well as that may provide plaintiff's with impeachable metadata with features such as date/time stamping.  Once more, EHRs have been designed and marketed with a focus on the financial return on investment and fail to meet their full potential to be a tool to improve patient safety and decrease medical errors.  Then there is the interoperable issue.

Many, including myself, have commented that the lunacy of the current EHR market is that none of the systems talk to each other.  They are all essentially paperless stand alone chart systems.  The real power to improve patient safety and improve health care efficiency will come when a family doctor, ER physician, and a cardiologist can all look at the same electronic patient chart.  While there are more and more efforts to achieve this currently none of the over two hundred EHRs on the market offer this.

Gelzer claims that there is much blame to go around in the erection of this bubble and it all sounds familiar.  Professional and governmental groups charged with safeguarding the public's interest have been to quiet on these issues.  Health care institutions have been too quick to follow the fad and investment millions of dollars without understanding what they are really getting into.  A dysfunctional marketplace that is more concerned with finances than patient care.

In September of 2006 I published a commentary in Family Practice Management magazine called "Why I Never Had an Atari Video Game System" warning of the unintended consequences of electronic health records.  At the time I wasn't exactly sure what they were, but now I'm starting to get a much better idea.

The Country Doc

Isn't it strange then, that McShame is blaming Obama for the nearly 200,000 jobs lost in the last month? It's Obama's liberal policies that are job killing.  Not the trillions of dollars wasted in Iraq.  Not the out-sourcing of jobs with tax and spending benefits to the riches and their corporations.  Not the shitty edumacations we're handing out with pride, for lotsa fucking money.  Not the healthcare that's unaffordable for too many Americans-- No-- it's the liberals.  Is George Bush 2.0 liberal? 'Cause that dumbfuck has ground  us into this dump like a [insert southernesque homily here].

Still, the Affirmative Actioned, Post Traumatic Stress Disordered Guy, McCunt, is also still warring like a sumbitch:

I wanted to talk about his proposal to increase government spending by another trillion dollars. Some of his comments that he has made about the war that I think may, in my world, disqualifies someone from consideration as the next commander in chief.

Well, Pobrecito, in your world, the trillions of dollars going toward that push-in robbery for oil in Iraq is sweet. In your world, war is sweet.  How do you spell sac o' shit crazy?  M-c-C-a-i-n.

Names4things tries as hard as she can to listen to people with opposing views.  But when civilians are killed, maimed, and having their homes taken by our ignoble troops, it's just too difficult.  Don't get twisted.  N4t is so very for the troops-- coming home.  She's for them getting the fuck out of Iraq, alive.  She's for Iraqis being alive, so they can enjoy the freedom of their own fucking dumbocracy-- which could be no worse than ours, considering the coup d'etat of 2000.  She's for making reason out of this overly long grift that leads us deeper into the Halliburton/Blackwater  morrass, that makes no sense, no way, no how.  Yeah it makes mountains of cents, but the financial strategy just fucked a whole lotta youse, as we may have said in New York a few decades ago.  Truth can't reign, while bullshit rains.

To those whom N4t can barely manage an indoor voice to: what the fuck are you thinking?  Have you got some yet?  That's military talk, to you civilians.  It means getting ready to, or already having achieved specific maneuvers, or the killing of the enemy.

The war in Iraq, however, was not about getting anything other than oil.  That's not getting some.  We would call that, getting yakked.  Everyone in that circle of hell qualifies.

Perhaps because I was in the 9/11 target, and perhaps because I have a memory; I recall Osama bin Laden's taunt.  He said he would bring down the evil empire (that would be us) by bankrupting us.

Sad to say, mission pretty much accomplished.

McShameless would like you to believe that war is good.  To all you evangelical and taliban types, who are barely indistinguishable?  That's some awful, murderous bullshit.  Get your heads out of women's comeliness, out of gayness, out of our wombs, and essentially, the fuck outta here, with the quickness. Your money's no good here.  Neither are your strategies.

Is this working for the rest of you?  Of course not.

