Humor

Usually satirical

by

Sleeper, Awake!

Well, I’ve finally humiliated myself for dozing during the day, in this case during a sermon, in this case sitting in the choir loft for all to see. The choir sits in public view on the congregation’s left in our sanctuary, so we are part of the service, even as we wait to sing after the sermon. Here I was, enacting my disregard for the Word spoken, sleeping in public.

In recent years I’ve had trouble sleeping more than six hours in a night. This is a new issue since most of my life I’ve been a sound sleeper, easily enjoying the standard eight hours a night. The result has been midday dozing, a habit that has offended Victoria, because of my checking out, taking absence, while she remains awake and alone in the living room. I’ve even faded out as she was talking to me. That, I understood, was offensive. The rest seemed to me the innocent behavior of a sleep-handicapped person.

I’ve seen a sleep therapist. I’ve taken on the onerous burden of a C-Pap gadget. I’ve taken afternoon naps. I’ve succumbed to decaffeinated coffee. I’ve tried, and still I doze during the nightly news and sometimes begin to fade while Victoria is in mid-sentence. I just check out without warning until she says, “Are you falling asleep?” with a slight edge in her voice.

I’ve also found it hard to distinguish between meditation and sleep. When I have tried to meditate in my morning devotions or respectfully during the sermon, I pass into oblivion. That is not what meditation calls for. And yet meditation is a relaxed form of prayer, a sense of peace before God. How do I convert sleeping into worshipful prayer?  Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, while his disciples dozed. How did his earnest prayer for “Not my  will, but thine?” contrast with the weary catnapping of his followers?

Until now I have felt like the disciples, just trying to recover from a long day’s labor. I felt like Victoria was unnecessarily annoyed by my innocent drifting off. I remember my father taking a siesta during the sports segment of the late night news and my mother finding him in his recliner, chastising him, “Tuck, wake up and come to bed!” Then my Dad would rouse himself and say,” I just want to hear the sports,” after he had already missed the lead story. Why can’t a man sleep, when he wants to?

I felt it was an innocent dalliance, until I missed the last five minutes of the sermon, bent over in full view of the congregation and the choir during the Sunday service. This was a full-Monty from meditation to public humiliation. I’m not sure if the pastor observed my insult to his preaching the Word, but I hope my offense was ignored or forgiven.

Now it was public and chronic. Now it was failed meditation. Now it was ignoring the Word of God,  boring or not.  The sleeper was not innocently slipping into the Land of Nod. He was obstructing the Spirit from bringing home the message.

I get it. Sleeping at the wrong time is rude. Sleeping can  say, “I don’t think you are important enough for my undivided attention.” Sleeping can even say, “Don’t bother me, God. This sermon lacks relevance.” Or to anyone, “I’ve given you enough time; let me sleep.” Sleeping is the opposite of listening.

As Victoria has pointed out, I used to make my living as a listener. I hardly ever lectured as a college professor. I spent about 60 % of my class listening to my students. My students were future teachers. I was trying to model good listening for them, and they appreciated it. So I was pretty good at listening for 75-minute or 90-minute intervals. Not so sure about after that. I can be easily distracted, even when I stay awake.

I  need to apply some of those skills to my non-professional friends, not to mention my spouse. Actually I will mention my spouse, who has to live with this annoyance every day. I need to adopt a more alert posture. In fact I will begin with posture.

Through reading, I have been taught that it helps to stay as upright as possible while meditating, to maintain the boundary between listening and sleep. Not slumped or even bowing in the alleged posture of prayer. I have also learned to keep attention by focusing on my breathing and letting idle thoughts drift away. This works pretty well in prayer.

Could I apply this to people and TV?  Maintain an erect position and focus on the person, not on stray thoughts. This sounds a little formal, but recall this is a recovery behavior, not a casual reform. My falling asleep is so abrupt that I can’t catch myself in the act. It’s like a sudden blackout. I need a deliberate approach, kind of like abstinence for an alcoholic or an overeater.

