O-blah-ma: Can Hope Be Boring? Yes It Can

The State of the Union address is rarely an exciting event. Don't get me wrong; it is somewhat of tradition for me to watch it, and I like that it has been part of our nation's history since George Washington delivered the first State of the Union address in 1790. However, the constant standing ovations, or an opposing party's constant stoic non-ovations, can get tiresome pretty fast, and they can distract one from finding the substance in the president's speech.

What struck me about President Barack Obama's State of the Union speech this year, were not his initiatives so much, but the fact that his idealistic message of hope and desire for change--the same message that had, over a year ago, compelled me to temporarily switch from an independent to a Democrat just so I could vote for him in the primary--had become boring.

His message during the campaign season energized me and so many other people because we really thought change was going to come. Much like President George W. Bush's promise during the 2000 campaign to listen to the American people and follow their lead (He actually did the exact opposite. While Al Gore seemed like the one who wanted only his way, Bush turned out to be the true autocrat.), Obama's promise seemed realistic.

Optimism is a great characteristic to have, but it only takes you so far. It has to be backed up with action. For much of this first year, Obama has taken the time to complain about Bush's missteps, and there were a lot of them, but blaming does nothing. When you have to clean a horse's stable, you don't complain about the horse that left the pile of sh*t in the straw; you put on your boots and start shoveling. The American people needed the change, not the reasons it was required. We already knew why it was required and we were on board with it, because we elected Obama based on his message of change.

But change has not come. Yes, it has only been a year, but that's a quarter of Obama's term. What happened? Are we to believe the president? That a quarreling Congress is the reason things have been bogged down? The president took time during his speech to scold both Democrat and Republican legislators over letting their differences get in the way of legislation. But it was Obama who promised a year ago to "reach across the aisle" and meet Republications halfway. Instead, he has met mostly with Democrats when crafting the health-care bill. Since he's the chief executive, it would be great if he could broker a peace between the parties. Even if a compromise leads to a softer health-care bill, or stimulus bill, or what have you, it still would likely be better than nothing at all.

So, the message of change and hope was exciting a year ago, when everything seemed possible, but now that nothing has happened, that same message, delivered during the State of the Union, seems stale and old. Ho-hum, we've heard it all before. It's just rhetoric now.

Please, Mr. President, give us some real change this year. Some in the media are saying that the goals you laid out were too lofty. Prove them, and me, wrong. Put the rhetoric to bed. The State of the Union speech is your platform. But now the saying is done, and it's time for doing. Let's get something done.

But that's just my opinion. What does everyone else think?

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Nighttime Walk #1

Drizzle, so fine it almost seemed to loft upward, danced in the streetlights, which played tricks on the eyes, making it look like a winter storm was arriving. The crickets chirred their intense heat-and-humidity-fueled cacophony, and the toads were still out, silent sentinels on the sidewalk slabs, that jutted up like Himalayan crags, due to the swelling tree roots below.

A wind kicked up every so often, pushing cool air against my face, only for it to abdicate its place to the humid air mass that hung over my little burg. The cars on Main Street were few and far between, and my walk was leisurely, no real purpose, just watching the town as it slept.

I noted that a children's clothing store had closed, its contents emptied and a "For Rent" sign slapped in the window. Yet, the old, dusty stamp-collecting shop remains, with its window filled with piles of pricing books and faded promotional signs.

The breeze, the dearth of traffic, it all made me want to stay out as long as possible, and take in this quiet, misty night. I had a sense that this experience would be one not easily duplicated and one I would soon miss.

E-Mail to the President on the "Beer Summit"

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Sent to President Barack Obama on July 31, 2009:

Dear Mr. President:

Let me begin by sharing that I not only voted for you, but switched from being an independent to a Democrat to support you in the primary. I have looked forward to your presidency with great hope, and for the most part, I have not been disappointed.

That said, I am dismayed by the example you set during the episode involving Henry Louis Gates and Sergeant James Crowley. A friendly meeting among four men was indeed a good way to help quell the firestorm over the episode. It was also a good way to create a national discussion on race issues. However, having this discussion over beers and highlighting this so much in the media, to the point of revealing the brands of beer, was irresponsible.

I realize that you and most Americans do not see the harm in this, but alcohol is the dangerous and addictive drug, more so than many illegal drugs, that ruins lives, kills men and women, and shatters families. Your choice in playing up the beer aspect of this meeting sent a message to adults and children alike that sitting down for beers is a way to solve one's problems. It also gave the alcohol industry some free advertising, and I don't think that that is an industry you want to prop up when you are campaigning for health-care reform. One thing driving up health-care costs is the ill effects of obesity, heart disease, and cirrhosis from alcohol abuse. And, as a recovering alcoholic, I know first-hand that alcohol is something that exacerbates problems between two people, not quells them.