I'm going to stop now, because I don't want my head to explode. Again.  And it does, every time I think about Bullwinkle taking over, after McCunt's system overloads.  Vote with the big head, people-- not with your skins.  Vote for those shitty liberals, who haven't been raping us for the last several years.

If you have to have a dick dealer, and most all politicians are dickly; pick one who isn't bloodthirsty.  Just a suggestion.-- or maybe even a talking point..

Ah yes, the mysterious "Christmas Tree" version of the bailout bill has passed, and what visions of grandeur the term Christmas Tree inspires! Scantily clad vixens with bows tied atop their heads, awaiting my arrival from my palatial bedroom suite with candy canes dangling from their luscious lips... or perhaps you have another image in your head? Regardless of all of that, the deed is done! The economy is saved and surely the stock market is climbing to previously unforeseen heights! I shall check... of course! It has succeeded! It has climbed! To.... wait a minute... NEGATIVE 157.47? Isn't this the moment we've all been waiting for? Isn't the lack of passing of this bill the reason why stocks fell over 700 points the other day? Welcome to bizarro world folks... Investor confidence my ass.

I finally got my copy of the much anticipated Jesus Wants to Save Christians: A Manifesto of the Church In Exile by Rob Bell and Don Golden.  I’m going to try my hand at blogging through a book again, so here goes.

Introduction: Air Puffers and Rubber Gloves

The Old Testament (or TaNaKh) is cyclic.  The story at the end is the same as the story at the beginning.  There is Fall, and there is Redemption.  This continues on and on so long as there is even one person left who is willing to follow God- which is always. 

The first move is East.  Adam and Eve sin, and they go east, into exile.  Abraham returns back west.  Jacob and family go south, in exile in Egypt.  The Exodus takes the Israelites back north, to home.  The Babylonians take the Israelites (now Jews) back east, into exile.  Ezra and Nehemiah lead the Judah back west, to home.  East, west, south, north, east, west.  Fall and Redemption, Exile and Home.  More on this later.

Bell jumps to a scene in an airport, juxtaposing the heightened security measures of the war on terror at home, costing untold amounts, with the TV screens talking about the newest weapons for the war on terror abroad.  There is a state-of-the-art air puffer to detect explosives at the airport here.  There is a 50 million dollar plane to fight our nation’s enemies there.

Bell: “Keeping us safe is very, very profitable… We are east of Eden.  Something is not right. 

Back to the TV.  On an aircraft carrier, a leader proclaims “Mission Accomplished.”  The leader quotes Isaiah 49, saying that wherever the military goes, it brings “a message of hope ‘to the  captives, “Come out!” and to those in darkness, “Be free”’”  This puts Christians in an awkward place.  Our narrative is one of a middle eastern man being put to death for creating disorder for the occupying global military superpower, which sought to bring peace through its military strength.  On the aircraft carrier, the leader of the current global military superpower, which also seeks to bring peace through its military strength, is proclaiming victory over, and now occupation of, a middle eastern nation.  And he fuses into his speech a litany from a small middle eastern people on the underside of power. 

Bell:  “A Christian should get very nervous when the flag and the Bible start holding hands.  This is not a romance we want to encourage.”

What happens when Christians become part of a system that the scriptures take aim at?  What happens when Christians are innocently complicit?  Are we guilty or are we transgressors?  What happens if we are complicit in any sort of oppression, when God is invariably on the side of the oppressed?

Has the Church gone “East?”  Are we in Exile?

ACT III

Seven years later. The District of Crawford is flooded. A river flows through the main street of town. Several of the buildings are still on fire. People are sloshing and wading through the water, panicking, pounding on the doors of the bank, which is closed. Some townsfolk smash the bank windows and jump in, yelling and firing guns into the air. Outside The Republican Saloon, The Decider, Big Dick, The Maverick, his advisor Phil Gramm, and Calamity Sarah are sitting in chairs holding fishing poles, their lines dangling in the raging river that floods Main Street, fishing and watching the disaster unfold. Above them, suspended from the roof of the saloon, is a huge banner that reads: FISHIN’ ACCOMPLISHED.