So now, if I pretend to focus by closing my eyes, as I am wont to do, that should send an alarm to my conscious brain to straighten up and pay attention. I can try this during the news or when listening to Victoria’s sometimes rambling stories. I know, if I ask her to summarize and stop, she is very cooperative. No excuses there.

As for the twenty-minute sermon, I need to take the alert posture and turn to my left and follow the pastor as he journeys to the front of the platform and back to the pulpit.  Bowing in meditation is out for now, just as the alcoholic resolves not to take a small sip of alcohol. Maybe I’m distracted, but no one can tell from my focus, my alert posture, my portrayal of listening. As they say, “Fake it till you make it.”

Sleeper, awake!

by

The Ego and I

Ego LM2102SP   EGO Power+ LM2102SP 21 in. 56 V Battery Self-Propelled Lawn Mower Kit (Battery & Charger) W/ 7.5 AH BATTERY

I have to admit buying a new battery-powered mower called “Ego” may say something about me, but it gives me pleasure to quietly demolish the leaves in my backyard and the unrelenting grass in my side yard this early in the spring. The “Ego” is anything but pretentious, humming its way through the winter accumulation of leaves and grass, leaving an invisible deposit of mulch behind.

As Victoria could tell you,  I have been coveting a battery-powered lawn mower through most of the winter, comparing specs online and visiting Lowe’s and Home Depot in the dead of a cold snap. It is a complicated analysis to make sure you get the best equipment for the investment, especially when you have a functioning gas-powered mower slumbering in the storage shed.

In the end I relied heavily on Consumer Reports,  since they had tested all the equipment and could tell you what the manufacturers concealed, like the time to charge the battery and the actual endurance of a single charge that might vary when you use a self-propelled mechanism.

I decided that this would be my last mower, so self-propulsion could be a feature I would be glad to have in the future. The single-adjustment for four wheels was another indispensable improvement over the wrestling with four stubby stubborn levers on my old gas-powered version. Lawn maintenance just got blissfully simpler.

Of course the emission-free engine makes a modest improvement in the immediate environment in my neighborhood. No gas, no oil, no early-morning roar.  That should make me a better neighbor and environmental steward. Not that anyone was complaining.

Does it actually boil down to the “ego” of the lawn mower owner to acquire the newest, cleanest and quietest engine of grass destruction?  Hard to deny the acquisition was not self-serving, because I feel some smug satisfaction lightly steering the stealthy steed of yard maintenance around a modest 1/3 acre of domestic flatland. Here I was cheerfully patrolling the back yard before the first day of spring!

I’ll leave it to the wise reader to recognize the ego sprouting with the daffodils before the latest frost.  I’ll just self-propel my way to unassuming happiness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

by

For Paulaner Salvator, heavenly brew

Lord of heavenly concoctions, thanks for Francis of Paola and the monks of the Neudeck ob der Au monastery, first brewers of Paulaner Salvator in 1634. Their excess was shared with the poor and quaffed at the cloister pub. Their fame began with a letter of complaint from local brewers, who did not appreciate the competition. Thanks that they persevered to become purveyors of six-packs by the Paulaner Brauerei Gruppe.

Not to dismiss water or wine, Lord, but this brew goes down with divine smoothness. No sweet or bitter catch at the back of the throat, but the same delicate hops, yeast and malt from opening of the lips to the precipice of the tongue.  For some, a sudden sour surprise gives joy, but for me a stream of suave brew along each taste bud is sensational.  Thanks for the monks that grew the malt that makes the brew that sold in the pub that Francis built.

One plea for goodness and mercy I raise, O Lord. May I dwell in the tent of Winzerer Fähndl for Oktoberfest a single day of my life.  You will be my first toast and Francis of Paola my second. Then I will happily adjourn to the House of the Lord forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paulaner is one of the six breweries who provide beer for Oktoberfest.

by

Two Days in Stratford

Our first days of theater included Richard III in the afternoon and the next day The Miser in the evening.  No two plays written within a century of each other could be more different.

