A year in, Jan. 20, 2010

President Andrew Shepherd: Good. My nervousness exists on... several levels. Number one, and this is in no particular order, I haven't done this in a pretty long time. Number two, uh, any expectations that you might have, given the fact that I'm... you know...
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Sydney Ellen Wade: [approaching seductively] The most powerful man in the world?
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President Andrew Shepherd: Exactly, thank you. I think it's important you remember that's a political distinction that comes with the office. I mean, if, uh, Eisenhower were here instead of me, he'd be dead by now... and number three...
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– The American President

A year ago today, as I write this, my butt was planted on my couch watching several hundred thousand people freeze their collective asses off on the Mall while the president was inaugurated. I’d thought about going down – I only live in Arlington and it’s not that far (as I tell all my District-bound friends) – but damn, it was cold that day. Seriously cold. So cold I think the Shoebox Dweller even may have felt a bit of a chill while she was here.

But I digress. In fact, I feel like I've digressed for more than a year now.

I started writing The Foggy Dew back in July 2008, right in the thick of the campaign season. It was one of the first campaigns since the ’98 mid-terms elections in North Carolina where I wasn’t working for a newspaper and I guess I felt…well, a little unfulfilled. Especially after spending the six years in one of the last blue counties in Texas where the politics is meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes.

As the man said this day last year, it’s time for a change. Change I can believe in. Now I’m not gonna turn this space into some kind of political blog, I enjoy writing about some of the silly/stupid stuff I come across, posting my pictures and telling the occasional rude or lewd joke. But these are important times for America and there are issues swirling about us we need to talk about so we can find answers we can agree on.

Some questions, like abortion, I’m not going to touch. The sides are so polarized and so hateful toward each other I don’t feel there can ever be a single answer that will satisfy either side even a little.

Others, though, deserve a discussion – health care, for a start, but also government spending and the friggin’ national debt those assholes downtown have run up, gay rights, international relations and trade, energy policy…the list while not endless, is long enough for our purposes (that’s what she said).

What I’d really like is to hear from people about what they’d like to talk about. You know, a little give-and-take, a bit of back-and-forth if you know what I mean. Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more eh? It’d be kind of like giving me an assignment, like my editors used to. I enjoyed that because, with almost every story I wrote, I learned something.

Whadda ya say? Anyone feel like a chat?

To Tase, or not to Tase?

That must have been the question running through this Travis County, Texas, sheriffs deputy's mind. "Do I really, really want to do this and what does my dashboard cam see?"

Seriously, go here read the article and watch the video. (I wish I were more adept and could upload it here, but I can't, so deal.) The video is priceless, especially if you're the deputy's attorney.

How often do you get to see a sheriff's deputy Tase a 72-year-old woman during a traffic stop? The best part? I didn't know you could actually scream with 50,000 volts running through your body.

Picking your battles

Gene Gogolak: All right, then, let's see. Basketball hoop and backboard. Portable. Nope, I'm sorry. It's not allowed.
Fox Mulder: You're kidding?
Gene Gogolak: I'm afraid not. Rules are rules. It may not sound like anything — a simple basketball hoop — but from there, it's just a few short steps to spinning daisy reflectors and a bass boat in the driveway.
Mulder: In other words, anarchy.
Gene Gogolak: It may sound tough, but ours is a system that works. That's why The Falls is one of the top-ranked planned communities in all of California. Most of our homeowners have been here since day one.
Mulder: I love the decor here, Mr. Gogolak. Is it, um... Occidental?
Gene Gogolak: Well, it's, uh, Nepalese and Tibetan, mostly. I go there twice a year on business.
Mulder: Oh.
Gene Gogolak: I run Pier 9 Imports. I can get you a great deal on rattan furniture if you're interested. Indoor only. Outdoor use is prohibited by our... CC&Rs. [Ed note: Contracts, Covenants and Restrictions]

-- from “Arcadia” 7-3-99 Season 6 of The X-Files

Somehow, some way, my email got on a listserv many years ago for former Marines. I don’t know what I signed up for or responded to or clicked on that caused this, but it happened. Usually, I’ll take a look at the subject line and delete it as soon as I notice it in my inbox.

Other times, if my interest is sufficiently peaked, I’ll click on it to see what the most recent outrage is, they’re usually post or links to articles about the shabby treatment of veterans in general and Marines and Marine vets in particular.

This link is one of the latter.

The story comes out of Houston and involves Frank Larison, a disabled Marine Vietnam vet, and a disagreement he’s having with his homeowners association. Apparently, someone on the HOA board has taken offense at the seven Marine Corps bumper stickers Larison has plastered on the back of his truck.

Larison’s HOA sent him a letter saying he either has to remove the stickers because they’re advertisements and, therefore, prohibited, or face having his car towed and being fined by the HOA.

Leaving aside matters of taste – seven bumper stickers is a bit much – did whatever genius who made this decision and then sent this letter really think they were going to win this fight? Ferchrissakes, they’re in friggin' Texas! Among the things you don’t mess with in Texas are bluebonnets on the side of the road, the Alamo and disabled vets. Did they really think they guy was going to knuckle under and take the stickers off? Or, more likely, was he going to pick up the phone and call the local TV news?

I should mention, I think HOAs blow great big monkey dicks. I mean, they luuuuv sucking on ‘em. Lots and lots and lots. And maybe even tossin' their salad a bit.