BIG DICK: Gettin’ any nibbles over there?

THE DECIDER: Nope. Can’t I go home now and clear some more brush?

BIG DICK: I told ya, George, not until the election’s over and there’s a new mayor.

Barry O’Bama comes into view, wading into the river to speak with the townsfolk.

THE DECIDER: Hey, look, there’s that Barry O’Bama fella, campaignin’ for my job.

BARRY O’BAMA: (Speaking to the people) Folks, let’s be calm. We can fix this. But we’ve gotta fundamentally change the way we do business here in D.C.

THE DECIDER: Is he talkin’ about my fundament?

BIG DICK: Just look at the grubby little peons flock to him.

MAVERICK: He sure is uppity. Who does he think he is?

CALAMITY SARAH: (Sneering) He’s like some sorta Hollywood celebrity.

THE DECIDER: What’s Hollywood? Is that some new-fangled ranch or somethin’?

BARRY O’BAMA: (To the people) My fellow citizens, we’ve had eight years of The Decider  and his friend, The Maverick, who just offers more of the same. Just look around you. They let the stampede destroy our town, then they lied us into a range war with the I-Rock, lynched Sammy Hussein, then stood by and watched as our homes were flooded. And now the bank’s failed under the weight of all this debt and bad loans, thanks to their deregulation, and there they are, sittin’ there fishin’ while you all suffer. It’s time for a change.

BIG DICK: (To The Maverick) Hey, Maverick, you better do somethin’, or you’re gonna lose.

MAVERICK: (Standing up) My friends, there’s nothin’ to worry about. The fundamentals of our economy are strong! If one of your houses floats away, well then, you just move into one of your other houses.

COWGIRL #1: (Clinging to a log) What? Are you insane? What other house? I only had one, and it’s halfway to Galveston by now. I’ve lost my job, my home, the bank’s closed, and my life savings is gone, and I don’t even have any health insurance. What am I supposed to do?

PHIL GRAMM: Oh, quit your whinin’.

BARRY O’BAMA: Now you see? Right there, that’s the kind of attitude we get from The Maverick and his advisors, who helped get us into this mess. We need a change.

MAVERICK: My friends, don’t listen to that uppity dude. Why, he don’t even look like you and me. He’s just one of them fast-talkin’ greenhorns from back east, with his fancy book-learnin’ and big speeches. Who’re you gonna believe, him or your old friend, The Maverick?

COWBOY #1 (Floating by in the river): Hey Maverick, how many ranches do you own, anyways?

MAVERICK: I don’t know, I’ll have my staff get back to you on that.

COWBOY #1: Okay. (Floats away)

BARRY O’BAMA: You see? He has no clue! He’s completely out of touch.

MAVERICK: My friends, I’ve been around a long time. You know me. I’m a gambler. I like to roll the dice. I’m a Maverick. I’ve fought for you little people my whole career. Now, we’re in a big pickle here. Times are tough. But the fundamentals of our economy are strong. (Big Dick leans over and whispers in his ear. Suddenly The Maverick stands up and starts waving his arms wildly) Hey now, this is a disaster ! I propose that we all drop what we’re doin’, set our pants on fire, and run down to the capital lickety-split, or else we’re all gonna die!

COWBOY #2: (From the roof of the General Store) But Maverick, you just said the fundamentals of our economy are strong. Which is it?

MAVERICK: Forget that! We’re in the middle of a meltdown here! Fire the bankers! Fire everybody! Start bailin’! Set fire to your pants!

COWBOY #3: (Popping his head up from under water) Maverick, we’ve lost our jobs. Our homes have been swept away in the flood. Now our life savings are gone in this financial mess, and my friends are still fighting that range war over at the I-Rock after five long years. And you helped lead us into all of these disasters. How can you, with all your money and ranches, relate to what we’re worrying about over our kitchen tables every… glug glug glug… (he sinks beneath the surface again).