We saw Richard on the thrust stage of the Tom Patterson Theater, named for the founder of the Stratford Festival.  Richard III was also the inaugural play produced in 1957 in a massive tent. Today the Patterson Theater is a sprawling complex along the Avon River. Victoria sits below just a few yards from the river with the building in the background.

If you travel northeast up the river, you come to the Festival Theater, the oldest of the four theaters that are home to the Festival. It houses one large semi-circular theater where we saw The Miser Thursday night. The set for that comedy-farce is pictured below.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard the Third is a dark, authentic history with a cast of nobility in taut struggle for power. Richard is by far the most diabolical and ruthless and for a time assumes sovereignty over England by killing off the heirs in his way, including two young boys.  He also displays some ruthless charm by marrying first Anne Neville, the wife of one deceased lord, then, with subtle pressure, threatening to marry Elizabeth, daughter of Elizabeth Woodville the widow of Edward III.  This is a pale synopsis of the intrigue and betrayal that pits Richard against his own allies and other nobility at the end of the play. In the end Elizabeth marries Henry Tudor, the earl of Richmond at the close of a deadly battle for the throne. Richard’s famous line, “My kingdom for a horse!” fatally ends his rule of England.

The Miser is a seventeenth century French comedy of manners which borders on farce. We saw a play modernized by Ranjit Bolt with many contemporary allusions to the theme of greed that made you think of famous examples.  Harper, the character portrayed as the miser, is so consumed with his money that, when he discovers thievery, looks out into the masked audience and moans,”No one wearing masks can be trusted!”   The generational conflict involves his two children trying to marry their chosen partners,  while he threatens to disinherit them.

Remarkably Colm Feore, the actor playing the pathetic miser was Richard III only one day previous.  He showed versatility as a dangerous foe vs. a ludicrous greedy miser. The role of Jack, played by Ron Kennell, was particularly hilarious, as he literally changed hats to assume the roles of cook, chauffeur, and dispute mediator.

The denouement unites all the right couples with frenetic dancing and joy,  as long-lost sisters, brothers, fathers and mothers are re-united. Everybody, it appears has access to a fortune, as the character Arthur Edgerton turns out to be the rich father of  Victor and Marianne, who can now marry into the miser’s family. The moral seems to be “Money conquers all!”

The delightful gardens of the Festival Theater are barely represented here. We visited them in daylight on Thursday, but we had to flee under cloud and rain. The boar’s head flower pattern below represents the insignia of Richard III. There others representing the profile of Little Women and the handgun of the musical Chicago, all in a horizontal line of a bed directly in front and parallel  to the Festival Theater.

 

by

Whining in Place

When I heard about the approval ratings of the federal government officials ranging from 23% to 37%  (depending on which office was mentioned) I momentarily wondered if this would mean a high voter turnout at the mid-term elections. Then I said to myself, “You kidding? Everyone, especially the famous 18-39 demographic, will stay home. When they are asked if they are voting, they will whine, ‘No, they are all criminals. Why bother?” [Emphasis added].

What I am about to say probably does not apply to my blog-readers. So some other audience will have to be found.

First, we elected these so-call “criminals,” so some of us have to take responsibility for that.

Second, if you voted for someone else and they flopped, you need to rally those who did not vote last time to get out of their armchairs and vote in the mid-term elections.  Mid-terms are famous for their low voter turnout. Also for their ear-splitting whining the day after.

Third, if you did not vote at all, what are you whining about? You let  these criminals get in by not voting for your preferred candidate. You are the least potent citizen, because you are whining in place. You are watching the criminals take over the government and responding by whining. This could be a different government if everybody voted. [Does this sound like whining? If so, I apologize].