Like PTAs, school boards and other groups of their ilk, in my experience I’ve found they’re usually staffed by rigid, small-minded people with an over-developed sense of their own importance and a fanatical adherence to the rules no matter how petty. The problem is, they often have virtually unlimited power when it comes to regulating the lives of their fellow homeowners and can, in some cases, even foreclose on a person’s home.

This story? This story is a reporter’s dream. First off, it’s easy. Second, it’s got a sympathetic victim. And third, they get to make someone look really, really stupid. I mean monstrously stupid. If this were me in Larison’s position there would have been a sonic boom between me opening the letter and my phone call to the news station (I also would have called the papers too, but that's just me). I've said it before, and I'll say it again: The first rule of the news biz is don't mess with people who buy their ink by the barrel.

What’s going to end up happening here is the HOA is going to drop it and apologize, mainly because just about every other car in the lot has an advertisement-type bumper sticker on its ass end. And then, in about a year, they’re going to go after Larison again for some other reason and look even dumber.

But that’s just the way people like that think.

From Arcadia:

Dana Scully: [fadeout voiceover] "Several residents of The Falls have now come forward to blame the deaths in the neighborhood on Home Owner Association President Gene Gogolak. These same residents deny Agent Mulder's allegation that they were in some sense all responsible for the demise of Gogolak himself, claiming ignorance as to what actually killed him. It would seem the code of silence that hid the sins of this community has not only survived but — in its creator — claimed a final victim. Meanwhile, The Falls at Arcadia has been named one of the top planned communities in California for the sixth year running."

Memories of Elections Past

Today is my second national election in a row where I'll have nothing to do but watch the returns. Like an old, retired dog who sees everyone getting ready for the hunt, that's what today's like for me as a former reporter who only has voting to look forward to today.

Of course I spent a bunch of those elections in Texas where the results are about as preordained as those in the District, but it was exciting nonetheless.

Election Day is a day reporters look forward to in the same way my 4-year-old niece looks forward to Christmas and her birthday. Unlike Christmas though, we generally slept in on Election Day and headed into work around 2 p.m. so we'd be fresh when the tallies started rolling in after the polls closed. The time between coming in and the first returns was generally spent calling the candidates and making sure you had a good number for when you called them later on in the evening.

The losers' quotes were often the best, if they answered.

Your stories were already written, generally. This was done to get a jump on the game, but I'll never forget the time when the mayor's race in Vidor, Texas, (one of the towns I covered) ended up in a tie. Something like 437 votes for each guy. That wasn't nearly as weird as the fact that the town next to it, Pine Forest, also had a tied mayor's race (73 each or something like that).

Or something like that. It was late by the time we got the returns and time has fogged the memory.

Never let it be said small-town politics are boring. Those were the races we lived for: local and full of emotion.

There'll be a lot of emotion tonight, but on a much grander scale -- and a part of me wishes I could be part of the experience. For just one night, I could be back in that newsroom watching the clock tick down and then, as the polls closed, hit the phones and badger the county clerks until they gave me the numbers. Hammer the story out with my editor hovering over everyone's shoulders seemingly at once demanding more words.

Faster.

NOW!

Oh well, at least I'll get a good night's sleep tonight.

Looking back, looking forward

Even though I don’t live there any longer, I still like to keep up with the news in Southeast Texas, usually by checking the headlines of my old paper, The Beaumont Enterprise, each morning.

The headlines I’ve seen during the past few days in the wake of Hurricane Ike are eerily similar to the ones we wrote just about three years in the aftermath of Hurricane Rita (my 13th hurricane). If you’d like to see some of those front pages you can go here.

In fact, just as Rita was getting ready to slam into Sabine Pass (a little town right on the Gulf of Mexico that was almost wiped off the map) this came over the wire from the NY Times News Service:

“BC-RITA-PARTNERS-ADVISORY-NYT Editors, we commend to your attention storm coverage from New York Times News Service partner news organizations, including Hearst Newspapers and Cox News Service, but especially articles from The Houston Chronicle and The Beaumont Enterprise, two Hearst papers in the path of Hurricane Rita. Their unique perspectives lend an authenticity to storm stories that cannot be matched.”

That was a big pat on the back from the folks up in NYC, but I digress.

I recommend taking a look at them and not only because I’m proud of the work the team I was a part of did during those first long, hot days after Rita. Take a look and imagine yourselves in the position of the people we wrote about three years ago and the ones who are now returning after Ike.

Turn off your computer (not right now, of course, but when you're done reading my blog) and your cell phone. Turn off the lights, TV, refrigerator, water heater and AC in your office and home. Turn off the street lights and stoplights in NoVa, the District, PG and Montgomery counties.

Now leave it that way for eight days if you live in the District. Two weeks if you live inside the Beltway. And, if you live in Fairfax, Prince William, Montgomery or Prince Georges, you can turn all your stuff back on the week before Halloween.

Imagine going a week to six weeks without electricity and you’ll get an idea what life’s like after a hurricane. Shit, this area goes back to the Stone Age if the power goes out for six hours, and totally Neanderthal if there’s even a hint of snow in the five-day forecast.

Our nearest ancestor gives a completely

different meaning to "Whole Foods"

For the most part, though, the people in Southeast Texas sucked it up, wiped their brows (it was really hot the week after Rita, unseasonably hot in fact), rolled up their sleeves and got to work.

Texans are like that: always willing to lend a hand to a neighbor in need. And if the government isn’t willing or able to help they’ll still get it done, just a bit slower that’s all. I’ve no doubt they’ll take Ike in stride and, in a year or two, be ready for the next storm that zeros in on Texas.