MAVERICK: My friends, 35 years ago, I spent five years in a Mexican prison. For five years, I didn’t have any houses. I didn’t have a kitchen table.

BARRY O’BAMA: What does that have to do with anything?

MAVERICK: I’ll tell you what, you uppity dude. What Mr. O’Bama doesn’t understand is, that we’re spendin’ $10,000 every second on that range war over at the I-Rock. Now that’s what I call a splurge! We’re payin’ off each of those I-Rock ranch-hands hundreds of dollars every month to put down their guns and stop shootin’ at us. And the splurge is workin’. Mr. O’Bama was against the splurge. And the splurge has worked. And it will keep workin’ for the next 100 years. Or 500 years. Or a thousand years. And I got this bracelet from a woman whose son I helped get killed for nothin’. She wants desperately to believe. So we’ll stay there as long as it takes to win.

COWGIRL #2: (From the rooftop of the bank) What are we gonna win? Will we win our trillion dollars back? Will we get our standing in the world back? What about all those amputees that are comin’ back from the I-Rock? Will they get their arms and legs back? What’s the prize in this game?

MAVERICK: (Starts waving his arms around wildly) Pancakes!

BARRY O’BAMA: How can we win when the reasons we went over there and fought this range war never existed in the first place? There were no Weapons of Mass Defecation. No poison cow pies. And meanwhile, after all this, Ben Lawdin is still runnin’ around up there in the hills, free.

MAVERICK: Oh, don’t you worry. When I become mayor, I’ll follow Ben Lawdin to the gates of hell, and I know how to catch him.

COWBOY #4: How?

MAVERICK: Elect me mayor and I’ll tell ya.

CALAMITY SARAH: See, The Maverick puts country first! And as for this raging river that’s rollin’ through town here, I totally support buildin’ a big, expensive bridge from this side of the river to… (she points off toward the desert behind her) somewhere out there in the middle of nowhere. Yup, yup.

BARRY O’BAMA: You want to build a bridge to nowhere when the rest of the town is drowning in debt?

CALAMITY SARAH: Yup, yup, I support that bridge. We can use it to transport all of those dirty books from the library that I want to burn. We’ll take ‘em over the bridge, out into the middle of nowhere, and set ‘em on fire.

BARRY O’BAMA: Well, you heard her folks. She wants to take your money and build a bridge to nowhere.

CALAMITY SARAH: What are you talkin’ about? I told that fancy dude, “Thanks but no thanks,” to that bridge to nowhere.

BARRY O’BAMA: You did not! You said “Yes” twice to the bridge! We all heard you.

CALAMITY SARAH: Nope. I said “Thanks but no thanks.” 'Cause I’m a rootin’ tootin’ hockey mom. A reformer. And when The Maverick and me are elected, God willing, we’re gonna clean up D.C. Yup, yup.

COWGIRL #3: (Floating away down the river, barely keeping her head above water) Hey, I like her! She’s just like you and me, even though I have no idea what a hockey mom is. This is a tough decision.

BARRY O’BAMA: Oh, please. She’s completely unqualified. She doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about.

CALAMITY SARAH: Who cares? I get all my info from God. I know the difference between the good guys and the bad guys. The good guys wear the white hats and the bad guys wear the black ones. Everyone knows that. Yup, yup.

MAVERICK: Don’t you just love her, folks? I’m so glad to have another Maverick with me who’ll help me go shake up D.C. Isn’t she a dear?

CALAMITY SARAH: A deer? Where? (She wheels wildly around with her rifle, firing. Across the street, a man sitting on a rooftop screams, clutching his face. He falls into the river with a splash and sinks. Calamity Sarah smiles and shrugs her shoulders.)

Just then Joey, a small boy, comes racing around the corner.

JOEY: Maverick! Maverick!

MAVERICK: Here I am, Joey.

JOEY: Maverick! (He runs to The Maverick and hugs him, and The Maverick tousles his hair)

MAVERICK: What is it, Joey? What’s wrong?