Fourth, Let’s campaign for the most legitimate candidates, the ones with a platform, some positive goals to place before the voters. Get out the vote for anyone who

  • doesn’t spend most of their ad time by skewering their opponent, while they themselves do not have a platform.
  • doesn’t waste our time insulting their opponents with names like “rhino,” “hack,” “extremist,” “elitist,” “troll,”” radical,” “crony,” “racist,” which are just a few of the labels used in campaign slogans.
  • states something they will do, if they are elected, other than getting rid of those labeled above.
  • promotes replacements, if they are getting rid of something.
  • suggests something that could attract bi-partisan support.

In short, look for the constructive and collaborative candidate. That eliminates 80% of the field, but it doesn’t eliminate everyone!

There are positive voices in the crowd, but it takes a little study to locate them.  Send us your findings.

Fifth, let’s get others to vote. Give rides to the polls. Help the clueless find the polls.  Have voting parties with free beer or alcohol-free substitute for anyone with an “I voted” sticker. Shame your friends to the polls, so they won’t have to admit they didn’t vote the day after. See? Shame today, free beer tomorrow. I think another good sticker is  [Use teardrop graphic]

I’m

not whining

this time

The more voters, the less likely we will elect the low-class of politician we spend the next two years hating. That’s because democracy works, when everyone participates. There is some kind of magic with a high voter turnout. The more voting, the less whining. Even if your favorite candidate bombs out, the one who wins is usually palatable.  Maybe your stomach is a little queasy, but somehow you know it will settle in the morning.

Sixth, let’s accept the election results unless they’re too close to call, like a Bush-Gore kind of close.  Isn’t contesting the voting results just another kind of whining?  If you are a chronic whiner, then I can’t reason with you, but if you are whining because you are having a bad day, then I appeal to the good sense that you used to vote. Don’t relapse. You’re a full-fledged citizen now, and you can accept the consequences of voting.

As I said at the start, this advice is not for my regular readers, but if you know someone who might benefit from it, feel free to pass it along. And if you have any other advice to the whiners, please feel free to add-on. I’ll keep the presses running.

Constructively respond to: wtucker@emich.edu

 

 

 

by

Jab-o-Phobia

Why have so many Americans refused this particular vaccination, the CoVid19 vaccination, when vaccinations have been an acceptable rite of passage since smallpox?  Polio, mumps, measles vaccinations have been administered with hardly a protest and with confidence that we would now be safe from childhood diseases. Is there more than the silly conspiracy theories that some fall prey to? Yes there is, and I call it “jab-o-phobia.”

No one wants to admit it, but the visual image of needles piercing the skin has turned many of us squeamish. Every night the media forces the image of needles biting into arms on our unwilling eyes and ramps up the fear of the jab, the penetration of a foreign object into our arms. That is not a welcome prick.

My Dad always said to avert my eyes, so I wouldn’t have to look at the needle doing its handiwork, and I took his advice willingly. When I gave blood a week ago, I turned my head away from the needle and the nurse administering it, covered it up with a gauze so I wouldn’t have to view my arm penetrated by a sharp object.  The nurses know that some of us just don’t want to view our skin being punctured, even for a good cause.

The media has no such consideration. Every news story about Covid, whether its spread or its vaccination, has to be accompanied by not one, but several skin puncture images, in case we forgot what a vaccination looks like.  How many such images have penetrated our eyes since the beginning of the pandemic? Someone probably knows, but I can only say it has been too many. Unlike other images of violence, the sight of needle jabbing into skin does not lose its efficacy. It continues to be cringe-worthy.

Talk about mixed messages, the media barks at us about getting the vaccination nightly, then shows us an up-close image of what it looks like in case we have forgotten.  Needles digging into vulnerable skin with razor-sharp ruthlessness. Even if we know it is painless, the visual prompt makes the imagination explode.

No one is going to admit this fear, because it is the weakest rationalization possible. “You’re afraid of a needle? C’mon, you big baby! Everyone gets it!”  And maybe we don’t even admit it to our conscious minds, instead forming the rationalization that it hasn’t received the FDA approval or it could be a government plot. We refuse to admit we fear the jab, so it always comes out as an adult excuse. We would rather say we fear we are being injected with an insidious microchip than that we just can’t bear the idea of a needle raping our delicate, last membrane of defense.