I am not saying that grown men and women, who do not have a problem stopping at one or two drinks a day, should cease having a drink. However, as president, you have to be very careful of the message you send. There are not only adults watching you, but their wide-eyed, impressionable children as well, and you do not want to foster in them the idea that "beer is the norm," or a way to relax or dampen flared tempers. They are getting that idea from commercials, the entertainment industry, and the poor examples set by some of their parents plenty enough already; they don't need it from you.

Please note that the tone of this e-mail does not reflect my overall opinion of you. I plan to write more when something moves me, and hopefully, it will all be positive. Thank you for reading, and I wish you the best in getting the health-care-reform bill passed.
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The Canoe Trip of DEATH

My wife and I recently thought it would be nice to take a canoe trip as part of our visit to Vermont. So, we found the closest place to our bed and breakfast and drove the half hour or so there. It was a bit pricey: sixty bucks for the two of us. But, hey, we were on vacation, and you only live once, soooo . . .

We were the only customers there. When we drove into the yard, there were three men sitting around a weather-beaten picnic table. One guy, their leader, wore what appeared to be a khaki safari outfit and his hair in a hippie's pony tail. After he had taken our $60, plus a $20 deposit, and had us sign our lives away waivers, he promptly disappeared and left us with the other two men.

One was a Czech who expressed disdain when we said we had a friend in Prague and saw what a beautiful city it was on PBS. "I hate Prague," he said. Wow. Some Czechs hate Prague. Who knew?

The other man kind of resembled Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, but without the hip beatnik facial hair. He was really spacey and said "definitely" a lot. In fact, he used that word at least twice in every sentence.

These were our guides.

After we strapped on our mildew-stained life vests, the guides huddled us into a van and took us to the put-in point on the Battenkill, a seemingly docile river. There, they gave us a brief tutorial and asked if we had any questions. When my wife asked Shaggy what I recall was a fairly important question, he couldn't answer it and just said, "Definitely, definitely."

They put us in the water, and we rocketed toward the opposite shore, which had brush jutting out from it. (The guides, by the way, did not go with us; we were on our own.) We turned in time to miss hitting the shore, but now we were right next to it and heading for the overhanging brush at a pretty good clip.

It is at this point that my wife executed by far the best limbo move I have ever seen.

I, however, did not.

While she came away unscathed, I suffered the brush gauntlet, a rite of passage that many a Mahican Indian man had done before me.

We had similar run-ins with a series of deadfalls across the river. This was a small river, by the way, so a deadfall usually took up about three quarters of its width.

Once we got past the deadfalls, however, it was quite peaceful. Too peaceful.

Being from New Jersey, we were used to the boating on the Upper Delaware River, where you are part of a noisy flotilla of rafts filled with strangers that meanders downstream. When it's over, you take a long, smelly bus ride home, and, three days later, come down with the flu.

This was not like that at all. There was NO ONE. No buildings. No sign of man at all. Just us and the ducks. And they weren't even those suave Mallard ducks. These were strange backwoods ducks with bizarre head plumage and the most evil quacking I have ever heard.

The guides had said that we could stop back at headquarters if we wanted a short trip, or continue to the next put-out point if we wanted a longer trip. We stopped at headquarters.

Being the chivalrous man I am, I held on to the "dock," which was a large stick stuck askew in a slab of mud, while my wife got out. I said I wanted to re-park before I got out, and she ran off to use the bathroom.

My plan was to paddle back upriver and then dock again, kind of like going for that second try when you know there's no way your going to pull off parallel parking in New York City. I paddled upstream, turned, almost capsized the boat, failed to park, went back upstream, did it all again.

My wife must have told the Czech I was in trouble because he came lumbering down. (No sign of Shaggy. He was probably taking a break. Yeah, definitely, definitely.) He pulled the boat on shore. I got out and, feeling like sort of a schlub for having to have him come to my aid, attempted to help him pull the boat the rest of the way out. I immediately slipped and covered myself in sweet, sweet Vermont mud.

Our fun over, we got our deposit back, hobbled across the parking lot, and got out of the heat and into our climate-controlled car.

The moral: A canoe trip is kind of like life: Sure there are a few bumps along the way, but in the end there's lots of air conditioning. Yeah, definitely, definitely.
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