JOEY: A man came to the house, Maverick. A little brown man, with a funny way of talkin’. He said he was from I-Ranch, and he was lookin’ for you, Maverick!

MAVERICK: I see.

JOEY: I wanted to come and warn you, Maverick, but Ma said I shouldn’t. She said I should mind my own business. But I snuck out and came anyway, Maverick.

MAVERICK: (Tousling the boy’s hair again) That’s all right, Joey. You did good. Now you run along home, Joey, before your ma starts to worryin’.

JOEY: (Hangs his head) Ah, do I have to, Maverick? Can’t I stay? I’ll be good. I promise I will.

MAVERICK: No, Joey. It’s too dangerous for little boys. You run along home.

JOEY: Aw, all right, Maverick. (He walks slowly around to the corner of the bar, then turns around and looks back) Maverick…

MAVERICK: What is it, Joey?

JOEY: Bye, Maverick…

MAVERICK: Good bye, Joey.

Joey turns and disappears around the corner. A moment later, a small, dark-skinned man in a tan windbreaker walks around the corner. It is Ahmadinejad. He walks slowly, purposefully towards The Maverick, stopping some 10 feet away, facing The Maverick across the boardwalk.

AHMADINEJAD: Hello, Maverick.

MAVERICK: (Turning slowly to face him) Hello, Osmond Dinner Jacket. I hear you’re lookin’ for me.

AHMADINEJAD: Yes, I wanted to talk to you.

MAVERICK: (His right eye twitching) Talk?

AHMADINEJAD: Yes. I hear you have been singing songs about bombing my ranch. This is not good.

MAVERICK: (Smiling coolly) Oh?

ACHMEDINAJAD: Yes. I thought perhaps we could negotiate.

MAVERICK: Negotiate? Without preconditions? How naive do you think I am, Amadoofus John?

AHMADINEJAD: I don’t know what you mean. I just want to talk.

MAVERICK: (Slowly dropping his hands to his sides, just above his two six-shooters) What you want, Osborne Denver Omelette, and what you get are two different things.

AHMADINEJAD: (Looking confused) I don’t understand.

MAVERICK: (His right hand twitching above his holster) I’m waiting, Oswald Dimpled  Chad. Do I have to crowd you into slapping leather?

AHMADINEJAD: Slapping leather?

Time stops and the two men stand, looking into each other’s eyes. Suddenly Maverick rocks into a blur of action, his two hands moving with incredible swiftness to his hips, and the afternoon fills with the roar of two guns firing in a single, sustained blast. Maverick stands, hunched,  holding his still smoking pistols, solid on his feet as a stump, while Ahmadinejad sways, blood beginning to show in the white of his shirtfront, growing into a wide, red stain. His face is a mask of disbelief, and then his knees buckle, and he collapses into a heap on the boardwalk outside the Republican Bar.

BIG DICK: That’s some nice shootin’, Maverick.

BARRY O’BAMA: But he was unarmed! You just shot an unarmed man!

CALAMITY SARAH: That doesn’t matter. That Oklahoma Job was a bad guy. That’s pretty clear. There’s good guys and bad  guys, and in my world, that’s the bad guy. Yup, yup.

Calamity Sarah and The Maverick walk to their horses and mount up.

THE MAVERICK: (Turning to the crowd) My friends, we’ve gotta ride off to the capital now to bail out D.C. You all just keep treadin’ water till we get back. Yippy ki yi yay, my friends!

CALAMITY SARAH: And if a Putin rears his head, don’t you worry, I’ve got foreign policy experience!

They turn their horses and ride off on the road that leads out of town, riding into the sunset, as Joey runs after them.

JOEY: (Shouting) Maverick! The foreigner was fast, Maverick, but you were faster! He never even cleared his holster, Maverick!

BARRY O’BAMA: What holster? He didn’t even have a gun.

The Mavericks keep on riding.

JOEY: (Shouting) Mavericks! Come back, Mavericks! We need you! Mavericks! Come back!

But the two Mavericks do not turn around. They keep riding, ever riding, across the plain, into the red dusk of the sunset, riding their lonely road, growing ever smaller until the road is a plain, thin ribbon to the horizon, and they are gone.