It’s probably too late to call off the dogs, but it might help to declare a moratorium on skin puncture images in the media.  The media has always been sensitive to matters of political correctness, so this matter of jab-o-phobia ought to be registered as a vaccination deterrent.

Eliminate all images of skin punctuation! Our eyes have been assaulted long enough! Show smiling faces and soothing music when you broadcast news of CoVid-19.  A few of us will be reassured, and many of us will breathe a sigh of relief when news of vaccinations is not accompanied by the ruthless puncture of our last external protection against the violence of the universe.

by

Spreading News

Good morning:

Spreading news from your CoVid anchor Manny Cair-Less reporting on the anniversary of our coming out party in  the United States.

This week brings mixed news:  some territories are taking down their defenses, while all territories are bringing out their heavy artillery, the germ warfare products known to hosts as “vaccines.”.

First the good news: three territories have moved onto the Most Vulnerable Players list by opening their doors to public spreading without masks.  Thanks for the special hospitality extended by Texas, Alabama, and Mississippi. The Midwest and Southeast continue to be our favorite vacation spots with the Devil-May-Care Awards going to Iowa, South Carolina and Oklahoma [https://wallethub.com/edu/states-coronavirus-restrictions/73818].  We appreciate the hospitality extended by the humans in charge of these lovely vacation destinations.

Our medical correspondent Lucy Goosey reports that the vicious vaccine vendetta (V3) is extending nearly to one-third herd immunity in some territories.  The vaccines are said to be 95% deadly against the best intentions of viruses to overthrow healthy bodies around the globe. Nothing seems to stop the V3 in territories known as “Blue” on the American political scene.

And yet we see hope in the so-called “Red” territories, where some spread among the male of the species has been observed. The Red male has been unaccountably resisting the vaccine, while romping unmasked in large gatherings. Virus psychologists cannot explain the behavior, but are encouraging spreaders to seize the opportunity to penetrate lungs in favorite gathering places: bars, restaurants, beaches and political gatherings. The Red males are easily identified by their unprotected breathing ports and defiant glare.

Meanwhile the so-called “Blue” territories are proceeding with their vicious assault on virus-kind. It will soon be impossible for viruses to survive in these hostile environments. It is even difficult for the heroic special forces, known as the “variants,” to survive in this toxic vaccine environment.

So we pin our hopes on the vulnerable Red males welcoming us in the south and midwest. May the Spread be with you!

 

 

 

by

Poopology

It can be argued that President Trump’s major contribution to political theory began with his 2016 campaign. I have decided to name it “Poopology,” but rather than retrace the strategy to 2016, I would like to begin with the past year.

I first realized that the President was a world-class party-pooper about a month ago, officially Party-Pooper-in-Chief. Your garden variety party pooper may be someone who likes early bedtimes or has an aversion for medium risk. But the world class party pooper clearly understands the consensus for a party and then moves 180 degrees from it,  just to let us know who is really in charge.

First there was the party planned for the vaccine rollout. The President hyped this party for about six months. Nothing will be greater than our vaccine, he would say. The vaccine will be the perfect solution. We will have the best and the quickest developed.  These are words that should alert every American to an on-coming party-poop.

Sure enough, the vaccine came out in December, and where was the President? On the golf course. Did he celebrate or toast the vaccine? Did he hold a press conference? No, there was a comment on Twitter, surrounded by veiled threats of election fraud. That was the earliest Poop d’ Party, because it took six months to emerge

Then there was the Election Party.  Americans were celebrating the selection of a new President on November 4. Even though some states were still in play, it appeared Joe Biden would be the next President of the United States by about the same margin as President Trump, only with 8 million actual American votes ahead.

But wait a minute, the mailed-in ballots weren’t counted right, especially in states that the President needed to win. Were they miscounted in the Blue States– New York, New Jersey, or California? Apparently not. The major poop was in Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Georgia. These states were still in play several days after the election. According to lawsuit-poop-strategy, only the states that the President could win to change the outcome of the election were in the party that needed to be pooped.

In fact, the President organized his own party, once called the Republican Party, but newly organized to be the Pooplican Party of 126 Congressional Representatives who signed on to a lawsuit challenging the election fraud in the Fantastic Four states staged at the fabulous Supreme Court. Over in the Senate, only Mitch McConnell showed any interest; a few even jeered.   This would be a mere House party, and to further undermine the event, the Supremes refused to play, I mean,  hear the lawsuit.  Some Republicans, even made fun of the President’s party, like Ben Sasse of Nebraska, who, after SCOTUS rejected the suit said it, “closed the book on the nonsense.”

The President continued to tweet the story of how the Election was stolen from him. Some of the Pooplicans decided to go back to the House chamber, where, it was rumored, another party was planned to save the suffering unemployed of America. Lost in the frenzy of the Pooplican Party was the fate of 13 million Americans who were on the verge of unemployment or eviction.

When the heroic, bi-partisan CoVid Relief party-planners began to meet in November, Congress was distracted by the trashing of the 2020 election.  Yet there had been a couple dozen Republicans and Democrats who said, “Don’t mind them, we have some hungry, unemployed people to save” and put their heads together to come up with a compromise Relief bill.  They worked quietly, but the newspapers occasionally reported their progress.

The President did not like this, especially after his Party pooped in the Supreme Court.  The headlines turned back to the Amazing BiPartisans, who actually got the attention of the Senate Chairman, Mitch McConnell. It seemed that their private party was about to propose a consensus party plan.

When you hear the word “consensus” your heart should leap, but a true Party-Pooper will set his course for 180 degrees. Although the President had made his turn, we didn’t realize it until the bill passed and landed on his desk. On his figurative desk, because he was taking note of the new CoVid Relief bill from his golf course in Mira-lago.

Then President Trump tweeted or (pooped) out his protest by demanding $2,000 in relief checks and major cuts in other parts of the bill. He wouldn’t sign the bill until it twisted 180 to his own little party on the golf course. Meanwhile the lights were about to go out on the Bi-Partisan Miracle Relief Bill and literally go out on the federal government in general.

This was a master stroke in party-pooping, because the whole time the Republicans and Democrats were  having their astonishing convergence, and millions of Americans were getting ready to dance in the streets, the President had already planned the poop d’grace. New Years Day was about to arrive with a failed Covid Relief, Vaccinations without Presidential cheer, and a new President unrecognized by the old one.  You couldn’t ask for a more masterful coup (or poop).

As we know by now, the President caved and signed the bill several days late, but he had made his point (or poop).  He had showed us who was in charge of parties and who knew how to poop them. He had institutionalized what I now call “Poopology.”

To be fair, Poopology sometimes takes the form of conscientious protest, like the time President Bartlett (on West Wing) refused to bomb a building full of innocent people to kill a terrorist who had bombed two Congressmen and General Fitzwallace  (a West Wing icon) to death, and seriously wounding the lovely, aspiring office assistant Donna Moss. Instead he called an Israeli – Palestinian Peace Summit.  Here we saw how higher values can poop the American thirst for vengeance.

Sorry I had to drift into the idealistic world of West Wing for an example, but conscientious poopers are hard to find in politics.  I wanted to make the point that Poopology could be used for good.

I predict the President will invoke the doctrine of Poopology  before, or concurrently with, the Inauguration, because that is a party that just demands a party-pooper.  He will want us to remember his legacy, his consummate ability to turn a party into a controversy. So if you expect to make the next Party-Pooping sighting, keep alert till January 25.  There’s a pasture that needs fertilizer out there,  if you’ll pardon the expression.

 

 

 

by

In Today’s News: A Fairy Tale

I can see why President Trump warns us about the liberal media. I was watching the Vice President’s acceptance speech on PBS last night, and it sounded like a fairy tale about a wise king who defended his subjects from the dreaded coronavirus, and yet they broadcast this as news. Shouldn’t PBS give us a warning? “The speech you are about to hear is delivered in the genre of a fairy tale”?