The Palin Prophecies

Yup! Yup! Nuckin’ Futs!

..........................................................................................................................................

Brent Mooseburger, Alaskan Pentecostal sports reporter, has been selected, much to his surprise, by God Our Heavenly Father as the man to channel Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin’s messages to the American people, since neither she nor God trust the elite media. In this almost-daily blog, Mr. Mooseburger will decode Palin’s prophecies for a nu-clear age. Reader responses are not welcome, unless you show the proper respect and deference.

..........................................................................................................................................

The Palin Prophecies are archived at www.thepalinprophecies.com. KenArnoldBooks will be publishing Brent Mooseburger’s messages as he channels them. His inspirational messages will be collected into an ebook sometime in October and published by KenArnoldBooks on Amazon Kindle. Entries are copyrighted by KenArnoldBooks, LLC.

[vodpod id=ExternalVideo.703995&w=425&h=350&fv=]

1. Infrastructure

   

2. National Debt

3. Education

4. Medicare

5. Afghanistan

6. Environment

7. Global Respect
   

8. Energy Policy
   

9. Human Rights

10. Middle Class

11. Iraq

12. Healthcare

13. The Economy

All this financial stuff is way above my pay grade so I don't pretend to understand how it works nor can I  argue in any coherent fashion whether it will work or not.

I can however--in the noble tradition of the Worst. President. Ever.--go with my gut feeling.

It is not going to solve the problem for any extended period and is a band-aid at best.

The next Congress will be back to visit this issue.

The public will take it in the ass once more.

The next administration will be hamstrung by financial debt, weakened confidence and a real sense on the part of the public that our public servants fail us every time.

Helluva job, Bushie.

Mission Accomplished.

In this ad his campaign (accidentally) released, McCain smiles triumphantly amidst a swath of red, white, and blue, with the words "McCain Wins Debate" proudly in the foreground.  Obviously, the ad has since been pulled, and at least one person in the McCain camp is putting his resume on Craigslist.

Another ad which was spotted this morning on the online edition of the Wall Street Journal showed Rick Davis, McCain's campaign manager asserting, "McCain won the debate- Hands down."

Am I the only one who thinks it is strange to win a contest that has not yet taken place?  Perhaps he has a time machine?  Or maybe Palin has gotten God so far on his side, that he decided to put his money where his holy mouth was in the form of an ad... .  Whether this is Holy work or high technology, I'd like to be the first to congratulate him on a well deserved victory!

Of course, time machine or no, McCain has demonstrated his ability to manipulate time and space more than once this week.  He previously suspended his campaign, and then apparently suspended the suspension for an interview with Katie Couric.

I guess I don't need to watch the debate after all.  It would be like starting a book when you already know the ending.  I guess we should thank the soothsayers in the McCain campaign for saving the 85 million Americans who planned to gather round the television tonight from four hours of political pandering.

Whatever the cause (perhaps he just saw The Secret and is summoning victory), the effect is clear.  His hairbrained campaign just flubbed over whether he would even attend the debate, and now he's won it.

The problem with the McCain campaign's ad scheme is akin to the problem on Wall Street.  An outdated rich, white dude looking at a basket full of eggs (subprime mortgages, elections, debates), but seeing cash and chicken caesar salad.   It's the same problem we saw when that clueless, reckless conservative who is already in the White House stood beneath a Mission Accomplished banner in Iraq in 2003.

It all seems a little too familiar...

On my website you will post a profile for all your potential girlfriends/boyfriends to see.  Check all the boxes that apply to your situation: married, not married, don't know or don't care.  Then you get to outline exactly how you are a dirt bag and not appropriate for a relationship: liar, cheater, thief, violent criminal, etc.  And in the profile section you will have all the opportunity to extrapolate on the boxes you checked.

"Hey ladies I'm married and looking for a few single and married girls to date.  I have no job prospects and I will probably dump you when someone else better comes along.  I won't 'breakup' with you, rather I'll 'cut and run.'  I'll change my phone number and get radical reconstructive facial surgery and assume an alias.  If you are interested, hit me back."