In this fairy tale the King immediately sealed the borders of the United States to prevent the dreaded virus from infecting his subjects. What I recall is that only Chinese nationals were kept out, and American citizens were allowed to return home. Meanwhile European travelers moved at will across the Atlantic. The strain of the virus that infected the East Coast seemed to link us to the white peoples’ coronavirus. But the West Coast got its share.

In this fairy tale the King took immediate action to combat the virus with abundant PPE and ventilators, and not one subject who needed a ventilator lacked one.  And yet I remember two months of our leader declaring it was not a pandemic, but a mild flu which would vanish suddenly. I remember doctors in New York stating that they were making hard choices about who needed the ventilator more, which sounds like someone who needed one did not get it.

And I remember once our king recognized the presence of the pandemic, he gave it six  weeks to get out town, by Easter Sunday, as it happened.  And even though he said it quite sternly, the coronavirus was undaunted and continued to spread in spurts throughout the summer. And I remember that the supplies of PPE were shared by governors by their own initiatives with the King practicing laissez-faire.

I don’t know why PBS broadcast this bedtime story from Vice President Mike Pence as if it were actual news. It certainly taught me to keep alert for media bias, as President Trump has urged.  Maybe PBS had been misinformed that the Vice President would be reporting the facts about the coronavirus, and they were caught off guard.

If so, I hope they will be wiser when the President gives his acceptance speech. The President has been known to mix genres when he speaks. He occasionally dips into comedy or Twitter-speak in his delivery. Sometimes we find out he was only kidding the next day.

But PBS could offer a few warnings, so we don’t take everything literally or assume they take responsibility for the accuracy of the content.  If the President tells a few whoppers tonight I want to be prepared.

by

Vote Early; Vote Often

Apparently the advice to “Vote early and often” is too precious to be claimed by one source. Various historians attribute it to election campaigns in Chicago, Boston and Great Britain, and most recently to Richard J. Daley, notorious politician in Chicago in the 1950’s.

“Vote early and often” deserves a little updating, considering the problems with mail-in voting foreshadowed by the Postmaster General.  By cutting out overtime hours across the country, he has jeopardized the prompt delivery of election ballots on November 3.

This is a non-partisan appeal to every voter in Missouri: Please mail your election ballots by October 27, the date recommended by the Postmaster General, considering his overtime cutbacks. C’mon, these are not hard decisions. By the end of September we will have heard all we can stand to hear from national and local candidates. Put that ballot in the mail and turn on the mute button every time a political ad comes up on television.  And just to be sure, put a first-class stamp on the ballot. We know the P.O. has to process those first.

For the over-burdened postal workers, here is some more free advice. Take all the bulk mail from October 27 on and pile it in a corner until after Election Day. This will let the higher class mail get to my mailbox more efficiently. What you do with it after that is between you and the Postmaster General. I will not miss receiving it.

No mail should be  moved after October 27 except first class mail and election ballots.  If the Postmaster General wants to set priorities for delivery, first class mail is a good place to start.  For those politicians who waited till after October 27 to get their bulk voter appeals out, shame on you! You don’t deserve my vote anyway.  Learn to meet a deadline!

As for voting often, I would not publicly advocate for it, but let all registrars beware! If you are dumb enough to send out too many ballots to one address, then the Democrats should be allowed to take advantage of it. I say “Democrats”  because we know that Republicans never commit voter fraud.  Since Democrats are well-known voting swindlers, they should live up to their reputations and cast as many ballots as they get. So vote often!

If at least the Democrats get all their ballots mailed by October 27, we should have a fair election. No need to prompt the Republicans.  I expect them to take personal responsibility for voting, since that is their sacred value.  No excuses, no tolerance, no whining: the Republican motto.

So, to recap: vote early, vote often, no bulk mail, no excuses.

Managing the mail is much easier than I thought.