Now, the stage is set.  You are going out with someone, maybe married to them and things turn south.  Who's to blame?  Not you, you have a profile posted on eDisharmony.com.  How dare you get questioned about your commitment to the relationship, you posted for the public and in depth portrait of the person you've been all along!  Cut and run, mission accomplished.

Uh-oh. My turn to drive this thing. I hoped to God that sweet, sweet Tequila Sunrise (the truck) would take it easy on me for my first go at her. But hoping rarely produces results, so I opted for panic.

Sidebar: You should know that when I was still young enough for corporal punishment, my Mom or Dad would send me to my room 3-10 minutes before I actually received the spanking to reflect on what I'd done. For a time, I spent those moments pacing and feverishly brainstorming methods that would either eliminate or subdue the pain of impending justice. FYI for kids of the now and kids of the future: baby powder, toothpaste, pillows in your pants and aspirin...total wastes of time.

Then one day, my Grandma Louise gave me a small cement statue of Mary, Joseph and a little pre-pubescent Jesus at around age 9. And at the time, I was still young enough to "get that butt tore up," but old enough to pay a little bit of attention in church. Instead of wasting my time figuring out ways to dull my butt cheeks, I took a higher route. I would stand in front of my dresser, drape my hand over Jr. Jesus' head and cry and plead with him to tell my Mom or Dad to lay off of my ass. I think it even worked a few times, too.

Now it was time to drive, and I didn't have a cement Jesus, Mary or Joseph to help me out this time. I tried to laugh and keep my cool with Helen because it was no doubt just as nerve-wracking for her, but that walk from the passenger to driver's side of the truck was a long one.

Aaaand here I am behind the wheel. My pants were still somewhat dry...but armpits and palms? Not a chance.

I cranked 'er up and took it slow. Pressing the gas pedal and turning the wheel? Not so bad. Using the turn signal? OK. Turning off the turn signal? Not my best work. Learning to gradually-release-the-clutch-when- releasing-the-brakes-and-moving-your-foot-to-the-accelerator? Well, I did some major sucking there.

I think Helen was white-knuckling it almost the whole way (and rightly so)...but she maintained her generous sense of humor and was very patient with me. I shook us, stalled us a few times and had a hard time making turns. I also made the gears grind. Worst sound ever. OK, maybe just one of the worst sounds ever. Translated from transmission to English, I imagine that terrible groaning/shrieking noise MUST have been the truck's way of saying,

"You have no business driving me, sucka. I will kill you in the face!"

Besides pissing off the already persnickety transmission a little more than I'd hoped, I improved over the course of a few runs around the neighborhood and Helen started to regain color in her face.

But regardless of improvement, we both needed a breather, so we stopped back at Helen's so she could feed ol' Tequila some well-deserved brake fluid. And man! That truck was thirsty!

Then it was time to fulfill the misson. Tequila Sunrise needed gas. And luckily for everyone between Helen's house and the Kroger fuel station, Helen came along for the ride. I needed the moral support.

The drive was easy. Tequila Sunrise got her gasoline. Helen didn't regret offering me this mission and I learned to drive a stick. See? I can say "drive a stick" now because I'm officially one of the ranks. I haven't felt this cool since the first time I said a curse word in front of a grownup without the fear of repercussion.

Mission accomplished.

President Reagan once said, as brilliantly as it was transparent, "Welfare's purpose should be to eliminate, as far as possible, the need for its own existence."  He was right in a sense, and much more accurate about something else:  war.  What is the purpose of a war if not "to end all wars"?  Would we want to "set an example" for future generations in a way that makes them itch to fight and prove their meddle?  Senator Graham has always been a sycophant, but his comments tonight are perpetuating ignorance by masquerading as an "inspiring" speech.  I'm not saying respect those who serve, and honor their sacrifice and service.  It's just at some point we've got to stop placing ourselves in history relative to the wars around us.